Ruin's wheel has driven o'er us,

Not a hope that dare attend,
The wide world is all before 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 dedi. cate 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 small birds rejoice in the green leaves returning,

The murmuring streamlet runs clear through the vale; The hawthorn-trees blow in the dews of the morning,

And wild-scatter'd cowslips bedeck the green dale.

But what can give pleasure, or what can seem fair,

•While the lingering moments are number'd by care ? No flowers gaily springing, nor birds sweetly singing,

Can soothe the sad bosom of joyless despair.

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The deed that I dared could it merit their malice,

A king and a father to place on his throne ?
His right are these hills, and his right are these valleys,

Where the wild beasts find shelter, but I can find none.

But 'tis not my sufferings, thus wretched, forlorn,

My brave gallant friends, 'tis your ruin I mourn: Your deeds proved so loyal in hot bloody trial,

Alas! can I make you no sweeter return ?

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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,

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

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!

Charlie, Charlie, &c.




The news frae Moidart cam' en,

Will soon gar mony ferlie ;
For ships o'war hae just come in,

And landed Royal Charlie.
Come through the heather, around him gather,

Ye're a'the welcomer early; Around him cling wi' a' your kin,

For wha'll be king but Charlie ? Come through the heather, around him gather :

Come Ronald, come Donald, come a' thegither, And crown your rightfu', lawfu' king;

For wha’ll be king but Charlie ?

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The Highland clans wi' sword in hand,

Frae John o' Groat's to Airlie, Hae to a man declared to stand Or fa' wi' Royal Charlie.

Come through, &c.

The Lowlands a' baith great and sma',

Wi' mony a lord and laird, hae Declared for Scotland's king and law, An' spier ye wha but Charlie ?

Come through, &c.

There's ne'er a lass in a' the land

But vows, baith late and early,
To man she'll ne'er gie heart or hand
Wha wadna fight for Charlie.

Come through, &c

Then here's a health to Charlie's cause,

And be't complete and early ; His very name my

heart's blood warmsTo arms ! for Royal Charlie !

Come through, &c.

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He's owre the hills that I lo'e weel,
He's owre the hills we daurna name,
He's owre the hills ayont Dunblane,
Wha soon will get bis welcome hame.
My faither's gane to fight for him,
My brithers winna bide at bame,
My mither greets and prays for them,
And ’deed she thinks they're no to blame.

The whigs may scoff, the whigs may jeer,
But ah! that love maun be sincere
Which still keeps true whate'er betide,
An' for his sake leaves a' beside.

He's owre the hills, &c.

His right these hills, his right these plains,
O'er Highland hearts secure he reigns ;
What lads e'er did our lads will do,
Were I a lad I'd follow him too.

He's owre the hills, &c.

Sae noble a look, sae princely an air,
Sae gallant and bold, sae young and sae fair";
Oh! did ye but see him, ye'd do as we've done,
Hear him but ance, to his standard you'll run.

He's owre the hills, &c.

Then draw the claymore for Charlie, then fight
For your country, religion, and a' that is right;
Were ten thousand lives now given to me,
I'd die as aft for ane o' the three !

He's owre the hills, &c.

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The Rev. JOHN SKINNER, episcopal minister of Longside, near Peterheal,

Aberdeenshire, born 1721, died 1807.

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