Till Charlie Stewart cam at last My Donald's arm was wanted then, Their waefu' fate what need I tell! I hae nocht left me ava, But bonnie orphan lad-weans twa, I hae yet a tocher band, My winsome Donald's durk an' bran', There's only ae blink o' hope left, To see my bairns gie bludie crownes "This song," says Mr. CROMEK, in his Remains, "has been known in another garb for many years in Galloway. The three last verses are now first printed. The fifth, sixth, and seventh verses, are wholly by BURNS. "The determined fierceness of the Highland character urges to acts of desperate resolution and heroism. One of a clan, at the battle of Culloden, being singled out and wounded, set his back against a park wall, and with his targe and claymore bore singly the onset of a party of dragoons. Pushed to desperation, he made resistless strokes at his enemies, who crowded and encumbered themselves to have each the glory of slaying him. • Save that brave fellow,' was the unregarded cry of some officers. Golice Macbane was cut to pieces, and thirteen of his enemies lay dead around him.". THOUGH WOMEN'S MINDS. TUNE-" For a' that and a' that." THOUGH Women's minds, like winter winds, For a' that and a' that, And twice as meikle's a' that; Great love I bear to a' the fair, But there is ane aboon the lave, In rapture sweet this hour we meet, For a' that, &c. Their tricks and craft hae put me daft, For a' that, &c. A' BODY'S LIKE TO GET MARRIED BUT ME. As Jenny sat down wi' her wheel by the fire, And thought of the time that was fast fleein' by, She said to hersel', wi' a heavy heigh hee, O, a' body's like to get married but me! She said, &c. My youthfu' companions are a' worn awa, Yet a lad, &c. There's Lowrie, the lawyer, wad hae me fu' fain, There's Dickie, my cousin, frae Lun'on come down, But, poor deevil, &c. But I saw a lad by yon saughy-burn side, I gied him a look, as a kind lassie shou'd; For tho' bonnie, &c. Сс 'Tis hard to take shelter behint a laigh dike; 'Tis hard for to take ane we never can like; 'Tis hard for to leave ane we fain would be wi'; Yet its harder that a' should get married but me. 'Tis hard for, &c. THE BLACK-E'ED LASSIE. My bonnie black-e'ed lassie, O. It's no the witch-glance o' thy ee, Ye smile sae sweet, ye look sae kind, To me, my black-e'ed lassie, O! O ARE YE SLEEPING, MAGGIE. TUNE-" Sleepy Maggy." O are ye sleeping, Maggie, Fearful soughs the boortree bank, The rifted wood roars wild and drearie; Loud the iron yate does clank, And cry of howlets makes me eerie. Aboon my breath I darna speak, For fear I rouse your waukrife daddie; Cauld's the blast upon my cheek; O rise, rise, my bonnie lady! She opt the door, she let him in, Now since ye're waking, Maggie, For boortree bank, or warlock craigie! |