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And the leddy, too, sae genty,

That sheltered Scotland's heir, And clipt a lock wi' her ain hand

Frae his lang yellow hair.

The mavis still doth sweetly sing,

The blue-bells sweetly blaw;
The bonnie Earn's clear winding still

But the auld house is awa'.
The auld house, the auld house!

Deserted though ye be,
There ne'er can be a new house

Will seem sae fair to me.

Still flourishing the auld pear tree,

The bairnies liked to see;
And oh, how often they did speir

When ripe they a' wad be!
The voices sweet, the wee bit feet

Aye rinnin' here and there;
The merry shout-oh! whiles we greet

To think we'll hear nae mair.

For they are a' wide scattered now,

Some to the Indies gane,
And ane, alas ! to her lang hame;

Not here will meet again.
The kirkyaird! the kirkyaird !

Wi' flowers o' every hue, Sheltered by the holly's shade,

And the dark sombre yew.

The setting sun, the setting sun,

How glorious it gaed doun ! The cloudy splendour raised our hearts

To cloudless skies abune. The auld dial, the auld dial,

It tauld how time did pass; The wintry winds ha'e dung it doun,

Now hid 'mang weeds and grass.



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The Laird o' Cockpen, he's proud and he's great
His mind is ta'en up wi' things o' the State:
He wanted a wife, his braw house to keep;
But favour wi' wooin' was fashious' to seek.

Down by the dyke-side a lady did dwell;
At his table-head he thought she'd look well-
McClish's aes daughter o’ Clavers-ha' Lee,
A penniless lass wi' a lang pedigree.

His wig was weel pouther'd' and as gude as new;
His waistcoat was white, his coat it was blue;
He put on a ring, a sword, and cocked hat,-
And wha could refuse the Laird wi' a' that!

He took the grey mare, and rade cannily,"
And rapped at the yett o’ Clavers-ha' Lee:

Gae tell Mistress Jean to come speedily ben,-
She's wanted to speak to the Laird o' Cockpen.'

Mistress Jean was makin' the elder-flower wine:

And what brings the Laird at sic a like time?'
She put aff her apron and on her silk goun,
Her mutch'wi' red ribbons, and gaed awa doun.

And when she cam' ben he bowed fu' low;
And what was his errand he soon let her know.
Amazed was the Laird when the lady said 'Na';-
And wi' a laigh' curtsey she turn'd awa'.

Dumfounder'd was he; but nae sigh did he gi'e,
He mounted his mare, and rade cannily;
And aften he thought as he gaed through the gler,
'She's daft' to refuse the Laird o' Cockpen!'

1 Troublesome.

· Stone wall.
6 Gate.


• Powdered. & Low.

• Mad.

• Cautiously,

'* Cap.

And now that the Laird his exit had made,
Mistress Jean she reflected on what she had said;
'Oh, for ane I'll get better its waur
I was daft to refuse the Laird o’ Cockpen.'

10 I'll get ten,

Next time that the Laird and the lady were seen,
They were gaun arm-in-arm to the kirk on the green;
Now she sits in the ha' like a weel-tappit hen,
But as yet there's nae chickens appeared at Cockpen.



O ROWAN tree, O rowan tree! thou'lt aye be dear to me!
Intwined thou art wi' mony ties o' hame and infancy.
Thy leaves were aye the first o' spring, thy flowers the

simmer's pride;
There wasna sic' a bonnie tree in a' the country side.

O rowan tree!

How fair wert thou in simmer time, wi' a' thy clusters white, How rich and gay thy autumn dress, wi' berries red and

bright! On thy fair stem were mony names which now nae mair I

see, But they're engraven on my heart-forgot they ne'er can be !

O rowan tree !

We sat aneath thy spreading shade, the bairnies round thee

ran, They pu'd thy bonnie berries red, and necklaces they strang. My mother ! 0 I see her still, she smiled our sports to see, Wi' little Jeanie on her lap, and Jamie at her knee.

O rowan tree!

O there arose my father's prayer, in holy evening's calm; How sweet was then my mother's voice in the Martyr's psalm!

10 Worse. 1 Mountain ash. Such.

Now a' are gane! we meet na mair aneath the rowan tree ! But hallowed thoughts around thee twine o' hame and infancy.

O rowan tree!



The news frae Moidart cam' yestreen,

Will soon gar mony ferlie;'
For ships o' war hae just come in,

And landit Royal Charlie.

Come thro' the heather, around him gather,

Ye're a' the welcomer early;
Around him cling wi' a' your kin;

For wha’ll be king bui Charlie?
Come thro' the heather, around him gather,
Come Ronald, come Donald, come a'thegither
And crown your rightfu', lawfu’king!

For wha'll be king but Charlie?
The Hieland clans, wi' sword in hand,

Frae John o’ Groats to Airlie,
Hae to a man declared to stand

Or fa' wi' Royal Charlie.
The Lowlands a', baith great an sma',

Wi' mony a lord and laird, hae
Declar'd for Scotia's king an' law,

An' speir ye wha but Charlie.

There's ne'er a lass in a' the lan ,

But vows baith late and early,
She'll ne'er to man gie heart or han',

Wha wadna fecht for Charlie.

Then here's a health to Charlie's cause,

And be't complete an' early;
His very name our heart's blood warms;
To arms for Royal Charlie !
1 Last night. : Wonder. 3 Together.

• Ask.

Come thro' the heather, around him gather,

Ye're a' the welcomer early;
Around him cling wi' a' your kin;

For wha’ll be king but Charlie?
Come thro’ the heather, around him gather,
Come Ronald, come Donald, come a' thegither,
And crown your rightfu', lawfu' king!

For wha'll be king but Charlie?



'Twas on a Monday morning,

Right early in the year,
When Charlie came to our town,

The young Chevalier.

O Charlie is my darling,
My darling, my darling-
O Charlie is my darling,

The young Chevalier !

As he cam' marching up the street,

The pipes played loud and clear,
And a' the folk cam' running out
To meet the Chevalier.

O Charlie is my darling, etc.

Wi' Hieland bonnets on their heads,

And claymores bright and clear,
They cam' to fight for Scotland's right,
And the young Chevalier.

O Charlie is my darling, etc.

They've left their bonnie Hieland hills,

Their wives and bairnies dear,
To draw the sword for Scotland's lord,
The young Chevalier.

O Charlie is my darling, etc.

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