SONG LI.

Turn the Blue Bonnet wha can.

Now up wi' Donald, my ain brave Donald, It's

up wi' Donald and a' his clan; He's aff right early, a

鹬

way wi' Char-lie, Now turn the blue bonnet wha

can, wha can. His arm is rea-dy, his heart is

steady, And that they'll find when his claymore's

drawn; They'll flee frae its dint like the fire frae flint, Then

turn the blue bonnet wha can, wha can.

The tartan plaid it is waving wide,
The pibroch's sounding up the glen,
And I will tarry at Auchnacarry,

To see my Donald and a' his men.
And there I saw the king o' them a',
Was marching bonnily in the van;
And aye the spell o' the bagpipe's yell
Was, Turn the blue bonnet wha can, wha

can.

There's some will fight for siller and gowd,
And march to countries far awa;
They'll pierce the waefu' stranger's heart,
And never dream of honour or law.
Gie me the plaid and the tartan trews,
A plea that's just, a chief in the van,
To blink wi' his e'e, and cry " On wi' me!"
Deils, turn the blue bonnet wha can, wha can!

Hersel pe neiter slack nor slow,

Nor fear te face of Southron loon;

She ne'er pe stan' to fleech nor fawn,

Nor parley at a' wi' hims plack tragoon.

She just pe traw her trusty plade,

Like pettermost Highland shentleman; And as she platterin town te prae,

Tamn! turn her plue ponnet fa can, fa can!

SONG LII.

The Athol Gathering.

WHA will ride wi' gallant Murray? Wha will ride wi'

Geordie's sel? He's the flow'r o' a' Glen- is - la,

And the dar-ling o' Dunkel'.

See the white rose

in his bon-net! See his ban-ner o'er the Tay!

His gude sword he now has drawn it, And has flung the

sheath away.

Every faithful Murray follows;
First of heroes! best of men!
Every true and trusty Stewart

Blythely leaves his native glen.
Athol lads are lads of honour,
Westland rogues are rebels a':
When we come within their border,
We may gar the Campbells claw.
VOL. II.

a' maun march right early O'er misty mount and

mos-sy muir, A- lang wi' royal Charlie. Yon

German cuif that fills the throne, He clamb to't most un

fairly; Sae aff we'll set, and try to get His

birthright back to Char -- lie.

Yet, ere we leave this valley dear,
Those hills o'erspread wi' heather,
Send round the usquebaugh sae clear;
We'll tak a horn thegither.
And listen, lads, to what I gie;

Ye'll pledge me roun' sincerely:
To him that's come to set us free,
Our rightful ruler, Charlie.

Oh! better lov'd he canna be;
Yet when we see him wearing
Our Highland garb sae gracefully,
'Tis aye the mair endearing.
Though a' that now adorns his brow

Be but a simple bonnet,

Ere lang we'll see of kingdoms three

The royal crown upon

it.

But ev'n should Fortune turn her heel

Upon the righteous cause, boys,

We'll shaw the warld we're firm and leal,

And never will prove fause, boys.