Than yield up an inch wi' dishonour,
Though it were my finishing blow,
He ay may depend on M'Donald,
Wi' his Heelanders a' in a row:

Knees an' elbows an' a',

Elbows an' knees an a';

Depend upon Donald M'Donald,
His knees an' elbows an' a'!

Wad Bonaparte land at Fort-William,
Auld Europe nae langer should grane;
I laugh when I think how we'd gall him,
Wi' bullet, wi' steel, an' wi' stane;
Wi' rocks o' the Nevis and Garny

We'd rattle him off frae our shore,

Or lull him asleep in a cairny,

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' bullets an' a'!

For the Gordon is good in a hurry,

An' Campbell is steel to the bane,

An' Grant, an' M‘Kenzie, an' Murray,
An' Cameron will hurkle to nane;
The Stuart is sturdy an' loyal,

An' sae is M'Leod an' M'Kay;
An' I, their gudebrither, M'Donald,
Shall ne'er be the last in the fray!
Brogues an' brochin an' a',
Brochin an' brogues an' a';

An' up wi' the bonny blue bonnet,

The kilt an' the feather an' a'!*

* I once heard the above song sung in the theatre at Lancaster, when the singer substituted the following lines of his own for the last verse:

6

For Jock Bull he is good in a hurry,

An' Sawney is steel to the bane,

An' wee Davie Welsh is a widdy,

An' Paddy will hurkle to nane;
They'll a' prove baith sturdy and loyal,
Come dangers around them what may,
An' I, their gudebrither, M‘Donald,

Shall ne'er be the last in the fray!" &c.

It took exceedingly well, and was three times encored, and

there was I sitting in the gallery, applauding as much as any body. My vanity prompted me to tell a jolly Yorkshire manufacturer that night, that I was the author of the song. He laughed excessively at my assumption, and told the landlady that he took me for a half-crazed Scots pedlar.

Another anecdote concerning this song I may mention; and I do it with no little pride, as it is a proof of the popularity of Donald M'Donald among a class, to inspire whom with devotion to the cause of their country was at the time a matter of no little consequence. Happening upon one occasion to be in a wood in Dumfries-shire, through which wood the highroad passed, I heard a voice singing; and a turn of the road soon brought in sight a soldier, who seemed to be either travelling home upon furlough, or returning to his regiment. When the singer approached nearer, I distinguished the notes of my own song of Donald M'Donald. As the lad proceeded with his song, he got more and more into the spirit of the thing, and on coming to the end,

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

in the height of his enthusiasm, he hoisted his cap on the end of his staff, and danced it about triumphantly. I stood ensconced behind a tree, and heard and saw all without being observed.

SCOTIA'S GLENS

Was written the same year with the foregoing, and published in several papers the following year; a feeble attempt to contribute my mite for the defence of my country, the only way that it was in my power. It became popular in India. The original name of the air is "Lord Ballenden's delight" -a fine one, but hard to sing-to be found in some of the old collections.

'MANG Scotia's glens and mountains blue, Where Gallia's lilies never grew,

Where Roman eagles never flew,

Nor Danish lions rallied,

Where skulks the roe in anxious fear,
Where roves the swift an' stately deer,
There live the lads to freedom dear,

By foreign yoke ne'er galled!

There woods grow wild on every hill,
There freemen wander at their will,
And Scotland will be Scotland still,

While hearts so brave defend her!

Fear not, our sovereign Liege, they cry,
We've flourish'd fair beneath thine eye;
For thee we'll fight, for thee we'll die,
Nor aught but life surrender!

Since thou hast watch'd our every need,
And taught our navies wide to spread,
The smallest hair from thy grey head
No foreign foe shall sever;

Thy honour'd age in peace to save,
The sternest enemy we'll brave,

Or stem the fiercest ocean wave,
Nor heart nor hand shall waver!

Though nations join yon tyrant's arm, While Scotia's noble blood runs warm, Our good old man we'll guard from harm, Or fall in heaps around him!