To mark her impatience, I crap 'mang the brakens: Aft, aft to the kent gate she turn'd her black ee; Then lying down dowylie, sigh'd by the willow tree, 6 Ha me mohátel na dousku me.'*

Saft through the green birks I sta' to my jewel, Streik'd on spring's carpet aneath the saugh tree: Think na, dear lassie, 'thy Willie's been cruel,'

Ha me mohátel na dousku me.

Wi' luve's warm sensations I've mark'd your impatience, Lang hid 'mang the brakens I watch'd your black ee.— You're no sleeping, pawkie Jean; open thae lovely een; Ha me mohátel na dousku me.

Bright is the whin's bloom ilk green knowe adorning; Sweet is the primrose bespangled wi' dew; Yonder comes Peggy to welcome May morning;

Dark waves her haffet locks owre her white brow; O! light, light she's dancing keen on the smooth gowany green,

Barefit and kilted half up to the knee;

While Jeanie is sleeping still, I'll rin and sport my fill,— I was asleep, and ye've waken'd me!

I'll rin and whirl her round; Jeanie is sleeping sound; Kiss her frae lug to lug; nae ane can see;

Sweet, sweet's her hinny mou.-Will, I'm no sleeping

now;

I was asleep, but ye waken'd me.

Laughing till like to drap, swith to my Jean I lap,
Kiss'd her ripe roses, and blest her black ee;

And ay since, whane'er we meet, sing, for the sound is sweet,

Ha me mohátel na dousku me.

* I am asleep, do not waken me.

BONNIE WOOD OF CRAIGIE LEA.

Thou bonnie wood of Craigie lea, Thou bonnie wood of Craigie lea, Near thee I pass'd life's early day, And won my Mary's heart in thee. THE broom, the brier, the birken bush, Bloom bonnie o'er thy flow'ry lea, And a' the sweets that ane can wish Frae Nature's han' are strew'd on thee. Thou bonnie, &c.

Far ben thy dark green plantings shade,
The cushat croodles am'rously;
The mavis, down thy bughted glade,
Gars echo ring frae every tree.
Thou bonnie, &c.

Awa, ye thoughtless, murd'ring gang,
Wha tear the nestlings ere they flee!
They'll sing you yet a cantie sang,
Then, O in pity let them be!
Thou bonnie, &c.

When winter blaws in sleety show'rs
Frae aff the norlan hills sae hie,
He lightly skiffs thy bonnie bow'rs,
As laith to harm a flow'r in thee.
Thou bonnie, &c.

Tho' fate should drag me south the line,
Or o'er the wide Atlantic sea,
The happy hours I'll ever mind,
That I in youth hae spent in thee.
Thou bonnie, &c.

BANNOCKS O' BARLEY.

BANNOCKS O' bear-meal, bannocks o' barley,
Here's to the Highlandman's bannocks o' barley.
Wha in a brulzie will first cry' a parley ?'-
Never the lads wi' the bannocks o' barley.
Bannocks o' bear-meal, bannocks o' barley,
Here's to the Highlandman's bannocks o' barley.

Wha drew the gude claymore for Charlie?
Wha cow'd the lowns o' England rarely?
An' claw'd their backs at Falkirk fairly?—
Wha but the lads wi' the bannocks o' barley.
Bannocks o' bear-meal, &c.

Wha, when hope was blasted fairly,
Stood in ruin wi' bonnie Prince Charlie?

An' 'neath the Duke's bluidie paws dree'd fu' sairly? Wha but the lads wi' the bannocks o' barley. *

Bannocks o' bear-meal, &c.

"In the Scots Musical Museum," says Mr. CROMEK, in his Nithsdale and Galloway Remains, "there is but one verse and a half preserved of this song. One is surprised and incensed to see so many fine songs shorn of their very best verses for fear they should exceed the bounds of a page! The Editor has collected the two last heart-rousing verses, which, he believes, will complete the song."

The Editor of this work cannot refrain from giving the following striking instances of fidelity and devotion, displayed by some of our countrymen, in behalf of him whom they considered their lawful sovereign." Among the brave supporters of Prince Charles, few excited greater adiniration than the seven Highlanders who concealed him in Glenmorriston's cave, and, in disguise, procured necessaries and information. Although fugitives, and in poverty, these seven had the nobleness of mind to prefer fidelity to the man whom they considered as their Prince, to

THE BATTLE OF SHERIFF-MUIR.
TUNE-" The Cameronian Rant."

O CAM ye here the fight to shun,
Or herd the sheep wi' me, man?
Or were ye at the Sherra-muir,
And did the battle see, man?

THIRTY THOUSAND POUNDS, the reward offered for his head! But of all the men who preserved an unshaken fidelity to the Chevalier in his falling fortunes, the most heroic was RODERICK M'KENZIE, who sacrificed his life for him, with a presence of mind, and a self-devotion, unparelleled either in ancient or in modern story.

"About this time, one RODERICK M'KENZIE, a merchant of Edinburgh, who had been out with the Prince, was skulking a'mong the hills about Glenmorriston, when some of the soldiers met with him. As he was about the Prince's size and age, and not unlike him in the face, being a genteel man, and well dressed, they took him for the Prince. M'KENZIE tried to escape them, but could not, and being determined not to be taken and hanged, (which he knew, if taken, would be his fate) he bravely resolved to die sword in hand; and, in that death, to serve the Prince more than he could do by living. The bravery and steadiness of M'KENZIE confirmed the soldiers in the belief that he was the Prince, whereupon one of them shot him; who, as he fell, cried out, you have killed your Prince, you have killed your Prince,' and expired immediately. The soldiers, overjoyed with their supposed good fortune in meeting with so great a prize, immediately cut off the brave young man's head, and made all the haste they could to Fort Augustus, to tell the news of their great heroical feat, and to lay claim to the thirty thousand pounds, producing the head, which several said they knew to be the Prince's head. This great news, with the head, was soon carried to the Duke, who, believing the great work was done, set for. ward to London from Fort Augustus, on the 18th of July."

I saw the battle, sair and tough,
And reekin-red ran monie a sheugh;
My heart, for fear, ga'e sough for sough,
To hear the thuds, and see the cluds,
O' clans frae woods, in tartan duds,
Wha glaum'd at kingdoms three, man.

The red-coat lads, wi' black cockades,
To meet them were na slaw, man;
They rush'd and push'd, and blude outgush'd,
And monie a bouk did fa', man:
The great Argyle led on his files,

I wat they glanced twenty miles:

They hack'd and hash'd, while broad-swords clash'd,
And thro' they dash'd, and hew'd, and smash'd,
Till fey men died awa, man.

But had you seen the philibegs,

And skyrin tartan trews, man,
When in the teeth they dar'd our whigs,
And covenant true blues, man;
In lines extended lang and large,
When bayonets oppos'd the targe,
And thousands hastened to the charge,
Wi' Highland wrath they frae the sheath
Drew blades o' death, till, out o' breath,
They fled like frighted doos, man.

O how deil Tam can that be true?
The chase gaed frae the north, man:
I saw myself, they did pursue

The horsemen back to Forth, man:
And at Dumblane, 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 monie a huntit, poor red-coat,
For fear amaist did swarf, man.