The cateran's

death

But what was said, or what was done,

Shame fa' me gin I tell ;

But Oh! I fear the kintra soon
Will ken as weel's mysel!

To the weaver's, &c.

MCPHERSON'S FAREWELL

Tune-" M Pherson's Rant."

FAREWELL, ye dungeons dark and strong,
The wretch's destinie!
McPherson's time will not be long
On yonder gallows-tree.

Chorus.-Sae rantingly, sae wantonly,
Sae dauntingly gaed he;

He play'd a spring, and danc'd it round,
Below the gallows-tree.

O what is death but parting breath?
On many a bloody plain

I've dared his face, and in this place
I scorn him yet again!
Sae rantingly, &c.

Untie these bands from off my hands,
And bring to me my sword;
And there's no a man in all Scotland,
But I'll brave him at word.
Sae rantingly, &c.

I've liv'd a life of sturt and strife;
I die by treacherie :

It burns my heart I must depart,

And not avengèd be.

Sae rantingly, &c.

Now farewell light, thou sunshine bright,

And all beneath the sky!

May coward shame distain his name,

The wretch that dare not die!
Sae rantingly, &c.

STAY MY CHARMER

Tune-" An gille dubh ciar-dhubh." STAY my charmer, can you leave me ! Cruel, cruel to deceive me;

Well

you know how much you grieve me;
Cruel charmer, can you go?
Cruel charmer, can you go?

By my love so ill-requited,
By the faith you fondly plighted,
By the pangs of lovers slighted,

Do not, do not leave me so!
Do not, do not leave me so!

MY HOGGIE

WHAT Will I do gin my Hoggie die?
My joy, my pride, my Hoggie!
My only beast, I had nae mae,

And vow but I was vogie!

The lee-lang night we watch'd the fauld,
Me and my faithfu' doggie;

We heard nocht but the roaring linn,
Amang the braes sae scroggie.

But the houlet cry'd frae the castle wa',
The blitter frae the boggie;

The tod reply'd upon the hill,
I trembled for my Hoggie.

M

Isabella's grief

When day did daw, and cocks did craw,
The morning it was foggie;

An unco tyke lap o'er the dyke,
And maist has kill'd my Hoggie!

RAVING WINDS AROUND HER
BLOWING

Tune-"M'Grigor of Roro's Lament."

RAVING winds around her blowing,
Yellow leaves the woodlands strowing,
By a river hoarsely roaring,
Isabella stray'd deploring-

"Farewell, hours that late did measure
Sunshine days of joy and pleasure;
Hail, thou gloomy night of sorrow,
Cheerless night that knows no morrow!

"O'er the past too fondly wandering,
On the hopeless future pondering;
Chilly grief my life-blood freezes,
Fell despair my fancy seizes.

Life, thou soul of every blessing,
Load to misery most distressing,
Gladly how would I resign thee,
And to dark oblivion join thee!"

UP IN THE MORNING EARLY

CAULD blaws the wind frae east to west,
The drift is driving sairly;

Sae loud and shill's I hear the blast--
I'm sure it's winter fairly.

Chorus---Up in the morning's no for me,
Up in the morning early;

When a' the hills are covered wi'

snaw,

I'm sure it's winter fairly.

The birds sit chittering in the thorn,
A' day they fare but sparely;
And lang's the night frae e'en to morn-
I'm sure it's winter fairly.

Up in the morning's, &c.

HOW LONG AND DREARY IS

THE NIGHT

How long and dreary is the night,
When I am frae my dearie !
I sleepless lie frae e'en to morn,
Tho' I were ne'er so weary!

When I think on the happy days

I

spent wi' you my dearie:

And now what lands between us lie,

How can I be but eerie !

How slow ye move, ye heavy hours,
As ye were wae and weary!

It was na sae ye glinted by,
When I was wi' my dearie!

HEY, THE DUSTY MILLER

HEY, the dusty Miller,

And his dusty coat,
He will win a shilling,

Or he spend a groat:

Hours of absence

X

Duncan's

wooing

Dusty was the coat,
Dusty was the colour,
Dusty was the kiss

That I gat frae the Miller.

Hey, the dusty Miller,
And his dusty sack;
Leeze me on the calling
Fills the dusty peck:
Fills the dusty peck,
Brings the dusty siller;
I wad gie my coatie
For the dusty Miller.

DUNCAN DAVISON

THERE was a lass, they ca'd her Meg,
And she held o'er the moors to spin;
There was a lad that follow'd her,
They ca'd him Duncan Davison.
The moor was dreigh, and Meg was skeigh,
Her favour Duncan could na win;
For wi' the rock she wad him knock,
And aye she shook the temper-pin.

As o'er the moor they lightly foor,

A burn was clear, a glen was green,
Upon the banks they eas'd their shanks,
And aye she set the wheel between:
But Duncan swoor a haly aith,

That Meg should be a bride the morn;
Then Meg took up her spinning-graith,
And flang them a' out o'er the burn.