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"Tell me, thou bonny bird,
When shall I marry me ?"—

"When six braw gentlemen
Kirkward shall carry ye."

"Who makes the bridal bed,

Birdie, say truly ?"—
"The grey-headed sexton

That delves the grave duly.

"The glow-worm o'er grave and stone

Shall light thee steady.
The owl from the steeple sing,

'Welcome, proud lady.'"
Madge Wildfire's Song—Heart of Midlothian.

MACGREGOR'S GATHERING.

AlB—Thain' a Origalach.*

[These verses are adapted to a very wild, yet lively gatheringtune, used by the MacQregors. The severe treatment of this Clan, their outlawry, and the proscription of their very name, are alluded to in the Ballad.]

The moon's on the lake, and the mist's on the brae, And the Clan has a name that is nameless by day;

Then gather, gather, gather, Grigalach!

Gather, gather, gather, etc

Our signal for fight, that from monarchs we drew, Must be heard but by night in our vengeful haloo!

Then haloo, Grigalach! haloo, Grigalach!

Haloo, haloo, haloo, Grigalach, etc.
* "The MacGregor is come."

Glen Orchy's proud mountains, Coalchuirn and her

towers, Glenstrae and Glenlyon no longer are ours;

We're landless, landless, landless, Grigalach!

Landless, landless, landless, etc.

Rut doom'd and devoted by vassal and lord,
Macgregor has still both his heart and his sword!

Then courage, courage, courage, Grigalach!

Courage, courage, courage, etc.

If they rob us of name, and pursue us with beagles, Give their roofs to the flame, and their flesh to the eagles I

Then vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, Grigalach!

Vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, etc.

While there's leaves in the forest, and foam on the river,

Macgregor, despite them, shall flourish for over!
Come then, Grigalach, come then, Grigalach,
Come then, come then, come then, etc.

Through the depths of Loch Katrine the steed shall

career, O'er the peak of Ben-Lomond the galley shall

steer,
And the rocks of Craig-Royston like icicles melt,
Ere our wrongs be forgot, or our vengeance unfelt I
Then gather, gather, gather, Grigalach I
Gather, gather, gather, etc.

LULLABY OF AN INFANT CHIEF.
Ant—Cadul gu lo.

O, Hush thee, my babie, thy sire was a knight,
Thy mother a lady, both lovely and bright;
The woods and the glens, from the towers which we see,
They all are belonging, dear babie, to thee.

O ho ro, i ri ri, cadul gu lo.

O ho ro, i ri ri, etc.

O, fear not the bugle, though loudly it blows,
It calls but the warders that guard thy repose;
Their bows would be bended, their blades would be red,
Ere the step of a foeman draws near to thy bed.
O ho ro, i ri ri, etc.

III.
O, hush thee, my babie, the time soon will come,
When thy sleep shall be broken by trumpet and drum;
Then hush thee, my darling, take rest while you may,
For strife comes with manhood, and waking with day.
O ho ro, i ri ri, etc.

THE SUN UPON THE WEIRDLAW HILL.

The sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill,
In Ettrick's vale, is sinking sweet j

The westland wind is hush and still,
The lake lies sleeping at my feet .

Yet not the landscape to mine eye
Bears those bright hues that once it bore;

Though evening, with her richest dye,
Flames o'er the hills of Ettrick's shore.

With listless look along the plain,

I see Tweed's silver current glide,
And coldly mark the holy fane

Of Melrose rise in ruin'd pride.
The quiet lake, the balmy air,

The hill, the stream, the tower, the tiee,-
Are they still such as once they were I

Or is the dreary change in me 1

Alas, the warp'd and broken board,

How can it bear the painter's dye!
The harp of strain'd and tuneless chord,

How to the minstrel's skill reply!
To aching eyes each landscape lowers,

To feverish pulse each gale blows chill—
And Araby's or Eden's bowers

Were barren as this moorland hill.

BORDER BALLAD.

March, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale,

Why the deil dinna ye march forward in order?

March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale,
All the Blue Bonnets are bound for the Border.

Many a banner spread,

Flutters above your head,
Many a crest that is famous in story,

Mount and make ready then,

Sons of the mountain glen,
Fight for the Queen and our old Scottish glory.

Come from the hills where your hirsels are grazing,

Come from the glen of the buck and the roe; Como to the crag where the beacon is blazing, Come with the buckler, the lance, and the bow. Trumpets are sounding, War-steeds are bounding, Stand to your arms, and march in good order, England shall many a day Tell of the bloody fray, When the Blue Bonnets came over the Border.

The Monastery. Chap. xxv.

"TWIST YE, TWINE YE."

Twist ye, twine ye ! even so,
Mingle shades of joy and woe,
Hope, and fear, and peace, and strife,
In the thread of human life.

While the mystic twist is spinning,
And the infant's life beginning,
Dimly seen through twilight bending,
Lo, what varied shapes attending!

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