Poor Tammy Gage, within a cage,
Was kept at Boston ha', man;
Till Willie Howe took o'er the knowe
For Philadelphia, man;

Wi' sword and gun he thought a sin
Guid Christian blood to draw, man:
But at New York, wi' knife and fork,
Sir-loin he hacked sma', man.
Burgoyne gaed up, like spur and whip,
Till Fraser brave did fa', man;
Then lost his way, ae misty day,
In Saratoga shaw, man.
Cornwallis fought as lang's he dought,
And did the buckskins claw, man;
But Clinton's glaive frae rust to save,
He hung it to the wa', man.

Then Montague, and Guildford too,
Began to fear a fa', man;

hall

knoll

good

small

went

wood was able scratch

sword from

wall

And Sackville dour, wha stood the stoure, obdurate, who, dust

The German Chief to thraw, man:

thwart

For Paddy Burke, like ony Turk,

Nae mercy had at a', man;

any all

And Charlie Fox threw by the box,
And lows'd his tinkler jaw, man.

loosed, tinker tongue

Then Rockingham took up the game
Till death did on him ca', man;
When Shelburne meek held up his cheek,

Conform to gospel law, man;

call

Saint Stephen's boys, wi' jarring noise,

They did his measures thraw, man,

thwart

For North and Fox united stocks,

And bore him to the wa', man.

Then clubs and hearts were Charlie's cartes,

cards

He swept the stakes awa', man,

Till the diamond's ace, of Indian race,

Led him a sair FALSE STEP, man;

The Saxon lads, wi' loud placads,

sore

cheers

On Chatham's boy did ca', man;

And Scotland drew her pipe, and blew,

Up, Willie, waur them a, man!"

Behind the throne then Grenville's gone,

A secret word or twa, man;

overcome

two

While slee Dundas aroused the class,

sly

Be-north the Roman wa', man:

And Chatham's wraith, in heavenly graith,

ghost, armour

(Inspired Bardies saw, man)

Wi' kindling eyes cried," Willie, rise!
Would I hae fear'd them a', man?"

have

But, word and blow, North, Fox, and Co.,
Gowff'd Willie like a ba', man,

struck, ball

Adown a corn-enclosed bawk,

Sae gently bent its thorny stalk,

All on a dewy morning.

Ere twice the shades o' dawn are fled,
In a' its crimson glory spread,

And drooping rich the dewy head,

It scents the early morning.

Within the bush, her covert nest,
A little linnet fondly prest,
The dew sat chilly on her breast

Sae early in the morning.

She soon shall see her tender brood,
The pride, the pleasure o' the wood,
Amang the fresh green leaves bedewed,
Awake the early morning.

So thou, dear bird, young Jenny fair!
On trembling string or vocal air,
Shall sweetly pay the tender care

That tents thy early morning.

So thou, sweet rose-bud, young and gay,
Shalt beauteous blaze upon the day,
And bless the parent's evening ray

That watched thy early morning.

BRAVING ANGRY WINTER'S STORMS.

TUNE-Neil Gow's Lamentation for Abercairny
WHERE, braving angry winter's storms,
The lofty Ochils rise,

Far in their shade my Peggy's charms
First blest my wondering eyes;
As one who by some savage stream,
A lonely gem surveys,

Astonished, doubly marks its beam,
With art's most polished blaze.

Blest be the wild, sequestered shade
And blest the day and hour,
Where Peggy's charms I first surveyed-
When first I felt their power!
The tyrant death, with grim control,
May seize my fleeting breath;
But tearing Peggy from my soul
Must be a stronger death.

MY PEGGY'S FACE

TUNE-My Peggy's Face.

My Peggy's face, my Peggy's form,
The frost of hermit age might warm;
My Peggy's worth, my Peggy's mind,
Might charm the first of human kind.
I love my Peggy's angel air,
Her face so truly, heavenly fair,
Her native grace so void of art,
But I adore my Peggy's heart.

The lily's hue, the rose's dye,
The kindling lustre of an eye;
Who but owns their magic sway!
Who but knows they all decay!
The tender thrill, the pitying tear,
The generous purpose, nobly dear,
The gentle look, that rage disarms-
These are all immortal charms.

ON A YOUNG LADY

RESIDING ON THE BANKS OF THE SMALL RIVER DEVON, IN CLACKMANNANSHIRE, BUT WHOSE

SPENT IN AYRSHIRE.

INFANT YEARS WERB

How pleasant the banks of the clear-winding Devon,
With green-spreading bushes, and flowers blooming fair;
But the bonniest flower on the banks of the Devon
Was once a sweet bud on the braes of the Ayr,

Mild be the sun on this sweet-blushing flower,
In the gay rosy morn as it bathes in the dew!
And gentle the fall of the soft vernal shower,
That steals on the evening each leaf to renew.
Oh spare the dear blossom, ye orient breezes,
With chill hoary wing as ye usher the dawn!
And far be thou distant, thou reptile that seizes
The verdure and pride of the garden and lawn!
Let Bourbon exult in his gay-gilded lilies,

And England triumphant display her proud rose
A fairer than either adorns the green valleys
Where Devon, sweet Devon, meandering flows

MACPHERSON'S FAREWELL.
TUNE-M'Pherson's Rant.

FAREWELL, ye dungeons dark and strong,
The wretch's destinie!

Macpherson's time will not be long

On yonder gallows-tree.

Sae rantingly, sae wantonly,
Sae dauntingly gaed he;

He played a spring, and danced it round,
Below the gallows-tree.

Oh, what is death but parting breath?
On many a bloody plain

I've dared his face, and in this place
I scorn him yet again!

Untie these bands from off my hands,
And bring to me my sword;

And there's no a man in all Scotland,
But I'll brave him at a word.

SC went

a tune

I've lived a life of sturt and strife;

trouble

I die by treacherie:

It burns my heart I must depart,

And not avenged be.

Now farewell light-thou sunshine bright,

And all beneath the sky!

May coward shame distain his name,

The wretch that dares not die!

STAY MY CHARMER.

TUNE-An Gillie dubh ciar dhubh.

STAY, my charmer, can you leave me

Cruel, cruel to deceive me

Well you know how much you grieve me

Cruel charmer, can you go?

Cruel charmer, can you go?