Athole.

CAM YE BY ATHOLE?

AM ye by Athole braes, lad wi' the philabeg, Down by the Tummel, or banks of the Garry? Saw ye my lad, wi' his bonnet and white cockade, Leaving his mountains to follow Prince Charlie? Charlie, Charlie, wha wadna follow thee?

Lang hast thou loved and trusted us fairly!
Charlie, Charlie, wha wadna follow thee?

King of the Highland hearts, bonnie Prince
Charlie!

I hae but ae son, my brave young Donald!

But if I had ten they should follow Glengary: Health to MacDonald and gallant Clan Ronald, For they are the men that wad die for their Charlie. Charlie, Charlie, etc.

I'll to Lochiel and Appin, and kneel to them; Down by Lord Murray, and Roy of Kildarlie; Brave Macintosh he shall fly to the field with them; They are the lads I can trust wi' my Charlie. Charlie, Charlie, etc.

Down through the Lowlands, down wi' the Whigamore, Loyal true Highlanders, down wi' them rarely! Ronald and Donald, drive on with the braid claymore, Over the necks of the foes of Prince Charlie!

Charlie, Charlie, etc.`

James Hogg.

AS

Auchinblae.

THE BRAES OF AUCHINBLAE.

S clear is Luther's wave, I ween,

As gay the grove, the vale as green;

But, O, the days that we have seen

Are fled, and fled for aye, Mary!

O, we have often fondly strayed
In Fordoun's green embowering glade,
And marked the moonbeam as it played
On Luther's bonnie wave, Mary.

Since then, full many a year and day
With me have slowly passed away,
Far from the braes of Auchinblae,

And far from love and thee, Mary!

And we must part again, my dear,
It is not mine to linger here;
Yes, we must part,—and, O, I fear,
We meet not here again, Mary!

For on Culloden's bloody field
Our hapless Prince's fate is sealed,
Last night to me it was revealed

Sooth as the word of heaven, Mary!

And ere to-morrow's sun shall shine
Upon the heights of Galloquhine,
A thousand victims at the shrine
Of tyranny shall bleed, Mary!

Hark! hark! they come, the foemen come, -
I go; but wheresoe'er I roam,

With thee my heart remains at home.

Adieu, adieu for aye, Mary!

George Menzies.

Auchtergaven.

THE FOLK O' OCHTERGAEN.

OCHTERGAEN, So provincially named, is Auchtergaven, a village midway between Perth and Dunkeld.

[APPY, happy be their dwallin's,
By the burn an' in the glen, -

Cheerie lasses, cantie callans,
Are they a' in Ochtergaen.

Happy was my youth amang them,
Rantin' was my boyhood's hour;
A' the winsome ways about them
Now, when gane, I number o'er.

Weel I mind ilk wood an' burnie,
Couthie hame an' muirland fauld,
Ilka sonsie, cheerfu' mither,

An' ilk father douce an' auld!

Weel I mind the ploys an' jokin'
Lads and lasses used to ha'e,
Moonlight trysts an' Sabbath wanders
O'er the haughs an' on the brae.

Truer lads an' bonnier lasses

Never danced beneath the moon;
Love an' Friendship dwelt amang them,
An' their daffin ne'er was done.

I ha'e left them now forever;
But to greet would bairnly be:
Better sing, au' wish kind Heaven
Frae a' dule may keep them free.

Where'er the path o' life may lead me,

Ae thing sure, — I winna mane

If I meet wi' hands an' hearts

Like those o' cantie Ochtergaen.

Robert Nicoll.

Auchtertool.

AUCHTERTOOL.

PROM the village of Leslie, with a heart full of glee,

FROM

And my pack on my shoulders, I rambled out free,

Resolved that same evening, as Luna was full,

To lodge, ten miles distant, in old Auchtertool.

Through many a lone cottage and farm-house I steered,
Took their money, and off with my budget I sheered;
The road I explored out, without form or rule,
Still asking the nearest to old Auchtertool.

At length I arrived at the edge of the town,
As Phoebus, behind a high mountain, went down;
The clouds gathered dreary, and weather blew foul,
And I hugged myself safe now in old Auchtertool.

An inn I inquired out, a lodging desired,
But the landlady's pertness seemed instantly fired;
For she saucy replied, as she sat carding wool,
'I ne'er kept sic lodgers in auld Auchtertool."

With scorn I soon left her to live on her pride;
But, asking, was told there was none else beside,
Except an old weaver, who now kept a school,
And these were the whole that were in Auchtertool.

To his mansion I scampered, and rapped at the door;
He oped, but as soon as I dared to implore,

He shut it like thunder, and uttered a howl
That rung through each corner of old Auchtertool.

Deprived of all shelter, through darkness I trode,
Till I came to a ruined old house by the road,
Here the night I will spend, and, inspired by the owl,
My wrath I'll vent forth upon old Auchtertool.

Alexander Wilson.