CARLE, NOW THE KING'S COME!

SIR WALTER SCOTT.

The news has flown frae mouth to mouth,
The North for ance has bang'd the South;
The deil a Scotsman's die of drouth,

Carle, now the King's come!

Auld England held him lang and fast;
And Ireland had a joyfu' cast;

But Scotland's turn is come at last

Carle, now the King's come!

Auld Reikie, in her rokela gray,

Thought never to have seen the day;

He's been a weary time away

But, Carle, now the King's conie!

She's skirling frae the Castle-hill ;

The Carline's voice is grown sae shrill

Ye'll hear her at the Canon-mill,

Carle, now the King's come!

Up, bairns! she cries, baith grit and sma',
And busk ye for the weapon-shaw !—
Stand by me, and we'll bang them a'!

Carle, now the King's come!

Come from Newbattle's ancient spires,

Bauld Lothian, with your knights and squires,

And match the metal of

your sires,

I'm missing some that I may rue,

Carle, now the King's come!

Come, Haddington, the kind and gay,

You've graced my causeway mony a day;
I'll weep the cause if you should stay,

Carle, now the King's come!

Come premier duke, and carry doun,
Frae yonder craig, his ancient croun;
It's had a lang sleep and a soun'-—

But, Carle, now the King's come!

Come, Athole, from the hill and wood,
Bring down your clansmen like a cloud;—
Come, Morton, show the Douglas' blood;
Carle, now the King's come!

Come, Tweeddale, true as sword to sheath
Come, Hopetoun, fear'd on fields of death;
Come, Clerk, and give yon bugle breath;

;

Carle, now the King's come! Come, Wemyss, who modest merit aids; Come, Roseberry, from Dalmeny shades; Breadalbane, bring your belted plaids;

Carle, now the King's come!

Come, stately Niddrie, auld and true,
Girt with the sword that Minden knew ;
We have ower few such lairds as you—

Carle, now the King's come!

King Arthur's grown a common crier,
He's heard in Fife and far Cantyre,
Fie, lads, behold my crest of fire!

Carle, now the King's come!

Saint Abb roars out, I see him pass
Between Tantallon and the Bass!-
Calton, get out your keeking-glass,

Carle, now the King's come!

The Carline stopp'd; and, sure I am,
For very glee had ta'en a dwam,
But Oman help'd her to a dram—

Carle, now the King's come!

DONALD MACDONALD.

JAMES HOGG.

My name it is Donald Macdonald,
I live in the Highlands so grand;
I've follow'd our banner, an' will do,
Wherever my Maker has land.

When ranked amang the blue bonnets,
Nae danger can fear me ava;
I ken that my brethren around me
Are either to conquer or fa
Brogues an' brochen an' a',

Brochen an' brogues an' a';
An' is na the laddie weel aff,

Wha has brogues an' brochen an' a'?

Short syne we were wonderfu' cantie
Our friends an' our country to see;
But since the proud consul's grown vauntie,
We'll meet him by land or by sea.
Wherever a clan is disloyal,

Wherever our king has a foe,

He'll quickly see Donald Macdonald,

Wi' his highlanders a' in a row.

Guns an' pistols an' a',

Pistols an' guns an' a';

He'll quickly see Donald Macdonald,
Wi' guns an' pistols an' a'.

What though we befriendit young Charlie ?
To tell it I dinna think shame ;
Poor lad! he cam' to us but barely,
And reckon'd our mountains his hame.
'Tis true that our reason forbade us,
But tenderness carried the day: as
Had Geordie come friendless amang us,

Wi' him we had a' gane away. A: TAV, 1lings a

Sword an' buckler an' a',

Buckler an' sword an' a,

For George we'll encounter the devil,
Wi' sword an' buckler an' a'.

An Oh! I wad eagerly press him
The keys o' the East to retain,
For should he gie up the possession,
We'll soon hae to force them again :
Than yield up an inch wi' dishonour,
Though it were my finishin' blow,
He aye may depend on Macdonald,
Wi's highlandmen all in a row.
Knees an' elbows an' a',

Elbows an' knees an' a':
Depend upon Donald Macdonald,
His knees an' elbows an' a'.

If Bonaparte land at Fort-William,
Auld Europe nae langer shall grane;
I laugh when I think how we'll gall him
Wi' bullet, wi' steel, an' wi' stane :
Wi' rocks o' the Nevis an' Gairy
We'll rattle him aff frae the shore,
Or lull him asleep in a cairney,
And sing him Lochaber no more!
Stanes an' bullets an' a',

Bullets an' stanes an' a';
We'll finish the Corsican callan'

Wi' stanes an' bullets an' a'.