CAM' YE BY ATHOLE BRAES? HOGG. CAM' ye by Athole braes, lad wi' the philabeg, Down by the Tummel, or banks of the Garry? Saw ye my lad with 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, bonny Prince Charlie ! I hae but ae son, my brave young Donald; But if I had ten, they should follow Glengarry: Health to Macdonald and gallant Clanronald, For they are the men that wad die for their Charlie. Charlie, Charlie, &c. I'll to Lochiel and Appin, and kneel to them, Charlie, Charlie, &c. Down through the Lowlands, down wi' the Whigamore, Loyal true Highlanders, down wi' them rarely! Ronald and Donald, drive on wi' the brave claymore Over the necks of the foes of Prince Charlie ! The REV. JOHN SKINNER, episcopal minister of Longside, near Peterhead, COME, gi'e's a sang, Montgomery cried, And lay your disputes all aside, What signifies't for folks to chide For what's been done before them? Let Whig and Tory all agree, Whig and Tory, Whig and Tory, Let Whig and Tory all agree, To drop their Whig-mig-morum; *It is related that the author of this song was at dinner at the house of a lady named Montgomery, that the guests became excited on a political dispute, and that Mrs. Montgomery asked Mr. Skinner for a song, to put an end to it; expressing at the same time her surprise that so capital a tune as the "Reel of Tullochgorum" had no words to which it could be sung. Mr. Skinner afterwards pro Let Whig and Tory all agree To spend the night in mirth and glee, Oh, Tullochgorum's my delight, And ony sumph that keeps up spite, And mak' a cheerfu' quorum. The reel of Tullochgorum. duced this celebrated effusion, which, in Burns's opinion, was entitled to rank "as the first of songs." The Rev. John Skinner, being asked by Mr. Fergusson, of Pitfour, what he could do to make him comfortable, gave the following answer: "Lodged in a canty cell of nine feet square, Bare bread and sowans and milk my belly's fare; Shoes for my feet, soft clothing for my back If warm, no matter whether blue or black: In such a sober, low, contented state, What comfort now need I from rich or great? Now in my eightieth year, my thread near spun, Let but our sacred edifice go on Let but my flock be faithfully supplied, Thus lifted up above all vain desire, And quench'd each foolish spark of passion's fire, From rich or great what comfort now need I?" There needs na' be sae great a phraise, They're douff and dowie at the best, Let warldly minds themselves oppress Shall we sae sour and sulky sit, At the reel of Tullochgorum? May choicest blessings still attend And calm and quiet be his end, And a' that's good watch o'er him ! May peace and plenty be his lot, And dainties a great store o' 'em! But for the dirty, fawning fool, And discontent devour him! May dool and sorrow be his chance, THE EWIE WI' THE CROOKIT HORN. REV. JOHN SKINNER. Он, were I able to rehearse Thereabouts, nor far awa'. She neither needed tar nor keel She never threaten'd scab nor rot, Was never sweir to lead nor ca'. A better nor a thriftier beast To hae ilk year a lamb or twa. The first she had I gae to Jock, Of mair than thretty head and twa. |