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Come like a cobler, Donald M'Gillavry,
Come like a cobler, Donald M‘Gillavry;
Bore them, an' yerk them, an' lingel them cleverly-
Up wi' King James an' Donald MʻGillavry !

Donald was mumpit wi' mirds and mockery,
Donald was blindit wi' bladds o' property;
Arles ran high, but makings war naething, man;
Gudeness, how Donald is flyting an' fretting, man !
Come like the deevil, Donald MʻGillavry,
Come like the deevil, Donald M'Gillavry;
Skelp them an' scadd them pruved sae unbritherly-
Up wi' King James an' Donald M Gillavry!


Is another of the proscription list; but here, let them turn the blue bonnet wha can. Our forefathers had cried down songs, which all men and women were strictly prohibited from singing, such as “ O'er Boggie,” and “ The wee Cock Chicken,” &c., because Auld Nick was a proficient at playing them on the pipes. The London people have done the same with a number of mine ; but I hereby cry them up again, and request every good singer in Britain and Ireland, and the East Indies, to sing the following song with full birr to the sweet air, “ Maid of the valley."- It was set by Smith, but the edition was burnt.

O’ER the ocean bounding,

Other lands surrounding,
Love, I will think of thee!

Though new skies me cover,

And other stars shine over,
Yet thou art still with me.

When, at morn or even,
Low I kneel to Heaven,

Be my sins forgiven As my love shall be !

When my hopes are dearest,

And my soul sincerest, Then I remember thee!

Thee, my soul's sole pleasure,

Thee, its dearest treasure, Life, health, all to me.

All of land or ocean,

All a world's commotion,

Knits me the more to thee.

When new passions move me,
When I cease to love thee,

May the heavens above me,
Chasten my perfidy!

Even in woe and cumber,

Even in death's last slumber, I will remember thee!


ALTERED from the original, at the request of a lady who sung it sweetly--and published in the Jacobite Relics.

'Twas on a Monday morning,

Right early in the year,
That Charlie came to our town,
The Young Chevalier.
An' Charlie is my darling,

My darling, my darling,
Charlie is my darling,

The Young Chevalier.

As Charlie he came up the gate,

His face shone like the day;
I grat to see the lad come back
That bad been lang away.
An' Charlie is my darling, &e.


Then ilka bonny lassie sang,

As to the door she ran,
Our king shall hae his ain again,
An' Charlie is the man:

For Charlie he's my darling, &c.

Outower yon moory mountain,

An' down the craigy glen,
Of naething else our lasses sing
But Charlie an' his men.

An' Charlie he's my darling, &c.

Our Highland hearts are true an' leal,

An' glow without a stain;
Our Highland swords are metal keen,
An' Charlie he's our ain.
An' Charlie he's my darling,

My darling, my darling;
Charlie he's my darling,

The young Chevalier.


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