Dark weeds of oblivion shroud many a grave,

Where the unconquer'd foes of the Campbell are lying,

But, long as the grey hairs wave over this brow,

And earthly emotions my spirit are wrapping,
My old heart with tides of regret shall o'erflow,
And bleed for the fall of the Stuarts of Appin!
Oh-hon, an Righ! and the Stuarts of Appin!
The gallant, devoted, old Stuarts of Appin !
Their glory is o'er,

For their star is no more,

And the green grass waves over the heroes of Appin!

V.

THE POOR MAN.

Loose the yett, an' let me in,

Lady wi' the glistening ee,

Dinna let your menial train

Drive an auld man out to dee.

Cauldrife is the winter even,

See, the rime hangs at my chin;

Lady, for the sake of Heaven,
Loose the yett, an' let me in!

Ye shall gain a virgin hue,

Lady, for your courtesye,

Ever beaming, ever new,

Aye to bloom an' ne'er to dee.

Lady, there's a lovely plain

Lies beyond yon setting sun,
There we soon may meet again—
Short the race we hae to run.

S

'Tis a land of love an' light;

Rank or title is not there,
High an' low maun there unite,
Poor man, prince, an' lady fair;
There, what thou on earth hast given,
Doubly shall be paid again!
Lady, for the sake of Heaven,
Loose the yett, an' let me in!

Blessings rest upon thy head,
Lady of this lordly ha'!

That bright tear that thou didst shed
Fell nae down amang the snaw!
It is gane to heaven aboon,

To the fount of charitye;

When thy days on earth are done,
That blest drop shall plead for thee.

THE WOMEN FO'K.

O SAIRLY may I rue the day

I fancied first the womenkind; For aye sinsyne I ne'er can can hae Ae quiet thought or peace o' mind! They hae plagued my heart an' pleased my ee, An' teased an' flatter'd me at will,

But aye, for a' their witcherye,

The pawky things I lo'e them still.

O the women fo'k! O the women fo'k!

But they hae been the wreck o' me;

O weary fa' the women fo'k,

For they winna let a body be!

I hae thought an' thought, but darena tell,
I've studied them wi' a' my skill,

I've lo'ed them better than mysell,
I've tried again to like them ill.
Wha sairest strives, will sairest rue,

To comprehend what nae man can ;
When he has done what man can do,
He'll end at last where he began.
O the women fo'k, &c.

That they hae gentle forms an' meet,
A man wi' half a look may see;
An' gracefu' airs, an' faces sweet,
An' waving curls aboon the bree;
An' smiles as soft as the young rose-bud,
An' een sae pawky, bright, an' rare,
Wad lure the laverock frae the cludd-
But, laddie, seek to ken nae mair!
O the women fo'k, &c.

Even but this night nae farther gane,
The date is neither lost nor lang,

I tak ye witness ilka ane,

How fell they fought, and fairly dang. Their point they've carried right or wrang, Without a reason, rhyme, or law,

An' forced a man to sing a sang,

That ne'er could sing a verse ava.

O the women fo'k! O the women fo'k !

But they hae been the wreck o' me;

O weary fa' the women fo'k,

For they winna let a body be!

M'LEAN'S WELCOME.

COME o'er the stream, Charlie,
Dear Charlie, brave Charlie ;
Come o'er the stream, Charlie,
And dine with M'Lean;
And though you be weary,
We'll make your heart cheery,
And welcome our Charlie,

And his loyal train.

We'll bring down the track deer,
We'll bring down the black steer,
The lamb from the braken,
And doe from the glen,

The salt sea we'll harry,
And bring to our Charlie

The cream from the bothy
And curd from the pen.

Come o'er the stream, Charlie,
Dear Charlie, brave Charlie;
Come o'er the sea, Charlie,

And dine with M'Lean;
And you shall drink freely
The dews of Glen-sheerly,
That stream in the starlight
When kings do not ken.

And deep be your meed
Of the wine that is red,

To drink to your sire,

And his friend the M'Lean.

Come o'er the stream, Charlie,
Dear Charlie, brave Charlie;
Come o'er the stream, Charlie,
And dine with M'Lean;

If aught will invite you,

Or more will delight you,

'Tis ready, a troop of our bold Highlandmen,

All ranged on the heather,

With bonnet and feather,

Strong arms and broad claymores,

Three hundred and ten!

THE MAID OF THE SEA.

COME from the sea,

Maiden to me,

Maiden of mystery, love, and pain!
Wake from thy sleep,

Low in the deep,

Over thy green waves sport again!

Come to this sequester'd spot, love,

Death's where thou art, as where thou art not, love; Then come unto me,

Maid of the Sea,

Rise from the wild and stormy main;

Wake from thy sleep,

Calm in the deep,

Over thy green waves sport again!

Is not the wave

Made for the slave,