He aye may depend on Macdonald,
Wi's Highlandmen all in a row.
Knees an' elbows an' a',
Elbows an' knees an' a'

Depend upon Donald Macdonald,
His knees an' elbows an' a'.

If Bonapart land at Fort-William,
Auld Europe nae longer shall grane:
I laugh, when I think how we'll gall him
Wi' bullet, wi' steel, an' wi' stane;
Wi' rocks o' the Nevis an' Gairy
We'll rattle him aff frae the shore;
Or lull him asleep in a cairney,

An' sing him Lochaber no more!"
Stanes an' bullets an' a';

Bullets an' stanes an' a'.

We'll finish the Corsican callan,
Wi' stanes an' wi' bullets an' a'.

The Gordon is gude in a hurry,

An' Campbell is steel to the bane; An' Grant, an' Mackenzie, an' Murray, An' Cameron will hurkle to nane; The Stuart is sturdy an' wannle, An' sae is Macleod an' Mackay ; An' I their gudebrither Macdonald, Sal never be last i' the fray, Brogs an' brochen an' a', Brochen an' brogs an' a',

An' up wi' the bonny blue bonnet,
The kilt an' the feather an' a'.

BY A BUSH.

TUNE-Maid that tends the Goats.

By a bush on yonder brae,

Where the airy Benger rises, Sandy tun'd his artless lay;

Thus he sung the lee-lang day :

Thou shalt ever be my theme,

Yarrow, winding down the hollow,
With thy bonny sister stream

Sweeping through the broom so yellow.
On these banks thy waters lave,
Oft the warrior found a grave.

Oft on thee the silent wain

Saw the Douglas' banners streaming
Oft on thee the hunter train

Sought the shelter'd deer in vain ;
Oft, in thy green dells and bowers,
Swains have seen the fairies riding:

Oft the snell and sleety showers
Found in thee the warrior hiding.
Many a wild and bloody scene
On thy bonny banks have been.

Now, the days of discord gane,

Henry's kindness keeps us cheery; While his heart shall warm remain, Dule will beg a hauld in vain. Bloodless now, in many hues

Flow'rets bloom, our hills adorning, There my Jenny milks her ewes, Fresh an' ruddy as the morning: Mary Scot could could ne'er outvie Jenny's hue an' glancing eye.

Wind, my Yarrow, down the howe,
Forming bows o' dazzling silver;

Meet thy titty yont the knowe:
Wi' my love I'll join like you.
Flow, my Etrick, it was thee

Into life wha first did drap me:
Thee I've sung, an' when I dee
Thou wilt lend a sod to hap me,
Passing swains shall say, and weep,
Here our Shepherd lies asleep.

17

THE EMIGRANT.

AIR-Lochaber no more.

MAY morning had shed her red streamers on high, O'er Canada, frowning all pale on the sky;

Still dazzling and white was the robe that she wore, Except where the mountain-wave dash'd on the shore.

Far heav'd the young sun, like a lamp, on the wave And loud scream'd the gull o'er his foam-beaten cave,

When an old lyart swain on a headland stood high, With the staff in his hand, and the tear in his eye His old tartan plaid, and his bonnet so blue, Declar'd from what country his lineage he drew; His visage so wan, and his accents so low, Announc'd the companion of sorrow and woe.

66

Ah, welcome, thou sun, to thy canopy grand, And to me! for thou com'st from my dear native land!

Again dost thou leave that sweet isle of the sea, To beam on these winter-bound vallies and me!

"How sweet in my own native valley to roam! Each face was a friend's, and each house was a home,

To drag our live thousands from river or bay;
Or chase the dun dear o'er the mountains so gray.

Here daily I wander to sigh on the steep;
My old bosom friend was laid low in yon deep;
My family and friends, to extremity drive.,

Contending for life both with earth and with heaven.

66

'My country, they said-but they told me a lieHer vallies were barren, inclement her sky; Even now in the glens, 'mong her mountains so blue,

The primrose and daisy are blooming in dew. How could she expel from those mountains of

health

The clans who maintain'd them in danger and death!

Who ever were ready the broad-sword to draw In defence of her honour, her freedom, and law.

"We stood by our Stuart, till one fatal blow
Loos'd Ruin triumphant, and Valour laid low.
Our chief, whom we trusted, and liv'd but to please,'
Then turn'd us adrift to the storms and the seas.
gratitude! where did'st thou linger the while?
What region afar is illum'd with thy smile?
That orb of the sky for a home will I crave,
When yon sun rises red on the Emigrant's grave."