An' the little wee bit starn

Rises red in the east,

O there's a joy sae dear,

That the heart can hardly frame,
Wi' a bonny, bonny lassie,

When the kye comes hame!

When the kye comes hame, &c.

Then since all nature joins
In this love without alloy,

O, wha wad prove a traitor
To Nature's dearest joy?
Or wha wad choose a crown,
Wi' its perils and its fame,

And miss his bonny lassie

When the kye comes hame ?

When the kye comes hame,

When the kye comes hame,

'Tween the gloaming and the mirk,

When the kye comes hame !*

The Shepherd afterwards gave the following version of this very beautiful song:

Come all ye jolly shepherds that whistle through the glen,
I'll tell ye of a secret that courtiers dinna ken:

What is the greatest bliss that the tongue o' man can name?
'Tis to woo a bonnie lassie, when the kye come hame.

CHORUS.

When the kye come hame, when the kye come hame,
'Tween the gloamin and the mirk, when the kye come hame,

"Tis not beneath the burgonet, nor yet beneath the crown,
'Tis not on couch of velvet nor yet in bed of down-
'Tis beneath the spreading birch, in the dell without a name,
Wi' a bonnie, bonnie lassie, when the kye come hame.

LENACHAN'S FAREWELL.

Alexander Stuart of Lenachan was a man of gigantic strength, and an officer of the regiment of Appin. He was obliged to make his escape to America, several years subsequent to the Forty-five, to elude the vengeance of the Campbells.

FARE thee weel, my native cot,
Bothy o' the birken-tree !

Sair the heart an' hard the lot
O' the man that parts wi' thee !
My good grandsire's hand thee rear'd-
Then thy wicker-work was full;
Many a Campbell's glen he clear'd,
Hit the buck, an' hough'd the bull.

In thy green and grassy crook

Mair lies hid than crusted stanes;

In thy bein and weirdly nook

Lie some stout Clan-Gillian banes.
Thou wert aye the kinsman's hame—
Routh and welcome was his fare;

Then the eye shines so bright, the hale soul to beguile,
There's love in every whisper, and joy in every smile.
O, wha wad choose a crown, wi' its perils and its fame,
And miss a bonnie lassie, when the kye come hame.

See yonder pawkie shepherd, that lingers on the hill,
His ewes are in the fauld, and his lambs are lying still:
Yet he downa gang to bed, for his heart is in a flame
To meet his bonnie lassie, when the kye come hame.

Awa' wi' fame and fortune-what comfort can they gi'e?-
And a' the arts that prey upon man's life and liberty:
Gi'e me the highest joy that the heart o' man can frame--
My bonnie, bonnie lassie, when the kye come hame!

But if serf or Saxon came,

He cross'd Murich's hirst nae mair!

Never hand in thee yet bred

Kendnae how the sword to wield
Never heart of thine had dread
Of the foray or the field!
Ne'er on straw, mat, bulk, or bed,
Son of thine lay down to dee;
Every lad within thee bred

Died beneath heaven's open ee!

Charlie Stuart he came here

For our king, as right became ; Wha could shun the Bruce's heir, Or desert his royal name?

Firm to stand and free to fa',

Forth we march'd right valiantlie

Gane is Scotland's king and law,

And wo to Appin and to me !

Freeman yet, I'll scorn to fret ;
Here nae langer I maun stay,
But when I my hame forget,

May my heart forget to play!
Fare thee weel, my father's cot,
Bothy o' the birken-tree !

Sair the heart and hard the lot

O' the warrior leaving thee!

THE STUARTS OF APPIN.

No national calamity has ever given me so much pain as the total bereavment of the brave Clans who stood to the last for the cause of the House of Stuart. It is a stain on the annals of our Legislature which can never be blotted out.

I SING of a land that was famous of yore,

The land of Green Appin, the ward of the flood,
Where every grey cairn that broods o'er the shore,
Marks grave of the royal, the valiant, or good.
The land where the strains of grey Ossian were framed,—
The land of fair Selma, and reign of Fingal,—
And late of a race, that with tears must be named,
The noble Clan Stuart, the bravest of all.

Oh-hon, an Righ! and the Stuarts of Appin!
The gallant, devoted, old Stuarts of Appin!
Their glory is o'er,

For the clan is no more,

And the Sassenach sings on the hills of green Appin.

In spite of the Campbells, their might and renown,
And all the proud files of Glenorchy and Lorn,
While one of the Stuarts held claim on the crown,
His banner full boldly by Appin was borne.
And ne'er fell the Campbells in check or trepan,
In all their Whig efforts their power to renew,
But still on the Stuarts of Appin they ran,

To wreak their proud wrath on the brave and the few.
Oh-hon, an Righ! and the Stuarts of Appin, &c.

In the year of the Graham, while in oceans of blood The fields of the Campbells were gallantly flowing—

It was then that the Stuarts the foremost still stood, And paid back a share of the debt they were owing. O, proud Inverlochy! O, day of renown!

Since first the sun rose o'er the peaks of Cruachin, Was ne'er such an host by such valour o'erthrown, Was ne'er such a day for the Stuarts of Appin ! Oh-hon, an Righ, and the Stuarts of Appin, &c.

And ne'er for the crown of the Stuarts was fought
One battle on vale, or on mountain deer-trodden,
But dearly to Appin the glory was bought,

And dearest of all on the field of Culloden !
Lament, O, Glen-Creran, Glen-Duror, Ardshiel,
High offspring of heroes, who conquer'd were never,
For the deeds of your fathers no bard shall reveal,
And the bold clan of Stuart must perish for ever!
Oh-hon, an Righ! and the Stuarts of Appin, &c.

Clan-Chattan is broken, the Seaforth bends low,

The sun of Clan-Ranald is sinking in labour; Glencoe, and Clan-Donnachie, where are they now?

And where is bold Keppoch, the lord of Lochaber? All gone with the house they supported!-laid low, While dogs of the south their bold life-blood were lapping,

Trod down by a proud and a merciless foe

The brave are all gone with the Stuarts of Appin! Oh-hon, an Righ! and the Stuarts of Appin,

&c.

They are gone! they are gone! the redoubted, the brave!

The sea-breezes lone o'er their relics are sighing,