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"Tell me, thou bonny bird,
"When six braw gentlemen
"Who makes the bridal bed,
Birdie, say truly ?"—
That delves the grave duly.
"The glow-worm o'er grave and stone
Shall light thee steady.
'Welcome, proud lady.'"
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.
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,
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!
Through the depths of Loch Katrine the steed shall
career, O'er the peak of Ben-Lomond the galley shall
LULLABY OF AN INFANT CHIEF.
O, Hush thee, my babie, thy sire was a knight,
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,
THE SUN UPON THE WEIRDLAW HILL.
The sun upon the Weirdlaw Hill,
The westland wind is hush and still,
Yet not the landscape to mine eye
Though evening, with her richest dye,
With listless look along the plain,
I see Tweed's silver current glide,
Of Melrose rise in ruin'd pride.
The hill, the stream, the tower, the tiee,-
Or is the dreary change in me 1
Alas, the warp'd and broken board,
How can it bear the painter's dye!
How to the minstrel's skill reply!
To feverish pulse each gale blows chill—
Were barren as this moorland hill.
March, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale,
Why the deil dinna ye march forward in order?
March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale,
Many a banner spread,
Flutters above your head,
Mount and make ready then,
Sons of the mountain glen,
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,
While the mystic twist is spinning,