HONEST DUNCAN. Now wha is yon comes o'er the knowe, "Now wha are ye wi' tartan trews? "An honest man in Athol glen! From words, the blows began to pass; Wi' a' his faes aboon him. But soon he rais'd his dusty brow, Then he ran here, an' he ran there, His Highland durk, an' heavy licks, Soon taught them wha they strove wi'; An' he brought part o' a' their breeks To Scotland for a trophy. "Now, you at nakit doups may laugh, Pe mony lad in Athol glen Will join you like a brither; But should you laugh at Highlandmen, PRINCE OWEN AND THE SEER. To an old Welsh Air. "O SAY, mighty Owen, why beams thy bright eye? And why shakes thy plume, when the winds are so still? What means the loud blast of the bugle so nigh? And the wild warlike music I hear on the hill ?" "We are free, thou old Seer; the Britons are free! Our foes have all fallen, or shrunk from our view; And free as the bird of the mountain are we, The roe of the forest, or fish of the sea. My country! my brethren! my joy is for you, My country! my brethren! my country! my brethren! My country! my brethren! my joy is for you." "Brave Owen! my old heart is fired by thine! My dim eyes they glisten like tears of the morn. Thy valour us guarded; thy wisdom us warded The danger that threaten'd to lay us forlorn. And when you and I have sunk into our graves! When ages o'er ages, Time's standard shall rear; When the bards have forgot o'er our ashes to weep; When they scarcely can point out the place where we sleep : That freedom shall flourish we've purchas'd so dear; That freedom shall flourish, &c. "The Arm that created our shores and our glens, Design'd they unconquer'd should ever remain ; That Power, who inspir'd the hearts of our clans, Design'd them, inviolate, their rights to main tain. Our castle, the mountain; our bulwark, the wave; The courage and jealousy, buckler and shield; We'll laugh at the force of the world combin'd, And oppression shall fly like the cloud in the wind. But the isles and the ocean to Britain must yield; The isles and the ocean; the isles and the ocean, The isles and the ocean to Britons must yield.' HIGHLAND LADDIE. "WERE ye at Drummossie moor, "Yes, I have seen that fatal fray, "Many a lord of high degree, Bonny laddie, Highland laddie, "What could the remnant do but yield, Bonny laddie, Highland laddie; "O may it prove for Scotland's good! |