ROYAL CHARLIE.

The wind comes frae the land I love,
It moves the gray flood rarely;→→→
Look for the lily on the lea,

And look for royal Charlie.

And Gordon's might, and Erskine's pride,

Shall live and die wi' Charlie.

The sun shines out-wide smiles the sea,
The lily blossoms rarely;→
O yonder comes his gallant ship-
Thrice welcome, royal Charlie!
Yes, yon's a good and gallant ship,
Wi' banners flaunting fairly;
But should it meet your darling prince,
"Twill feast the fish wi' Charlie.

Wide rustled she her silks in pride,
And waved her white hand lordlie-
And drew a bright sword from the sheath,
And answered high and proudlie.

I had three sons, and a good lord,

Wha sold their lives fu' dearlieAnd wi' their dust I'd mingle mine, For love of gallant Charlie.

It wad hae made a hale heart sair
To see our horsemen flying ;-

And my three bairns, and my good lord,
Amang the dead and dying:

I snatched a banner-led them back---
The white rose flourish'd rarely :-
The deed I did for royal James
I'd do again for Charlie.

Most of our Scottish ladies were vehement Jacobites, and Duncan Forbes found that men's swords did less for the cause of Prince Charles than the tongues of his fair countrywomen. Like Mause Headrigg they cried out, "Testify with your hands as we testify with our tongues, and they will never be able to harl the blessed youth into captivity." The gentlemen had the fear of forfeiture and the headsman's axe upon them; but the ladies saw in imagination the splendour of ancient royalty returning to Scotland, and had visions promising themselves an increase of importance and glory. This song comes from the lips of one of those resolute heroines-probably a lady of the family of Mar. The noble name of Erskine has lately been restored to its honours-an act of tardy but generous clemency.

O'ER THE WATER TO CHARLIE.

Come boat me o'er, come row me o'er,
Come boat me o'er to Charlie!

I'll gi'e John Brown another halfcrown
To boat me o'er to Charlie.

We'll o'er the water, we'll o'er the sea,
We'll o'er the water to Charlie ;
Come weal, come woe, we'll gather and go,
And live or die wi' Charlie.

I lo'e weel my Charlie's name,
Though some there be abhor him ;
I'd sing to see auld Nick gaun hame
Wi' Charlie's foes afore him.
We'll o'er the water, we'll o'er the sea,
We'll o'er the water to Charlie;
The mirkest night will draw to light,
There's sunshine yet for Charlie.

I swear and vow by moon and stars,
And sun that shines sae clearlie,
If I had twenty thousand lives,

I'd die as aft for Charlie.

We'll o'er the water, we'll o'er the sea,

We'll o'er the water to Charlie;

This sword that shone at Bannockburn
Shall shine again for Charlie.

This is one of the many lyric effusions with which the adherents of the house of Stuart sought to preserve the national love for their ancient line of Princes. It is however somewhat amended by Burns, and some sense has been infused into the chorus. In Hogg's "Jacobite Relics" another verse is added, which takes the song from the lips of a soldier and gives it to those of a lady. I think the general feeling is in favour of the former; though we have President Forbes's testimony to the violent love of the ladies for the exiled princes, and the assurance of Ray that they would listen to no manner of reason, but were Jacobites one and all. I have retained the original version.

LASSIE, LIE NEAR ME.

Lang ha'e we parted been,

Lassie, my dearie;

Now we are met again,

Lassie, lie near me.

Near me, near me,

Lassie, lie near me;

Lang hast thou lain thy lane,

Lassie, lic near me.

Frae dread Culloden's field,
Bloody and dreary,
Mourning my country's fate,

Lanely and weary;

Weary, weary,

Lanely and weary;

Become a sad banish'd wight,
Far frae my dearie.

Loud, loud the wind did roar,

Stormy and eerie,

Far frae my native shore,

Far frae my dearie.

Near me, near me,

Dangers stood near me;

Now I've escap'd them a',
Lassie, lie near me.

A' that I ha'e endur'd,

Lassie, my dearie,

Here in thine arms is cur'd

Lassie, lie near me.

Near me, near me,

Lassie, lie near me;

Lang hast thou lain thy lane,

Lassie, lie near me.

The original of this very pretty song was purely domestic-an infusion of Jacobite feeling seems not to