Of mountain heath and moorland thyme, How wildly sweet is the minstrel's lay, But unless there be love in the heart within, FAREWELL TO GLEN-SHALLOCH. FAREWELL to Glen-Shalloch. A farewell for ever! Farewell to my wee cot That stands by the river! The fall is loud sounding I saw her last night, 'Mid the rocks that enclose them, With a child at her knee, And a child at her bosom : I heard her sweet voice 'Mid the depth of my slumber, And the sang that she sung Was of sorrow and cumber. 66 Sleep sound, my sweet babe, There is nought to alarm thee; The sons of the valley No power have to harm thee! I'll sing thee to rest In the balloch untrodden, With a coronach sad For the slain of Culloden ! "The brave were betray'd, And the tyrant is daring Thy mother no voice has, No word, sign, or song, But the lesson of vengeance! "I'll tell thee, my son, How our laurels are withering; I'll bind on thy sword When the clansmen are gathering; I'll bid thee go forth In the cause of true honour, And never return Till thy country hath won her! "Our tower of devotion Is the house of the reaver; The pride of the ocean Is fallen for ever! The pride of the forest, That time could not weaken, Is trod in the dust, And its honours are shaken! "Rise, spirits of yore, Ever dauntless in danger! CALEDONIA. CALEDONIA! thou land of the mountain and rock, Though bare are thy cliffs, and though barren thy glens, Yet kind are the hearts, and undaunted the clans, A foe from abroad, or a tyrant at home, The muses have left all the vales of the south, Sweet land of the bay and the wild-winding deeps, Where loveliness slumbers at even, While far in the depth of the blue water sleeps Thou land of the valley, the moor, and the hill, THE LAIRD O' LAMINGTON. CAN I bear to part wi' thee, Can I bear to part wi' thee, Drunken Laird o' Lamington? Canty war ye o'er your kale, Toddy jugs, an' caups o' ale, Heart aye kind, an' leel, an' hale, He that swears is but so so, He that lies to hell must go, He that falls in bagnio, Falls in the devil's frying-pan. The Honest Laird o' Lamington. He that cheats can ne'er be just; He that drinks to drauck his dust, Wha can say that wrang is done? I like a man to tak' his glass, Deil send him ane to gallop on! THE SOUTERS O' SELKIRK. UP wi' the Souters o' Selkirk, The sons of an auld pedigree ! An' up wi' the lads o' the Forest, Renown'd for their leal loyalte ! I may be mista’en, but I carena, My error I never shall rue; Of all manly virtues I value The heart that is loyal and true. Sing umptidy-tumptidy tearhim, &c. Let them brag o' their factious republics, Has got the best blessing on earth. |