_D Company, K.O.S.B._

Time brings its changes in country an' toon, We're conscious o' this when we tak' a look roun'; Guid men hae gane; gin ye len' me yer ears, I'll bring ye in min' o' the Auld Volunteers.

There were men frae Kirkconnel, sae buirdly an' fine, Though the maist o' them wrocht in the depths o' the mine, A fine set o' fellows, devoid o' a' fears, They made a guid third o' the Auld Volunteers.

Doon Mennock's fair glen, frae Wanlock's high hills, Far famed for their beauty an' clear sparkling rills, Cam' giants in stature; noo mark ye wha hears, They were real men an' true tae the Auld Volunteers.

Descendants o' famous on history's scroll, The brave men o' Sanquhar completed the roll; Wi' pride in their herts they looked back through the years, "These then were those" in the Auld Volunteers.

Captains Stewart and Wilson, M'Connel an' a', When they mairched oot the lads o' the heather sae braw, Thocht D.C., K.O.S.B. then had few compeers, Gey prood were the three o' the Auld Volunteers.

THE YOUNG VOLUNTEERS.

The Young Volunteers frae the vale o' the Nith, May their herts never fail, nor their airms lose their pith. As we hear o' their daurin', oor hert it aye cheers, An' we pray for the lads in the Young Volunteers.

The day will sune dawn, in the East an' the West, Whaur oor brave lads are gieing the foemen nae rest. The fecht will be owre when the morning appears, Wi' victory's croon for the Young Volunteers.

Some are awa' tae the Land o' the Leal, Forgotten are bullets an' deidly cauld steel, Whaur there's angels, bricht angels, tae wipe awa' tears, An' the watchword is love, wi' oor ain Volunteers.

THE PONY DRIVER'S LAMENT FOR PUIR GEORDIE,

Who, going lame, had to be shot before he could be drawn from the mine.

Puir Geordie! ye are deid an' gane, An' free frae every ache an' pain; Frae tip o' tail tae glossy mane Ye were a beauty, An' when ye were upon this plane Ye did yer duty.

Tae draw an' kep, tae turn an' back, An' lift a hutch when aff the track, Ye werena feart yer limbs tae wrack But strained wi' micht: A horse like ye for daein' wark Ne'er saw the licht.

Shame! that a beast like ye sae fine Should e'er been pitten doon a mine, Awa' frae a' the gled sunshine. Ah! cruel fate, They thocht tae bring ye up again, Alas! owre late.

When ye gaed lame an' couldna' draw, They killed ye wi' a rifle ba'; I couldna' stan' tae see ye fa', Sae turned tae rear Tae hide my grief an' wipe awa' The startin' tear.

An' noo when in the grave ye lie I think on ye wi' mony a sigh; Owre milk that's spilt nae use tae cry, Say tak' yer rest, But this I ken, as low ye lie, Auld freens are best.

THE BRIDE'S LAMENT.

Song. Tune, "Bonnie Light Horseman."

REFRAIN.

I had a true lover, he gaed to the war; 'Twas a lasting farewell; here I'll ne'er see him more.

We were happy together on yon mountain side, Where we met and we parted; he made me his bride.

REFRAIN.

At Loos in the battle my lover fought well; Though wounded and bleeding, still fighting he fell.

No more he will wander his own Highland glen, For my lover lies buried on fair Flanders' plain.