The flames will get baith hat and wig, And then our brave militia lads When they fling by their black cockades, As night is banish'd by the day, The white will drive awa' that; The sun will then his beams display, And we'll be blythe for a' that. BONNIE LADDIE, HIGHLAND LADDIE. ANONYMOUS. WHERE hae ye been a' the day, Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie? Saw ye him that's far away, Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie; When he drew his gude braidsword, That frae the field he ne'er wad flee, Weary fa' the Lawland loon Wha took frae him the British croun; That fought for him at Prestonpans. Geordie sits in Charlie's chair, Charlie yet shall mount the throne, Ken ye the news I hae to tell? When he cam to the Stygian shore, Charon grim cam' out to him, On him they pat a philabeg, They took him neist to Satan's ha', Oh, nought o' that ye hae to fear, They clapp'd him in an arm-chair, And aye they kept it het below, They put him then upon a speet, And that's the gate they served the Duke. This famous Jacobite song, the best known perhaps of any of the collection, was the last revenge of the Highlanders upon their conqueror, the Duke of Cumberland, -a name that is still as much hated in the Highlands as that of Cromwell is in Ireland. The words "Bonnie laddie, Highland laddie," are usually repeated in singing at the conclusion of each line. HERE'S A HEALTH. Partly by Burns. HERE'S a health to them that's awa', Here's a health to them that's awa', Here's a health to them that's awa'; Here's a health to Charlie, the chief o' the clan, May liberty meet with success ! May prudence protect her frae evil! And wander their way to the devil! Here's a health to them that's awa', Here's a health to them that's awa'; Here's a health to Tammie, the Norland laddie, That lives at the lug o' the law! Here's freedom to him that wad read, Here's freedom to him that wad write; There's nane ever fear'd that the truth should be heard, But they wham the truth wad indite. Here's a health to them that's awa', Here's a health to them that's awa'; Here's chieftain M'Leod, a chieftain worth gowd, Though bred amang mountains o' snaw! Here's a health to them that's awa', Here's a health to them that's awa'; And wha winna wish guid luck to our cause, Many modern imitations of this old genuine Jacobite song have been written and published. THICKEST night o'erhangs my dwelling, In the cause of right engaged, But the heavens deny'd success. Ruin's wheel has driven o'er us, But a world without a friend! Supposed to refer to the story of James Drummond, Earl of Strathallan, who escaped to France after the '45. "The air," says Burns, "is the composition of one of the worthiest and best-hearted men living-Allan Masterton, schoolmaster in Edinburgh. As he and I were both sprouts of Jacobitism, we agreed to dedicate the words and air to that cause. To tell the matter of fact, except when my passions were heated by some accidental cause, my Jacobitism was merely by way of vive la bagatelle." THE CHEVALIER'S LAMENT. BURNS. THE small birds rejoice in the green leaves returning, But what can give pleasure, or what can seem fair, The deed that I dared could it merit their malice, His right are these hills, and his right are these valleys, But 'tis not my sufferings, thus wretched, forlorn, |