CULLODEN, on thy swarthy brow

Spring no wild flowers or verdure fair: Thou feel'st not summer's genial glow More than the freezing wintry air;

For once thou drank'st the hero's blood, And War's unhallowed footsteps bore,

The deeds unholy nature view'd,

Then fled and curs'd thee evermore.

From Beauty's wild and woodland glen

How proudly Lovat's banners soar! How fierce the plaided Highland clan

Rush onward with the broad claymore; How hearts that high with honor heaves, The volleying thunder there laid low, Or scattered like the forest leaves

When wintry winds begin to blow.

Where now thy banners, brave Lochiel? The braided plumes torn from thy brow, What must thy haughty spirit feel

When skulking like the mountain roe? What wild birds chant from Lochy's bowers On April's eve their loves and joys? The Lord of Lochy's loftiest towers To foreign lands an exile flies.

To his blue hills that rose in view,
As o'er the deep his galley bore,
He often look'd and cried "Adieu,"
I ne'er shall see Lochaber more!
Though now thy wounds I cannot heal,
My dear, my injur'd native land!

In other climes, thy foe shall feel

The weight of Cameron's deadly brand.

Land of proud hearts and mountains gray, Where Fingal fought and Ossian sung,

Mourn dark Culloden's fateful day,

That from thy chiefs the laurel wrung,
Where once they rul'd and roamed at will,
Free as their own dark mountain game,
Their sons are slaves, yet keenly feel
A longing for their fathers' fame.

Shades of the mighty and the brave,
Who, faithful to your Stuart, fell-
No trophies mark your common grave,
No dirges to your mem'ry swell;

But generous hearts will weep your fate,
When far has roll'd the tide of time,
And lands unborn shall renovate

Your fading fame in loftiest rhyme.

THE COVEKAUTER'S SCAFFOLD SONG.

SING with me! sing with me!
Weeping brethren, sing with me!
For now an open heaven I see,
And a crown of glory laid for me.
How my soul this earth despises !
How my heart and spirit rises!

Bounding from the flesh I sever! World of sin, adieu forever!

Sing with me! sing with me!
Friends in Jesus, sing with me!
All my sufferings, all my woe,
All my griefs, I here forego.
Farewell terrors, sighing, grieving,
Praying, hearing, and believing,
Earthly trust and all its wrongings,
Earthly love and all its longings.

Sing with me! sing with me!
Blessed spirits, sing with me!
To the Lamb our songs shall be,
Through a glad eternity!

Farewell earthly morn and even,
Sun and moon and stars of heaven;

Heavenly portals ope before me,

Welcome, Christ, in all his glory!

ROBERT TANNAHILL.

1774-1810.

ROBERT TANNAHILL, a lyrical poet of superior order, whose songs rival all but Burns' best in popularity, was a native of Paisley. His education was limited, but he was a diligent reader and student. He was early sent to the loom, weaving being the staple trade of Paisley, and continued to follow his occupation in his native village until his twenty-sixth year, when he removed to Lancashire. There he remained two years, till the declining state of his father's health induced him to return home.

Whilst delighting all classes of his countrymen with his native songs, the poet fell into a state of morbid despondency, aggravated by bodily weakness, and a tendency to consumption. He had prepared a new edition of his poems for the press, and sent the MS. to Mr. Constable the publisher; but it was returned by that gentleman, in consequence of his having more new works on hand than he could undertake that season. His disappointment preyed on the spirits of the sensitive poet, and his melancholy became deep and habitual. He burned all his MS. and sunk into a state of mental derangement. Returning from a visit to Glasgow on the 17th May, 1810, the unhappy poet retired to rest; but suspicion having been excited, in about an hour afterwards it was discovered that he had stolen out unperceived. Search was made in every direction, and by the dawn of the morning the coat of the poet was discovered lying at the side of a neighboring stream, pointing out too surely where his body was to be found.

His lamentable death arose from no want or irregularity, but was solely caused by that morbid disease of the mind, which at last overthrew his reason.