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The eagle, from the cliffy brow,
Marking you his prey below,
In his breast no pity dwells,
Strong necessity compels :


But Man, to whom alone is giv'n
ray direct from pitying Heav'n,
Glories in his heart humane—
And creatures for his pleasure slain !

In these savage, liquid plains,
Only known to wand'ring swains,
Where the mossy riv'let strays,
Far from human haunts and ways;
All on Nature you depend,

And life's poor season peaceful spend.

Or, if man's superior might
Dare invade your native right,
On the lofty ether borne,

Man with all his pow'rs you scorn;
Swiftly seek, on clanging wings,
Other lakes and other springs;
And the foe you cannot brave,
Scorn at least to be his slave.

Blythe was She.1

Tune-" Andro and his Cutty Gun."
Chorus-Blythe, blythe and merry was she,
Blythe was she but and bena;
Blythe by the banks of Earn,
And blythe in Glenturit glen.

By Oughtertyre grows the aik,

On Yarrow banks the birken shawb;

But Phemie was a bonier lass

Than braes o' Yarrow ever saw.

Blythe, blythe, &c.

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1 Written at Oughtertyre. Phemie is Miss Euphemia Murray, a cousin of Sir William Murray of Oughtertyre.


Her looks were like a flow'r in May,
Her smile was like a simmer morn:
She tripped by the banks o' Earn,
As light's a bird upon a thorn.
Blythe, blythe, &c.

Her bonie face it was as meek
As ony lamb upon a lea;
The evening sun was ne'er sae sweet,
As was the blink o' Phemie's e'e.
Blythe, blythe, &c.

The Highland hills I've wander'd wide,
And o'er the Lawlands I hae been;
But Phemie was the blythest lass
That ever trod the dewy green.
Blythe, blythe, &c.

A Rose-bud by my Early Walk.1

A ROSE-BUD by my early walk,
Adown a corn-enclosed bawk,
Sae gently bent its thorny stalk,
All on a dewy morning.

Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled,
In a' its crimson glory spread,

And drooping rich the dewy head,

It scents the early morning.

Within the bush her covert nest
A little linnet fondly prest;
The dew sat chilly on her breast,
Sae early in the morning.

She soon shall see her tender brood,
The pride, the pleasure o' the wood,
Amang the fresh green leaves bedew'd,
Awake the early morning.

⚫ field-path.

1 Dated in October after returning from Oughtertyre.

So thou, dear bird, young Jeany fair,
On trembling string or vocal air,
Shall sweetly pay the tender care

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That tents thy early morning.
So thou, sweet Rose-bud, young and gay,
Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day,
And bless the parent's evening ray
That watch'd thy early morning.

Epitaph for Mr W. Cruikshank.1

HONEST WILL to Heaven's away
And mony shall lament him;

His fau'ts they a' in Latin lay,

In English nane e'er kent them.

Song-The Banks of the Devon.2

Tune-"Bhanarach dhonn a' chruidh."

How pleasant the banks of the clear winding Devon,
With green spreading bushes and flow'rs blooming fair!
But the boniest flow'r on the banks of the Devon
Was once a sweet bud on the braes of the Ayr.
Mild be the sun on this sweet blushing flower,
In the gay rosy morn, as it bathes in the dew;
And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower,

That steals on the evening each leaf to renew!

O spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes,

With chill hoary wing as ye usher the dawn; And far be thou distant, thou reptile that seizes The verdure and pride of the garden or lawn!

a watches.

1 Mr Cruikshank was an Edinburgh High School master.

2 Written on 8 Miss Charlotte Hamilton.


Let Bourbon exult in his gay gilded lilies,
And England triumphant display her proud rose :
A fairer than either adorns the green valleys,
Where Devon, sweet Devon, meandering flows.

1 Written


Braving angry Winter's Storms.1

Tune-"Neil Gow's Lament for Abercairny."

WHERE, braving angry winter's storms,
The lofty Ochils rise,

Far in their shade my Peggy's charms
First blest my wondering eyes;
As one who by some savage stream
A lonely gem surveys,

Astonish'd, doubly marks it beam
With art's most polish'd blaze.

Blest be the wild, sequester'd shade,
And blest the day and hour,
Where Peggy's charms I first survey'd,
When first I felt their pow'r !
The tyrant Death, with grim control,
May seize my fleeting breath;
But tearing Peggy from my soul
Must be a stronger death.

Song-My Peggy's Charms.2

Tune-"Tha a' chailleach air mo dheigh."

My Peggy's face, my Peggy's form,
The frost of hermit Age might warm;
My Peggy's worth, my Peggy's mind,
Might charm the first of human kind.

for Miss Margaret 2 Again Miss Chalmers inspires the
Both she and Miss minstrel,

Hamilton were probably friends rather than "flames" of Burns.

I love my Peggy's angel air,
Her face so truly heavenly fair,
Her native grace, so void of art,
But I adore my Peggy's heart.

The lily's hue, the rose's dye,
The kindling lustre of an eye;
Who but owns their magic sway!
Who but knows they all decay!

The tender thrill, the pitying tear,
The generous purpose nobly dear,
The gentle look that rage disarms-
These are all Immortal charms.

The young Highland Rover.1



LOUD blaw the frosty breezes,
The snaws the mountains cover;
Like winter on me seizes,

Since my young Highland rover
Far wanders nations over.
Where'er he go, where'er he stray,
May heaven be his warden;
Return him safe to fair Strathspey,
And bonie Castle-Gordon!

The trees now naked groaning,
Shall soon wi' leaves be hinging,
The birdies dowie moaning,
Shall a' be blythely singing,
And every flower be springing;

1 The Rover is Prince Charles;
Burns, as we saw, had visited Castle
Gordon. Every one knows:-
"Send us Lewie Gordon hame

And the lad I daurna name !” Lewie Gordon was third son of the Duke of Gordon, and defeated a Hanoverian force at Inverury. The

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'mighty Warden" is often appealed to in genuine Jacobite songs, as Hame Hame, Hame, in the old version, and Langsyne (1746)

"Yet he who did proud Pharaoh crush,
To save old Jacob's line,
Will visit Charlie in the bush,
Like Moses langsyne,"

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