The old strain

My pleasant home be side the Dee!

I often sigh to think of thee,

dear scenes of love and peace and ease,

how diff'rent all from scenes like these!

My soldier brave l've follow'd

far

but sicken at these sights of war.

The nod at church,

the conscious smile,

The haste to help me at the stile,

The pleasant walk at summer eve,

The parting kiss at taking leave:

O hours!

That once with Tom were past,

Dear happy hours! too sweet to last.

Now converse short with Tom I hold;

"Come, Sue" he cries, "ue'er fear the cold

"The fare is scant - but never mind -

"On, on my Sue, nor lag behind."

And come what will, and come wat may,

Poor Sue must be alert and

gay.

Yet Love, I know always cure

The ills that we from Love endure;

And Tom can with a single smile

The weariest of my thoughts beguile,

Dear pleasant home beside the Dee!!

I must not - will not - thinks of thee.