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There's a rose in Kenmure's cap, Willie,

A bright sword in his hand-
A hundred Gordons at his side,

And hey for English land!
Here's him that's far awa, Willie,

Here's him that's far awa ;
And here's the flower that I love best,

The rose that's like the snaw.

The “ Gordon's line” has lately been restored to the honours of which it was deprived by the unfortunate hero of this lyric. The Galloway Gordons, a numerous and opulent race, rejoiced on the occasion, after the manner of Scotland, with feast and dance and song. The story of William Gordon, Viscount Kenmure, is matter of history. He left Galloway with two hundred horsemen well armed; and joining the Earl of Derwentwater, advanced to Preston with the hope of being reinforced by the English Jacobites, a numerous, but an irresolute body. Here the rebel chiefs were attacked by General Carpenter: their sole resource was in their courage ; and this seems to have failed some of them the result need not be told. Kenmure was beheaded on Tower-hill.— It is said of the present viscount's mother, a proud Mackenzie, that she refrained from acknowledging in the usual way the presence of his late Majesty on the terrace-walk of Windsor; and walked loftily past, rustling her silks with a becoming dignity. The King found a cure for this: he sent his compliments, and said he honoured those who were stedfast in their principles. The lady's pride submitted for when did a monarch pay a compliment in vain ?

I have endeavoured to give an accurate copy of this favourite song. It is of Galloway origin, with a few touches by Burns and other hands; and more verses might be added.


Whare hae ye been sae braw, lad ?

Whare hae ye been sae brankie-o?
Whare hae


been sae braw, lad?
Came ye by Killicrankie-o?

had been whare I hae been,
Ye wadna be sae cantie-o;

had seen what I hae seen,
On the braes of Killicrankie-o.

I faught at land, I faught at sea,

At hame I faught my auntie-o;
But I met the devil and Dundee

On the braes o' Killicrankie-o.
The bauld Pitcur fell in a furt,

And Clavers gat a clankie-o,
Else I had fed an Athol gled,

On the braes o' Killicrankie-o.

O fie, Mackay! what gart ye lie

l' the bush ayont the brankie-o?
Ye'd better kiss'd King Willie's loof,

Than come to Killicrankie-o.
It's nae shame, it's nae shame-
It's nae shame to shank

There's sour slaes on Athol braes,

And deils at Killicrankie-o.

Of John Grahame, of Claverhouse, much has been written and much said ; and over his fall at Killicrankie the Cameronians have shouted, and the Jacobites mourned. The former recognised him by the name of the Bloody Claver'se, imagined he had entered into a covenant with the enemy of mankind, and finally slew him with a silver button, for he was supposed to be proof against lead and steel : the latter admired him as a man bold and chivalrous, devoted to their cause, a soldier of no common capacity, and in whose untimely death they saw the downfall of their hopes. He was certainly a gallant commander, but a relentless and unsparing one; and his conduct in the Persecution has called all the generous and noble qualities in question which his admirers have assigned him. Sir Walter Scott has painted a stern and unbending hero, who shed human blood with as little compunction as one would drain a fen, and who thought all nobleness of nature was confined to the cavaliers. James Hogg pulled him down from this high station, made him a contemptible stabber and oppressor, and gave him a thirst for blood, which was often allayed, but never appeased. The latter is far wrong, nor am I sure that the former is quite right. His death was according to his character he was following the vanquished enemy, and shouting and calling his men onward, with his sword waving over his head, when he received a ball under his arm, and instantly fell. He lived only till he wrote a short account of his victory to King James, and was buried at Blair Athol.


O Willie, Willie Wanbeard,

He's awa' frae hame,
Wi' a budget at his back,

An' a wallet at his wame:
But some will sit on his seat,
Some will eat of his meat,
Some will stand i' his shoon,

Or he come again.

O Willie, Willie Wanbeard,

He's awa' to ride,
Wi' a bullet in his bortree,

And a shable by his side ;
But some will whyte wi' Willie's knife,
Some will kiss Willie's wife
Some will wear his bonnet,

Or he come again.

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.Bli O Willie, Willie Wanbeard, y

He's awa' to sail,
Wi' water in his waygate,

An' wind in his tail;

Wi his back boonermost, 1.1. An' his kyte downermost,

An' his flype hindermost,

Fighting wi' his tail.

O Willie, Willie Wanbeard,

He's awa' to fight;
But fight dog, fight bane,

Willie will be right:
An' he'll do, what weel he may,
An' has done for mony a day,–
Wheel about, an' rin away,

Like a wally wight.

O saw ye Daddy Duncan

Praying like to cry?
Or saw ye Willie Wanbeard

Lying in the rye?
Wi' his neb boonermost,
An' his doup downermost,
An' his flype hindermost,

Like a Pesse pie!

In ridiculing the martial prowess of King William, the author of this song has drawn a very ungracious

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