Now life is a burden that bows me down,

Since I tint my bairns and he tint his crown;

But till my last moments my words are the same,— There'll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.

THE WHITE COCKADE.

From Herd's Collection, 1776. Air-"The white cockade."

My love was born in Aberdeen,

The bonniest lad that e'er was seen;

But now he makes our hearts fu' sad-
He's ta'en the field wi' his white cockade.
Oh, he's a ranting, roving blade!
Oh, he's a brisk and a bonnie lad!
Betide what may, my heart is glad
To see my lad wi' his white cockade.

Oh, leeze me on the philabeg,
The hairy hough, and garter'd leg!
But aye the thing that glads my ee,
Is the white cockade aboon the bree.

I'll sell my rock, I'll sell my reel,
My rippling kame, and spinning-wheel,
To buy my lad a tartan plaid,

A braidsword, and a white cockade.

I'll sell my rokely and my tow,
My gude gray mare and hawket cow,
That ev'ry loyal Buchan lad

May tak' the field wi' his white cockade.

Ower bush, ower bank, ower ditch, ower stank,
She flang amang them a', man ;

The butter-box gat mony knocks;
Their riggings paid for a', then.
They got their paiks wi' sudden straiks,
Which, to their grief, they saw, man;
Wi' clinkum-clankum ower their crowns,
The lads began to fa', then.

Her leap'd about, her skipp'd about,
And flang amang them a', man;
The English blades got broken heads,

Their crowns were cleaved in twa, then ;
The durk and dour made their last hour,
And proved their final fa', man ;
They thocht the devil had been there,.
That play'd them sie a pa', man.

The Solemn League and Covenant
Cam' whiggin up the hill, man ;
Thocht Highland trews durst not refuse
For to subscribe their bill, then:
In Willie's name, they thocht nac ane
Durst stop their course at a', man;
But her-nain-sell, wi' mony a knock,
Cried Furich, Whigs, awa', man.

Sir Evan Dhu and his men true
Cam' linking up the brink, man;
The Hoggan Dutch, they feared such,
They bred a horrid stink, then.
The true Maclean and his fierce men
Cam' in amang them a', man:
Nane durst withstand his heavy hand;
A' fled and ran awa', then.

Och on a righ! och on a righ!

Why should she lose king Shames, man?

Och rig in di! och rig in di!

She shall break a' her banes, then ; With furichinich, and stay awhile,

And speak a word or twa, man, She's gie ye a straik out ower the neck Before ye win awa’, then.

Oh, fie for shame, ye're three for ane!
Her-nain-sell's won the day, man;

King Shames' red coats should be hung up,
Because they ran awa', then.

Had they bent their bows like Highland trews,
And made as lang a stay, man,

They'd saved their king, that sacred thing,

And Willie'd run awa', then.

Killiecrankie - one of the loveliest as well as grandest spots in Scotland - is celebrated as the place where General Hugh Mackay of Scoury, the able general of King William III., was defeated by the gallant Viscount Dundee, the "Claverhouse of popular tradition. Dundee lost his life in the battle.

ADIEU FOR EVERMORE.

From "Johnson's Museum."

It was a' for our richtfu' king
We left fair Scotland's strand;

It was a' for our richtfu' king

We e'er saw Irish land, my dear,
We e'er saw Irish land.

Now a' is done that men can do,
And a' is done in vain :

My love, my native land, farewell;
For I maun cross the main, my dear,
For I maun cross the main.

He turn'd him richt and round about
Upon the Irish shore,

And ga'e his bridle-reins a shake,
With, Adieu for evermore, my love,
With, Adieu for evermore.

The sodger frae the war returns,
The sailor frae the main ;
But I hae parted frae my love,
Never to meet again, my love,
Never to meet again.

When day is gane, and nicht is come,
And a' folk bound to sleep,

I think on him that's far awa'

The lee-lang night, and weep, my dear,
The lee-lang night, and weep.