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M'LEAN'S WELCOME.

I VERSIFIED this song at Meggernie Castle, in Glen-Lyon, from a scrap of prose said to be the translation, verbatim, of a Gaelic song, and to a Gaelic air, sung by one of the sweetest singers and most accomplished and angelic beings of the human race. But, alas ! earthly happiness is not always the lot of those who, in our erring estimation, most deserve it. She is now no more, and many a strain have I poured to her memory. The air is arranged by Smith. See the Scottish Minstrel

COME o'er the stream, Charlie,
Dear Charlie, brave Charlie ;
Come o'er the stream, Charlie,

And dine with MʻLean;
And though you be weary,
We'll make your heart cheery,
And welcome our Charlie,

And his loyal train.
We'll bring down the track deer,
We'll bring down the black steer,

The lamb from the braken,

And doe from the glen, The salt sea we'll harry, And bring to our Charlie The cream from the bothy

And curd from the pen.

Come o'er the stream, Charlie, Dear Charlie, brave Charlie ; Come o'er the sea, Charlie,

And dine with M‘Lean;
And you shall drink freely
The dews of Glen-sheerly,
That stream in the starlight

When kings do not ken,
And deep be your meed
Of the wine that is red,
To drink to your sire,

And his friend the M'Lean.

Come o'er the stream, Charlie, Dear Charlie, brave Charlie ;

Come o'er the stream, Charlie,

And dine with M‘Lean;

If aught will invite you,

Or more will delight you, 'Tis ready, a troop of our bold Highlandmen,

All ranged on the heather,
With bonnet and feather,
Strong arms and broad claymores,

Three hundred and ten!

THE MAID OF THE SEA

Is one of the many songs which Moore caused me to cancel, for nothing that I know of, but because they ran counter to his.

It is quite natural and reasonable that an author should claim a copyright of a sentiment; but it never struck me that it could be so exclusively his, as that another had not a right to contradict it. This, however, seems to be the case in the London law ; for true it is that my songs were cancelled, and the public may now judge on what grounds, by comparing them with Mr Moore's. I have neither forgot nor forgiven it; and I have a great mind to force him to cancel Lalla Rookh for stealing it wholly from the Queen's Wake, which is so apparent in the plan, that every London judge will give it in my favour, although he ventured only on the character of one accomplished bard, and I on seventeen. He had better have let my few trivial songs alone.--It was once set to music by Smith.

Come from the sea,

Maiden, to me,
Maiden of mystery, love, and pain !

Wake from thy sleep,

Low in the deep,
Over thy green waves sport again!

Come to this sequester'd spot, love, Death's where thou art, as where thou art not, love;

Then come unto me,

Maid of the Sea,
Rise from the wild and stormy main ;

Wake from thy sleep,

Calm in the deep,
Over thy green waves sport again !

Is not the wave

Made for the slave,

Tyrant's chains, and stern control;

Land for the free

Spirit like thee?
Thing of delight to a minstrel's soul,
Come, with thy song of love and of sadness,
Beauty of face and rapture of madness;

O, come unto me,

Maid of the Sea,
Rise from the wild and surging main;

Wake from thy sleep,

Calm in the deep,
Over thy green waves sport again !

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