An' you or your's may yet be glad,
To trust the honest Highland lad;
The bonnet blue, and belted plaid,
Will stand the last o' three, man.

THE BROOM SAE GREEN.

LANG I sat by the broom sae green,
An' O, my heart was eerie,
For aye this strain was breathed within
Your laddie will no come near ye!
Lie still thou wee bit fluttering thing,
What means this weary wavering ?
Nae heart returns thy raptured spring,
Your laddie will no come near ye!

His leifu' sang the robin sung

On the bough that hung sae near me,
Wi' tender grief my heart was wrung,
For O, the strain was dreary!

The robin's sang it coudnae be
That gart the tear-drap blind my ee;
How ken'd the wee bird on the tree

That my laddie wad no come near me?

The new-wean'd lamb on yonder lea
It bleats out through the braken,
The herried bird upon the tree

Mourns o'er its nest forsaken ;—

If they are wae, how weel may I?
Nae grief like mine aneath the sky,

The lad I lo'e he cares nae by
Though my fond heart is breaking!

FLORA MACDONALD'S FAREWELL.

FAR over yon hills of the heather sae green,

An' down by the correi that sings to the sea, The bonny young Flora sat sighing her lane,

The dew on her plaid, and the tear in her ee. She look'd at a boat wi' the breezes that swung Away on the wave, like a bird of the main, An' aye as it lessen'd, she sigh'd and she sung, Fareweel to the lad I shall ne'er see again! Fareweel to my hero, the gallant, an' young,

Fareweel to the lad I shall ne'er see again!

The muircock that craws on the brows of Ben-Connal,
He kens of his bed in a sweet mossy hame;
The eagle that soars o'er the cliffs of Clan-Ronald,
Unawed and unhunted, his eyry can claim ;
The solan can sleep on the shelve of the shore,
The cormorant roost on his rock of the sea,
But, ah! there is one whose hard fate I deplore,
Nor house, ha', nor hame, in his country has he—
The conflict is past, and our name is no more-
There's nought left but sorrow for Scotland and me!

The target is torn from the arm of the just,

The helmet is cleft on the brow of the brave,

The claymore for ever in darkness must rust,

But red is the sword of the stranger and slave;

The hoof of the horse, and the foot of the proud,

Have trod o'er the plumes on the bonnet of blue ! Why slept the red bolt in the breast of the cloud

When tyranny revell'd in blood of the true? Fareweel, my young hero, the gallant and good! The crown of thy fathers is torn from thy brow!

BONNY PRINCE CHARLIE.

CAM ye by Athol, lad wi' the philabeg,
Down by the Tummel, or banks o' the Garry,
Saw ye our lads, wi' their bonnets and white cockades
Leaving their mountains to follow Prince Charlie ?
Follow thee! follow thee! wha wadna follow thee.
Lang hast thou loved and trusted us fairly!
Charlie, Charlie, wha wadna follow thee,

King o' the Highland hearts, bonny Prince Charlie?

I hae but ae son, my gallant young Donald;
But if I had ten, they should follow Glengary!
Health to M'Donnel, and gallant Clan-Ronald,

For these are the men that will die for their Charlie!
Follow thee! follow thee! &c.

I'll to Lochiel and Appin, and kneel to them,
Down by Lord Murray, and Roy of Kildarlie ;
Brave M'Intosh he shall fly to the field with them;
These are the lads I can trust wi' my Charlie!

Follow thee! follow thee ! &c.

Down through the Lowlands, down wi' the Whigamore!
Loyal true Highlanders, down wi' them rarely !
Ronald an' Donald, drive on, wi' the broad claymore,
Over the necks of the foes o' Prince Charlie!

Follow thee! follow thee! wha wadna follow thee?
Lang hast thou loved and trusted us fairly !
Charlie, Charlie, wha wadna follow thee,
King o' the Highland hearts, bonny Prince Charlie ?

THE SKYLARK.

BIRD of the wilderness,

Blithesome and cumberless,

Sweet be thy matin o'er moorland and lea!
Emblem of happiness,

Blest is thy dwelling-place—

O to abide in the desert with thee!

Wild is thy lay and loud,

Far in the downy cloud,

Love gives it energy, love gave it birth.
Where, on thy dewy wing,

Where art thou journeying ?

Thy lay is in heaven, thy love is on earth.

O'er fell and fountain sheen,

O'er moor and mountain green,

O'er the red streamer that heralds the day,
Over the cloudlet dim,

Over the rainbow's rim,

Musical cherub, soar, singing, away!

Then, when the gloaming comes.

Low in the heather blooms

Sweet will thy welcome and bed of love be! Emblem of happiness,

Blest is thy dwelling-place

O to abide in the desert with thee!

GANG TO THE BRAKENS WI' ME.

I'LL sing of yon glen of red heather.
An' a dear thing that ca's it her hame,
Wha's a' made o' love-life thegither,

Frae the tie o' the shoe to the kaime,
Love beckons in every sweet motion,
Commanding due homage to gie;
But the shrine o' my dearest devotion
Is the bend o' her bonny eebree.

I fleech'd an' I pray'd the dear lassie
To gang to the brakens wi' me;
But, though neither lordly nor saucy,
Her answer was-" Laith wad I be!

I neither hae father nor mither,

Sage counsel or caution to gie;
An' prudence has whisper'd me never
To gang to the brakens wi' thee."

Dear lassie, how can ye upbraid me,
An' try your ain love to beguile ?
For ye are the richest young lady

That ever gaed o'er the kirk-stile.