For Campbell rade, but Myrie* staid,
And sair he paid the kain,† man;
Fell skelps he got, was war than shot
Frae the sharp-edg'd claymore, man;
Frae many a spout came running out
His reeking-het red gore, man.

But Gard❜nert brave did still behave
Like to a hero bright, man;
His courage true, like him were few,
That still despised flight, man;

* Mr. Myrie was a student of physic, from Jamaica; he entered as a volunteer in Cope's army, and was miserably mangled by the broad-sword.

ti. e. He suffered severely in the cause.

James Gardiner, colonel of a regiment of horse. This gentleman's conduct, however celebrated, does not seem to have proceeded so much from the generous ardour of a noble and heroic mind, as from a spirit of religious enthusiasm, and a bigoted reliance on the Presbyterian doctrine of predestination, which rendered it a matter of perfect indifference whether he left the field or remained in it. Being deserted by his troop, he was killed by a Highlander, with a Lochaber axe.

Colonel Gardiner having, when a gay young man, at Paris, made an assignation with a lady, was, as he pretended, not only deterred from keeping his appointment, but thoroughly reclaimed from all such thoughts in future, by an apparition. See his Life by Doddridge.

For king and laws, and country's cause,
In honour's bed he lay, man;
His life, but not his courage, fled,
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 spur'd his beast,
"Twas little there he saw, man;

To Berwick rade, and safely said,
The Scots were rebels a', man;
But let that end, for well 'tis kend
His use and wont to lie, man;
The Teague is naught, he never faught,
When he had room to flee, man.

And Caddell drest, amang the rest,
With gun and good claymore, man,
On gelding grey 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 cor,
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,
About they fac'd, and in great haste
Upon the booty flew, man;

And they, as gain, for all their pain,
Are deck'd wi spoils of war, man;
Fow bald can tell how her nainsell
Was ne'er sae pra before, man.

At the thorn-tree, which you may see
Bewest the meadow-mill, man;

There mony slain lay on the plain,

The clans pursuing still, man.

Sic unco' hacks, and deadly whacks,

I never saw the like, man;

Lost hands and heads cost them their deads,
That fell near Preston-dyke, man.

That afternoon, when a' was done,
I gaed to see the fray, man;
But had I wist what after past,
I'd better staid away, man:
On Seaton sands, wi' nimble hands,
They pick'd my pockets bare, man;
But I wish ne'er to drie sick fear,
For a' the sum and mair, man.

TO THE WEAVERS GIN YE GO.

THE Chorus of this song is old, the rest of it is mine.-Here, once for all, let me apologize for many silly compositions of mine in this work. Many beautiful airs wanted words; in the hurry of other avocations, if I could string a parcel of rhymes together any thing near tolerable, I was fain to let them pass. He must be an excellent poet indeed, whose every performance is excellent.

STREPHON AND LYDIA.

Tune-THE GORDONS HAD THE GUIDING O'T.

THE following account of this song I had from Dr. Blacklock.

The Strephon and Lydia mentioned in the song were perhaps the loveliest couple of their time. The gentleman was commonly known by the name of Beau Gibson. The lady was the Gentle Jean, celebrated somewhere in Mr. Hamilton* of Bangour's poems. Having frequently met at public places, they had formed a reciprocal attachment,

* “With the elegant and accomplished WILLIAM HAMILTON of Bangour, whose amiable manners were long remembered with the tenderest recollection by all who knew him, Mr. Home lived in the closest habits of friendship. The Writer of these Memoirs has heard him dwell with delight on the scenes of their youthful days; and he has to regret that many an anecdote, to which he listened with pleasure, was not committed to a better record than a treacherous memory. Hamilton's mind is pictured in his verses. They are the easy and careless effusions of an elegant fancy and a chastened taste; and the sentiments they convey are the genuine feelings of a tender and susceptible heart, which perpetually owned the dominion of some favourite mistress; but whose passion generally evaporated in song, and made no serious or permanent impression. His poems had an additional charm to his cotemporaries, from being commonly addressed to his familiar friends of either sex."

Life of Lord Kaimes, vol. i. p. 64. Hamilton died in March, 1754, aged 50.