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*,Our ancient crown's fa'n i' the dust,

Deil blind them wi' the stour o't! !1 1. And write their names i' his black beuk,

Wha ga’e the whigs the power o't!

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Grim vengeance lang has ta'en a nap,

But we may see him wauken:
Gude help the day when royal heads

Are hunted like a maukin.

The deil he heard the stour o'tongues,

And ramping came amang us ;
But he pitied us sae wi' cursed whigs,

He turn'd, and wadna wrang us.

Sae grim he sat amang the reek,

Thrang bundling brimstone matches;
And croon'd, 'mang the beuk-taking whigs,
Scraps of auld Calvin's catches.
Awa whigs, awa,

Awa whigs, awa;
Ye'll rin me out o'wun spunks,

And ne'er do good at a'.

Some of the lines of this song are as old as the days of Oliver Cromwell, and some of them are of very recent composition. It was a favourite fancy of the Jacobites to place their enemies in perdition, and distribute infernal power and rule among them according to their labours in the cause of the house of Orange or Hanover. Meston, and many nameless writers, indulged in this poetical mode of punishment; which drew down upon them the indignant reproach of Addison. I wish not to defend it; but since the Whigs divided all power and domination among themselves 'on this earth, the Jacobites might be justified in their imaginary appropriation of paradise and in allotting a place of punishment to their enemies. The air of the song is very ancient.


Wha the deil hae we got for a king

But a wee wee German lairdie ? And when we gade to bring him hame

He was delving his kail-yardie : Sheughing kail, and laying leeks, Without the hose, and but the breeks ; And

up his beggar duds he cleeksThe wee wee German lairdie.

And he's clapt down in our gudeman's chair,

The wee wee German lairdie ;
And he's brought fouth o’ foreign trash,

And dibbled them in his yardie.
He's pu'd the rose o' English loons,
And broken the harp o' Irish clowns,
But our thistle top will jag his thumbs-

The wee wee German lairdie.

Come up amang our Highland hills,

Thou wee wee German lairdie,
"And see the Stuarts' lang-kail thrive

We dibbled in our yardie:
And if a stock ye dare to pu',
Or haud the yoking o' a pleugh,
We'll break your sceptre o'er your mou',

Thou wee bit German lairdie.

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Our hills are steep, our glens are deep,

Nae fitting for a yardie;
And our Norland thistles winna pu',

Thou wee bit German lairdie:
And we've the trenching blades o' weir
prune ye o'


gearWe'll pass ye 'neath the claymore's sheer,

Thou feckless German lairdie.

Auld Scotland, thou’rt o'er cauld a hole

For nursing foreign vermin ;
But the very dogs o' England's court,

They bark and howl in German.
Short while they'll fawn and lick thy hand
We come wi' target and wi' brand

sweep them frae the southron land-
Thou wee wee German lairdie.

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The idea of this song is old, so are the three starting linee; all the rest is modern. The poverty of the Elector of Hanover, and the laborious industry with which he strove to maintain the external show of worldly splendour, formed a theme for the Jacobite bards both of England and of Scotland. I have before me a copy of a scoffing ballad, which was chanted through London on the arrival of George the First. Had the monarch understood our language, the song must have given him a very mean idea of Jacobite satire. Its burthen is German poverty and English abundance, and the wonder which our wardrobes and dinner tables excited in the royal minds of the strangers.


The Cuckoo's a bonny bird when he comes home,
The Cuckoo's a bonny bird when he comes home;
He'll fey away the wild birds that flutter round the

My bonny bonny Cuckoo when he comes home.
The Cuckoo's a bonny bird, and he'll ha'e his day;
The Cuckoo's the royal bird, whatever they may say;
Wi' the whistle o' his mou, and the blink o' his e'e,
He'll scare a' the unco birds


frae me.

The Cuckoo's a bonny bird when he comes home,
The Cuckoo's a bonny bird when he comes home;
He'll fey away the wild birds that flutter round the

My bonny Cuckoo, when he comes home.

The Cuckoo's a bonny bird, but far frae his hame,
I ken him by the feathers that grow about his kame;
And round that double kame yet a crown I hope to see,

my bonny Cuckoo he is dear unto me.

“ I took these two verses,” says, James Hogg, “ from the recitation of a shrewd idiot, one whom we call in Scots à · half daft man,' named William Dodds; who gave it as a quotation, in a mock discourse which he was accustomed to deliver to the lads and lasses in the winter evenings, to their infinite amusement, in the style and manner of a fervent preacher. It is not easy to discover where the similarity existed between the Chevalier and the cuckoo,” The similarity is this : with the coming of the cuckoo the Chevalier was looked for-the bird and the prince were expected in April: the cuckoo was therefore “a bonnie bird when he came hame," since his first note in the land, and the warcry of the Stuarts, would be heard together. In the same manner a violet was employed by the partisans of Buonaparte to indicate the period of his return from Elba. « Il reviendrai au printems,” was their ambiguous motto; and their hero was recognised and his praises celebrated under the fantastic epithet of “ Corporal Violet."

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