The Paisley Officer

In blythe and bonny Scotland, where the blue bell do grow,
There dwelt a pretty fair maid down in a valley low.
It’s all the day long she herded sheep upon the bank of the Clyde,
Altho’ her lot in life was low she was called the village pride.
An Officer from Paisley town went out to fowl one day,
He wandered to the lovely spot where Mary’s cottage lay,
A long and loving look he took upon her form so fair,
And wondered how so bright a flower grew and flourished there.
But many times he came again and at each visit paid,
His flattering tongue did win the heart of this sweet village maid.
At length he came one morning, his face was dark with woe,
O Mary dear, he said to her, from you I now must go,
Our regiment has received the rout, and love and duty yields.
I must exchange your lovely glens for India’s burning sand.
O Henry said this tender maid from you I cannot part,
Take me as your wedded wife–you know you’ve won my heart.
To go with you through flood and field is now my chief desire,
And as for your servant I will go disguised in man’s attire,
He took her on to Paisley town and much they wondered there,
To see the new recruit that looked so gentle, slight, and fair,
The ladies admired her as she stood each day upon parade,
But no one thought the soldiers coat concealed a lovely maid.
Soon across the raging seas, and marched on burning sand;
No pen can trace what Mary bore in India’s track of land.
But tho’ she found her strength give way, her woe she strove to hide,

And smiled as she looked round and saw young Henry by her side.
But now the hour of trial came, when on the battle field,
She saw the British troops give way, and to the Indians yield,
She saw her lover struck down, a spear had pierced his side,
Yet from his post he never flinched, but where he stood and died.
She raised him from the bloody ground, and in her arms him pressed
And while she thought to staunch his wound a ball passed through her breast.
So as these pair lived true in life in death they were the same,
For when their fond hearts blood gushed forth it mixed in one red stream.

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BBO Roud Number: 550