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This is the cleverest of all our party songs; sharp, lively, and original. I know not to whose hand we owe it: it cannot well be so old as the period of the last rebellion ; for every line has the echo of yesterday, compared to the lyrics of the forty-five.“ The clan Macgillavry," says James Hogg," is a subordinate one; so that the name seems to represent the whole of the northern clans. In the Chevalier's muster-roll Macgillavry of Drumglass is named as one of the expected chieftains; and in 1745, the brave and powerful clan of Macintosh was led by Colonel Macgillavry.” To the north of Scotland the house of Stuart seems long to have looked for salvation: the chieftains of the clans were deluded by promised power and imaginary rank to arm in its cause; and that native pride which nought ean surpass, and that courage which nought can subdue, were alike bribed to the adventure. How far it succeeded history will ever relate with astonishment. A small bridge a short way in advance from Derby was the limit of their daring march; and their retreat was still more extraordinary. The people of Derby long after remembered the friendly visit of the highland army.
The Chevalier, being void of fear,
Did march up Birsle brae, man,
As fast as he could gae, man ;
Wi mony a loud huzza, man; rofa
We heard anither craw, man.
The brave Lochiel, as I heard tell,
Led Camerons on in cluds, man; The morning fair, and clear the air,
They loos’d with devilish thuds, man; Down guns they threw, and swords they drew,
And soon did chace them aff, man; On Seaton Crafts they buft their chafts,
And gart them rin like daft, man.
The bluff dragoons swore, blood and 'oons,
They'd make the rebels run, man;
And winna fire a gun, man :
Such terror seiz'd them a', man ;
And some for fear did fa', man.
The volunteers prick'd up their ears,
And vow gin they were crouse, man ; But when the bairns saw't turn to earn'st,
They were not worth a louse, man; Maist feck gade hame-0 fy for shame!
They'd better stay'd awa', man, Than wi' cockade to make parade,
And do nae good at a', man.
Menteith the great, when hersell shit,
Un'wares did ding him o'er, man ; Yet wadna stand to bear a hand,
But aff fou fast did scour, man ; O'er Soutra hill, e'er he stood still,
Before he tasted meat, man: Troth he may brag of his swift nag,
That bare him aff sae fleet, man.
And Simpson keen, to clear the een
Of rebels far in wrang, man, Did never strive wi' pistols five,
But gallop'd with the thrang, man: He turn’d his back, and in a crack
Was cleanly out of sight, man; And thought it best ; it was nae jest
Wi' Highlanders to fight, man.
'Mangst a' the gang nane bade the bang
But twa, and ane was tane, man ; For Campbell rade, but Myrie staid, And sair he paid the kain, man;
Fell skelps he got, was waur than shot,
Frae the sharp-edg'd claymore, man ; Frae many a spout came running out
His reeking-het red gore, man.
But Gard'ner brave did still behave
Like to a hero bright, man;
That still despised flight, man;
In honour's bed he lay, man;
While he had breath to draw, man.
And Major Bowle, that worthy soul,
Was brought down to the ground, man ; His horse being shot, it was his lot
For to get mony a wound, man: Lieutenant Smith, of Irish birth,
Frae whom he call’d for aid, man, Being full of dread, lap o'er his head,
And wadna be gainsaid, man.
He made sic haste, sae spurr’d his beast,
'Twas little there he saw, man; To Berwick rade, and safely said,
The Scots were rebels a', man:
His use and wont to lie, man;
When he had room to flee, man.
And Cadell drest, amang the rest,
With gun and good claymore, man, On gelding gray he rode that way,
With pistols set before, man; The cause was good, he'd spend his blood,
Before that he would yield, man ; But the night before, he left the core,
And never fac'd the field, man.
But gallant Roger, like a soger,
Stood and bravely fought, man ; I'm wae to tell, at last he fell,
But mae down wi' him brought, man: At point of death, wi' his last breath,
(Some standing round in ring, man), On's back lying flat, he wav'd his hat,
And cry'd, God save the king, man.
Some highland rogues, like hungry dogs,
Neglecting to pursue, man,
Upon the booty flew, man;
Are deck'd wi' spoils of war, man,
Was ne'er sae pra before, man.
At the thorn-tree, which you may see
Bewest the meadow-mill, man,