And at Dunblane, in my ain sight,

They took the brig wi' a' their might,
And straught to Stirling wing'd their flight:
But, cursed lot! the gates were shut;
And mony a huntit poor red-coat,
For fear amaist did swarf,' man !
La, la, la, la, etc.

My sister Kate cam up the gate

1

2

Wi' crowdie2 unto me, man;

She swoor she saw some rebels run
To Perth and to Dundee, man;
Their left-hand general had nae skill;
The Angus lads had nae good will
That day their neibors' blude to spill;
For fear, by foes, that they should lose
Their cogs o' brose, they scar'd at blows,
And hameward fast did flee, man.
La, la, la, la, etc.

They've lost some gallant gentlemen,
Amang the Highland clans, man!
I fear my Lord Panmure is slain,
Or in his en'mies' hands, man.
Now wad ye sing this double flight,
Some fell for wrang, and some for right;
But mony bade the world gude-night;
Say, pell and mell, wi' muskets' knell
How Tories fell, and Whigs to hell
Flew off in frighted bands, man!
La, la, la, la, etc.

swoon.

2 meal and water stirred together to make a thick gruel.

THE BRAES O' KILLIECRANKIE.1

WHARE hae ye been sae braw, lad?
Whare hae ye been sae brankie,2 O?
Whare hae ye been sae braw, lad?
Cam ye by Killiecrankie, O?

Chorus.-An

ye had been whare I hae been, Ye wad na been sae cantie3 0; An ye had seen what I hae seen, I' the Braes o' Killiecrankie, O.

I faught at land, I faught at sea,
At hame I faught my Auntie, O;
But I met the devil an' Dundee,
On the Braes o' Killiecrankie, O.
An ye had been, etc.

The bauld Pitcur fell in a furr,*
An' Clavers gat a clankie," 0;
Or I had fed an Athole gled,

6

On the Braes o' Killiecrankie, O.

An ye had been, etc.

"The battle of Killiecrankie was the last stand made by the Clans for James after his abdication. Here the gallant Lord Dundee fell in the moment of victory, and with him fell the hopes of the party; General M'Kay, when he found the Highlanders did not pursue his flying army, said, 'Dundee must be killed, or he never would have overlooked this advantage. A great stone marks the spot where Dundee fell."--Burns, Glenriddell MSS.

4 furrow.

AWA' WHIGS, AWA'.1

Chorus.-Awa' Whigs, awa'!

Awa' Whigs, awa'!

Ye're but a pack o' traitor louns,
Ye'll do nae gude at a'.

OUR thrissles flourish'd fresh and fair,
And bonie bloom'd our roses;
But Whigs cam' like a frost in June,
An' wither'd a' our posies.
Awa' Whigs, etc.

Our ancient crown's fa'en in the dust-
Deil blin' them wi' the stoure o't!
An' write their names in his black beuk,
Wha gae the Whigs the power o't.
Awa' Whigs, etc.

Our sad decay in church and state
Surpasses my descriving:

The Whigs cam' o'er us for a curse,
An' we hae done wi' thriving.
Awa' Whigs, etc.

Grim vengeance lang has taen a nap,
But we may see him waukin:
Gude help the day when Royal heads
Are hunted like a maukin!

Awa' Whigs, etc.

1 It has been suggested that Burns merely corrected these verses; but no older version has been produced.

A WAUKRIFE MINNIE.1

WHARE are you gaun, my bonie lass,
Whare are you gaun, my hiney?
She answered me right saucilie,
An errand for my minnie.

O whare live ye, my bonie lass,
O whare live ye, my hiney?
By yon burnside, gin ye maun ken,
In a wee house wi' my minnie.

But I foor2 up the glen at e'en,
To see my bonie lassie ;
And lang before the grey morn cam,
She was na hauf sae saucie.

O weary fa' the waukrife' cock,
And the foumart1 lay his crawin!
He wauken'd the auld wife frae her sleep,
A wee blink or the dawin.

An angry wife I wat she raise,

And o'er the bed she brocht her; And wi' a meikle hazle rung

5

She made her a weel-pay'd dochter.

O fare thee weel, my bonie lass,
O fare thee well, my hiney!
Thou art a gay an' a bonie lass,

But thou hast a waukrife minnie.

6

"I picked up this old song and tune from a country girl in Nithsdale. I never met with it elsewhere in Scotland."-R. B., Glenriddell Notes. Stenhouse says that the song is not to be found in collection prior to the "Museum."

any

went.

5 stick.

3 watchful.

6 mother.

• polecat.

THE CAPTIVE RIBBAND.1

DEAR Myra, the captive ribband's mine, 'Twas all my faithful love could gain; And would you ask me to resign

The sole reward that crowns my pain?

Go, bid the hero who has run

Thro' fields of death to gather fame, Go, bid him lay his laurels down,

And all his well-earn'd praise disclaim.

The ribband shall its freedom lose-
Lose all the bliss it had with you,
And share the fate I would impose
On thee, wert thou my captive too.

It shall upor my bosom live,

Or clasp me in a close embrace; And at its fortune if you grieve,

Retrieve its doom, and take its place.

FAREWELL TO THE HIGHLANDS.2

FAREWELL to the Highlands, farewell to the north,

The birth-place of Valour, the country of Worth;

Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,

The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.

This piece is given to Burns on the authority of Stenhouse.

2 Burns says, in his Glenriddell notes, that the chorus of this song is old, and the rest his own composition.