4

When reposing that night on my pallet of straw,
By the wolf-scaring faggot that guarded the slain,
At the dead of the night a sweet vision I saw,
And thrice ere the morning I dreamt it again.

Methought, from the battle-field's dreadful array
Far, far I had roam'd on a desolate track:
'Twas Autumn,--and sunshine arose on the way
To the home of my fathers, that welcomed me back.

I flew to the pleasant fields, traversed so oft

In life's morning march, when my bosom was young; I heard my own mountain-goats bleating aloft,

And knew the sweet strain that the cora-reapers sung.

Then pledged we the wine-cup, and fondly I swore
From my home and my weeping friends never to part;
My little ones kiss'd me a thousand times o'er,

And my wife sobb'd aloud in her fulness of heart.

"Stay, stay with us,-rest! thou art weary and worn!"-
And fain was their war-broken soldier to stay;

But sorrow return'd with the dawning of morn,
And the voice in my dreaming ear melted away.

THERE lived a lass in Inverness,

She was the pride of a' the town. Blythe as the lark on gowan-tap,

When frae the nest but newly flown. At kirk she wan the auld folks' luve,

At dance she wan the young men's cen;

She was the blythest ay o' the blythe,
At wooster-trystes or Halloween.

As I came in by Inverness,

The simmer sun was sinking down, O there I saw the weel-faur'd lass,

And she was greeting through the town. The grey-hair'd men were a' i' the streets,

She tore her haffet-links of gowd,
And dighted ay her comely ee;
"My father's head's on Carlisle wall,
At Preston sleep my brethren three!
I thought my heart could haud nae mair,
Mae tears could ever blin' my ee;
But the fa' o' ane has burst my heart-
A dearer ane there couldna be!

He trysted me o' love yestreen,

Of love-tokens he gave me three;
But he's faulded i' the arms o' weir,
O ne'er again to think o' me!
The forest flowers shall be my bed,

My food shall be the wild berrie;
The fa' o' the leaf shall co'er me cauld,
And wauken'd again I winna be!"

O weep, O weep, ye Scottish dames,
Weep till ye blin' ae mither's ee;
Nae reeking ha' in fifty miles,

But naked corses sad to see!

O spring is blythesome to the year,

Trees sprout, flowers spring, and birds sing hie; But O! what spring can raise them up,

That lie on dread Culloden-lee?

The hand o' God hung heavy here,
And lightly touch'd foul tyrannie;
It struck the righteous to the ground,
And lifted the destroyer hie.

But there's a day," quo' my God in prayer,
"When righteousness shall bear the gree;
I'll rake the wicked low i' the dust,

And wauken in bliss the gude man's ee!”