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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, &c.

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, &c.

The Braes o' Killiecrankie.1


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


Chorus.-An ye had been whare I hae been,
Ye wad na been sae cantie, O;
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, &c.

⚫ meal mixed with hot water.
1 The famous final victory of Dundee
was fought on July 17, 1689. There is
a spirited contemporary piece on the
battle. The tall stone on the haugh,
near the road, is said to mark the spot
where General Haliburton fell. It was

b fine.


с merry.

probably erected, in fact, "for battles long ago." Dundee was shot in the grounds of Urrard House, midway between the modern road and the shelter trenches of his Highlanders.

⚫ furrow.

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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, &c.

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

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, &c.

Grim vengeance lang has taen a nap,
But we may see him wauken :

Gude help the day when Royal heads
Are hunted like a maukinR!

Awa' Whigs, &c.

b knock.

1 The last prophetic verse (1789) is manifestly Burns's own, and the Editor

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cannot recall any earlier example of the whole song.

a went.


A Waukrife Minnie.1

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

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

But I foor* 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 foumart lay his crawin!"
He wauken'd the auld wife frae her sleep,
A wee blink ord the dawin.

An angry wife I wat she raise,

And o'er the bed she brocht her;

And wi' a meikle hazel runge

She made her a weel-pay'd dochter.

O fare thee weel, my bonie lass,
O fare thee well, my hinnie!
Thou art a gay an' a bonnie lass,
But thou has a waukrife minnie.

b wakeful.
d short time before.

1 I picked up this old song and tune from a country girl in Nithsdale. I

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The Captive Ribband.1

Tune-"Robaidh dona gorach.

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 upon my bosom live,

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

Retrieve its doom, and take its place.

My Heart's in the Highlands.2

Tune-"Failte na Miosg."

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.

1 Given by Mr Scott Douglas on the sole authority of Mr Stenhouse. Mr Scott Douglas quotes the remark of Scott that Burns was "devoid of the

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spirit of chivalry;' a saying than which none "gave greater and wider offence." Chivalry certainly did not

inspire the Ode on the dead Mrs Oswald. The source of Mr Stenhouse's attribution is unknown.

The chorus is traditional. Scott is said to have been wont to sing some allied lines. It is generally understood that he could not sing a note.


Chorus.-My heart's in the Highlands, my heart is not here, My heart's in the Highlands, a-chasing the deer; A-chasing the wild-deer, and following the roe, My heart's in the Highlands wherever I go.

Farewell to the mountains, high-cover'd with snow,
Farewell to the straths and green vallies below;
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods,
Farewell to the torrents and loud pouring floods.
My heart's in the Highlands, &c.

The Whistle-A Ballad.1

I SING of a Whistle, a Whistle of worth,

I sing of a Whistle, the pride of the North,

Was brought to the court of our good Scottish King,
And long with this Whistle all Scotland shall ring.

1 As the authentic pross history of the Whistle is curious, I shall here give it. In the train of Anne of Denmark, when she came to Scotland with our James the Sixth, there came over also a Danish gentleman of gigantic stature and great prowess, and a matchless champion of Bacchus. He had a curious ebony ca' or Whistle, which, at the commencement of the orgies, he laid on the table; and whoever was last able to blow it, every body else being disabled by the potency of the bottle, was to carry off the Whistle as a trophy of victory. The Dane produced credentials of his victories, without a single defeat, at the courts of Copenhagen, Stockholm, Moscow, Warsaw, and several of the petty courts in Germany; and challenged the Scots Bacchanalians to the alternative of trying his prowess, or else acknowledging their inferiority.After many overthrows on the part of the Scots, the Dane was encountered by Sir Robert Laurie of Maxwelton, ancestor of the present worthy baronet of that name: who after three days

and nights' hard contest, left the Scandinavian under the table,

And blew on the Whistle his Requiem shrill.

Sir Walter, son to Sir Robert beforementioned, afterwards lost the Whistle to Walter Riddel of Glenriddel, who had married a sister of Sir Walter's.On Friday, the 16th of October, 1790, at Friars-carse, the Whistle was once more contended for, as related in the ballad, by the present Sir Robert Laurie; Robert Riddel, Esq., of Glenriddel, lineal descendant and representative of Walter Riddel, who won the Whistle, and in whose family it had continued; and Alexander Ferguson, Esq., of Craigdarroch, likewise descended of the great Sir Robert; which last gentleman carried off the hard-won honours of the field.—R. B.

The real umpire was a Mr M'Murdo, as documentary evidence shews. Burnsians dispute as to whether Burns was actually present or not; it is only certain that he did not mind proclaiming his presence, and publishing his proclamation.

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