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See how they wane, the proud files of the Windermere, Howard-Ah! woe to thy hopes of the day!
Hear the wide welkin rend,
While the Scots' shouts ascend, « Elliot of Lariston, Elliot for aye !"
Her form was the fairest o' Nature's design,
And her soul was as pure as her face was divine.
Ab, Love ! 'tis a shame that a model so true,
By thee should be melted and moulded anew.
The little pale flow'rets blush deep for thy blame;
The fringe o' the daisy is purple wi’ shame;
The heath-breeze, that kisses the cheeks o' the free,
Has a tint of the mellow soft-breathings of thee.
Of all the wild wasters of glee and of hue,
And eyes that have depths o' the ocean of blue,
Love, thou art the chief! And a shame upon thee,
For this deed thou hast done to young Appie MʻGie.
THE GATHERING OF THE CLANS.
This Jacobite ballad is likewise harmonized by Bishop, in the Select Melodies, but was originally composed to the popular Irish air, “ St Patrick's Day in the Morning."
There's news come ower the Highlands yestreen
Will soon gar bonnets an' broadswords keen,
An' philabegs short an' tartans green,
Shine over the shore in the morning.
He comes, he comes, our spirits to cheer,
To cherish the land he holds so dear,
To banish the reaver,
The base deceiver,
And raise the fame of the clans for ever :
Our Prince's array
Is in Moidart bay,
Come, raise the clamour
Of bagpipes' yamour,
And join our loved Prince in the morning.
Come, brave Lochiel, the honour be thine,
The first in loyal array to shine ;
If bold Clan-Ranald and thee combine,
Then who dares remain in the morning ?
Glengarry will stand with arm of steel,
And Keppoch is blood from head to heel;
The Whiggers o' Sky may gang to the deil,
When Connal and Donald,
And gallant Clan-Ranald,
Are all in array,
And hasting away
To welcome their Prince in the morning.
The Appin will come while coming is good,
The stern MʻIntosh is of trusty blood,
M‘Kenzie and Fraser
Will come at their leisure,
The Whiggers of Sutherland scorning;
The Atholmen keen as fire from steel,
M‘Pherson for Charlie will battle the deil,
The hardy Clan-Donnoch
Is up in the Rannoch,
Unawed by the pride of haughty Argyle,
And lordly Drummond
Is belted, and coming
To join his loved Prince in the morning.
Come all that are true men, steel to the bane, Come all that reflect on the days that are gane, Come all that bae breeks and all that hae nane,
And all that are bred unto sorning-
Come Moidart and Moy, MʻGun and M‘Craw,
M'Dugalds, M‘Donalds, M-Devils, an'a',
M‘Duffs an' M' Dumpies,
MʻLeods an' MʻLumpies,
With claymores gleaming,
And standards streaming,
Come, swift as the roe,
For weel or for woe,