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They wan the day wi' Wallace wight;

They were the lords o' the south countrie; Cheer up your hearts, brave cavaliers,

Till the gallant Grahams come o'er the sea. At the Gouk head, where their camp was set, They rade the white horse and the gray, A' glancing in their plated armor, As the gowd shines in a summer's day. But woe to Hacket, and Strachan baith, And ever an ill death may they die, For they betrayed the gallant Grahams, That aye were true to majesty.

Now fare ye weel, sweet Ennerdale,

Baith kith and kin that I could name; Oh, I would sell my silken snood

To see the gallant Grahams come hame.

ANONYMOUS.

Kenmure's On and Awa.

Он, Kenmure's on and awa, Willie!
Oh, Kenmure's on and awa!

And Kenmure's lord's the bravest lord
That ever Galloway saw.

Success to Kenmure's band, Willie!

Success to Kenmure's band;

There's no a heart that fears a whig

That rides by Kenmure's hand.

Here's Kenmure's health in wine, Willie !
Here's Kenmure's health in wine;

There ne'er was a coward o' Kenmure's blude,

Nor yet o' Gordon's line.

Oh, Kenmure's lads are men,

Willie !

Oh, Kenmure's lads are men; Their hearts and swords are metal true And that their faes shall ken. They'll live or die wi' fame, Willie ! They'll live or die wi' fame; But soon, wi' sounding victorie, May Kenmure's lord come hame. Here's him that's far awa, Willie ! Here's him that's far awa; And here's the flower that I love bestThe rose that's like the snaw.

ROBERT BURNS.

Here's a Health to Them that's Awa. HERE'S a health to them that's awa,

And here's to them that's awa; And wha winna wish guid luck to our cause, May never guid luck be their fa'! It's guid to be merry and wise, It's guid to be honest and true, It's guid to support Caledonia's cause, And bide by the buff and the blue.

Here's a health to them that's awa,

And here's to them that's awa;

Here's a health to Charlie, the chief o' the clan, Altho' that his band be sma'.

May Liberty meet wi' success!

May Prudence protect her fra evil!

May tyrants and tyranny tine in the mist,

And wander their way to the devil!

Here's a health to them that's awa,

And here's to them that's awa;

Here's a health to Tammie, the Norland laddie, That lives at the lug o' the law!

Here's freedom to him that wad read,

Here's freedom to him that wad write!

Weep, Albin! to death and captivity led —
Oh weep! but thy tears cannot number the dead;

There's nane ever feared that the truth should be For a merciless sword on Culloden shall wave,

heard

But they wham the truth wad indite.

Here's a health to them that's awa,

And here's to them that's awa;

Culloden that reeks with the blood of the brave.

LOCHIEL.

Go, preach to the coward, thou death-telling seer!
Or, if gory Culloden so dreadful appear,

Here's Maitland and Wycombe, and wha does na Draw, dotard, around thy old wavering sight like 'em

We'll build in a hole o' the wa'.

Here's timmer that's red at the heart,

Here's fruit that's sound at the core!

May he that would turn the buff and blue coat Be turned to the back o' the door.

Here's a health to them that's awa,

And here's to them that's awa; Here's Chieftain M'Leod, a chieftain worth gowd, Though bred amang mountains o' snaw!

Here's friends on baith sides o' the Forth,

And friends on baith sides o' the Tweed; And wha would betray old Albion's rights, May they never eat of her bread!

ROBERT BURNS.

Lochiel's Warning.

WIZARD. LOCHIEL.

WIZARD.

LOCHIEL, Lochiel! beware of the day
When the Lowlands shall meet thee in battle array!
For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight,
And the clans of Culloden are scattered in fight.
They rally, they bleed, for their kingdom and
crown;

Woe, woe to the riders that trample them down!
Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain,
And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain.
But hark! through the fast-flashing lightning of

war

What steed to the desert flies frantic and far?
"Tis thine, oh Glenullin! whose bride shall await,
Like a love-lighted watch-fire, all night at the
gate.

A steed comes at morning: no rider is there;
But its bridle is red with the sign of despair.

This mantle, to cover the phantoms of fright.

WIZARD.

Ha! laugh'st thou, Lochiel, my vision to scorn? Proud bird of the mountain, thy plume shall be torn!

Say, rushed the bold eagle exultingly forth From his home in the dark rolling clouds of the north?

Lo! the death-shot of foemen outspeeding, he rode Companionless, bearing destruction abroad;

But down let him stoop from his havoc on high! Ah! home let him speed, for the spoiler is nigh. Why flames the far summit? Why shoot to the blast

Those embers, like stars from the firmament cast? "Tis the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven From his eyrie, that beacons the darkness of heaven.

O crested Lochiel! the peerless in might,
Whose banners arise on the battlements' height,
Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to

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BORDER BALLAD.

When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd, Clanronald the dauntless, and Moray the proud, All plaided and plumed in their tartan array

WIZARD.

Lochiel, Lochiel! beware of the day; For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal, But man cannot cover what God would reveal;

"Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, And coming events cast their shadows before. I tell thee, Culloden's dread echoes shall ring With the bloodhounds that bark for thy fugitive king.

Lo! anointed by heaven with the vials of wrath, Behold, where he flies on his desolate path!

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Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low,
With his back to the field, and his feet to the foe!
And, leaving in battle no blot on his name,
Look proudly to heaven from the death-bed of
fame.

THOMAS CAMPBELL.

Border Ballad.

MARCH, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale!

Why the de'il dinna ye march forward in order?

March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale!

All the Blue Bonnets are over the Border!
Many a banner spread
Flutters above your head,

Now in darkness and billows he sweeps from my Many a crest that is famous in story!— sight:

Rise, rise! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight! 'Tis finished. Their thunders are hushed on the

moors;

Culloden is lost, and my country deplores.

But where is the iron-bound prisoner? where?
For the red eye of battle is shut in despair.
Say, mounts he the ocean-wave, banished, for-

lorn,

Like a limb from his country cast bleeding and torn?

Ah no! for a darker departure is near;

The war-drum is muffled and black is the bier;
His death-bell is tolling. Oh! mercy, dispel
Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell!
Life flutters convulsed in his quivering limbs,
And his blood-streaming nostril in agony swims.
Accursed be the fagots that blaze at his feet,
Where his heart shall be thrown ere it ceases to
beat,

With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale

LOCHIEL.

Down, soothless insulter! I trust not the tale!

For never shall Albin a destiny meet

So black with dishonor, so foul with retreat. Though my perishing ranks should be strewed in

their gore,

Like ocean-weeds heaped on the surf-beaten shore,
Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains,
While the kindling of life in his bosom remains,

Mount and make ready, then,
Sons of the mountain glen,

Fight for the queen and our old Scottish glory!

Come from the hills where your hirsels are grazing;

Come from the glen of the buck and the roe; Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing; Come with the buckler, the lance, and the bow. Trumpets are sounding; War-steeds are bounding; Stand to your arms, and march in good order, England shall many a day

Tell of the bloody fray, When the Blue Bonnets came over the Border. SIR WALTER SCOTT.

Pibroch of Wonuil Whu.

PIBROCH of Donuil Dhu,

Pibroch of Donuil,
Wake thy wild voice anew,
Summon Clan-Conuil!
Come away, come away—

Hark to the summons!
Come in your war array,

Gentles and commons.

Come from deep glen, and

From mountain so rocky; The war-pipe and pennon Are at Inverlochy.

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"Dark night came on; the tempest howled
Out owre the hills and valleys;
And where was't that your prince lay down,
Whose hame should be a palace?
He rowed him in a Highland plaid,
Which covered him but sparely,
And slept beneath a bush o' broom
Oh! wae's me for Prince Charlie!"
But now the bird saw some red coats,
And he shook his wings wi' anger:
"Oh! this is no a land for me-
I'll tarry here nae langer."

A while he hovered on the wing,
Ere he departed fairly;

But weel I mind the farewell strain,
"Twas "Wae's me for Prince Charlie!"

WILLIAM GLEN.

Wae's Me for Prince Charlie.

A WEE bird came to our ha' door;
He warbled sweet and clearly;
And aye the o'ercome o' his sang

Was "Wae's me for Prince Charlie!" Oh! when I heard the bonny, bonny bird, The tears came drapping rarely;

I took my bonnet aff my head,

For weel I lo'ed Prince Charlie.

Quoth I: "My bird, my bonnie, bonnie bird,
Is that a tale ye borrow?

Or is 't some words ye've learned by rote,
Or a lilt o' dool and sorrow?"

Hame, Hame, Hame!

HAME, hame, hame! oh hame I fain would be!
Oh hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!
When the flower is i' the bud and the leaf is on
the tree,

The lark shall sing me hame to my ain countrie.
Hame, hame, hame! oh hame I fain would be!
Oh hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!

The green leaf o' loyaltie's beginning now to fa';
The bonnie white rose, it is withering an' a';
But we'll water it wi' the bluid of usurping tyrannie,
And fresh it shall blaw in my ain countrie!
Hame, hame, hame! oh hame I fain would be!
Oh hame, hame, hame, to my ain countrie!

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