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He sees this waefu' reaving,

The rage o' dastard knave, He saw our deeds of bravery,

And He'll reward the brave.
Though all we had was given

For loyalty an' faith,
I still had hopes that Heaven

Would right the hero's skaith.

The day is dawn'd in heaven

For which we a' thought lang; The good, the just, is given

To right our nation's wrang. My ain dear Auchnacarry,

I hae thought lang for thee; O sing to your harp, my Mary,

An' sound its bonniest key!


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Is a trivial song, written a simple Gaelic air of a cross

It is harmonized by Smith.


OH-Hon, oh righ ! there's something wanting,

Oh-hon, oh righ! I'm weary;
For nae young, blithe, or bonny lad

Comes o'er the knowe to cheer me.

When the day

Wears away,

Sad I look adown the valley;

Ilka sound

Wi' a stound

Sets my heart a-thrilling.

When I see the plover rising,

Or the curlew wheeling, Then I trow some bonny lad Is coming to my shieling.

Why should I

Sit and sigh, While the greenwood blooms sae bonny ?

Laverocks sing,

Flowerets springA' but me are cheery.

My wee cot is blest and happy

O'tis neat and cleanly!

Sweet the brier that blooms beside

Kind the heart that's lanely!

Come away,

Dinna stay

Herd, or hind, or boatman laddie

I hae now

Kid an' ewe,

Goud an' gear to gain ye.

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Is one of those Jacobite things, relating to the persecuted state
of the Highlanders after the slaughter at Culloden, of which
I have written so many. The air is originally to be found in
Captain Frazer's collection, but is well harmonized by Mr
Dewar in the Border Garland, last edition.

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“ WHERE has your daddy gone, my little May ?
Where has our lady been a' the lang day?
Saw you the red-coats rank on the ha' green ?
Or heard you the horn on the mountain yestreen ?”
“ Auld carle greybeard, ye speer na at me,
Gae speer at the maiden that sits by the sea;
The red-coats were here, and it wasna for good,
For the raven’s grown hoarse wi’ the waughtin' o' blood.

“ O listen, auld carle, how roopit his note,
The blood o’the Frazer's too hot for his throat;

I trow the black traitor's of Sassenach breed,
They prey on the living, and he on the dead.
When I was a baby, we call’d him in joke
The harper of Errick, the priest of the rock;
But now he's our mountain companion no more,
The slave of the Saxon, the quaffer of gore.”

“ Sweet little maiden, why talk you of death ?
The raven's our friend, and he's croaking in wrath ;
He will not pick eye from a bonneted head,
Nor mar the loved form by the tartans that's clad.
But point me the cliff where the Frazer abides,
Where Foyers, Culduthel, and Gorthaleg hides ;
There's danger at hand, I must speak with them soon,
And seek them alone by the light of the moon.”

“ Auld carle greybeard, a friend you should be,
For the truth's on your lip and the tear in your ee;
Then seek in yon correi, that sounds from the brae,
An' sings to the rock when the breeze is away.
I sought them last night with the haunch of the deer,
And deep in their cave they were hiding in fea

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