"So true," says Mackenzie, "natural, and home-brought is the picture, that all that had happened seem to be passing before their eyes. The spirit of poetry, the language, and boldness of expression have seldom been equalled, perhaps never surpassed; yet, at this distance of time, these martial strains are rehearsed with different and opposite feelings."

The changes which afterwards took place produced no change in the politics of the royal Gaelic bard. He entered into all the turmoils of the times with his whole heart, and with a boldness which no danger could daunt nor power intimidate from what he considered his duty. He became a violent opposer of the union, and employed his muse in numerous sarcastic and bitter compositions against William and Mary. But it was against the Campbells that he wrote his sharpest satires. The head of the clan felt the influence of his ridicule so much that he offered a reward for the poet's head. The bard presented himself to the marquis at Inverary, and demanded the

reward. Argyle received him courteously, showed him through the castle, and on entering an apartment hung round with the heads of black-cocks, asked, "Have you ever seen so many black-cocks together?" "Yes," said the bard. "Where?" demanded Argyle. "At Inverlochy," replied the poet, alluding to the slaughter of the Campbells on that memorable day. "Ah! John," added Argyle, "will you never cease gnawing the Campbells?" "I am sorry," said Macdonald, "that I cannot swallow them."

Iain Lom was a prolific writer, and among his other compositions he kept a poetical journal of Dundee's route from Keppoch to Killiecrankie. Donald Campbell, in his Treatise on the Language, Poetry, and Music of the Highland Clans, tells us that "Mr. James Munro, than whom no man is better qualified, is preparing for publication the interesting poems of this eminent modern bard, with a memoir of the bard himself, which will, if possible, be still more interesting even than his poems."

And now we've lost the worthiest lord That in these battles drew his sword.

It was our country's destiny

To lose three pillars of the throne,— Heroes who, in adversity,

For daring, proudly, greatly shone: Sir Donald, our leader when combined; Clanronald, captain of our men: Alisdair, generous, good, and kind, Chief of the Garry's far famed glen; Clanndonnill's ranks no more will see Leaders illustrious as the three.

When other chiefs fled from their lands,

Our heroes, stern and unsubdued, Rallied their bold, their kindred bands,

And for their king and country stood; Aye stood prepared in arms to die,

When war should his fierce tocsin sound, Or to achieve a victory

That should their treacherous foes con-
found;

Such were our chiefs, than maidens mild,
But, roused to war, than beacons wild.

ON CROWNING CHARLES THE

SECOND.

Upon my elbow calmly leaning,

Within the lovely mountain-glen,
My mind indulged itself in dreaming
Of the strange deeds and lives of men.
And wherefore should my voice be silent,
While my heart bounds with pride and joy,
Nor tell the Whigs, the base and violent,

Their greedy, rampant reign is by?
Their reign who falsely tried and murdered
The true, the loyal, and the brave;
Who, with their sophistry, bewildered
The people whom they would enslave.

With staff in hand, the while I hasten

To welcome home my native king, Why should I doubt that he will listen

To the leal counsel I may bring? Counsel from clans and chiefs true-hearted, Who suffered in their country's cause, Which, through the royal bard imparted, Should warn him to respect the laws;

But

not the men whose conduct baneful scattered ruin o'er the land,

Has

WERE NA MY HEART LIGHT. There was anes a may, and she loo'd na men: She biggit her bonnie bower doun i' yon glen; But now she cries dool! and well-a-day!

Come doun the green gate, and come here away.

When bonnie young Johnnie cam' ower the sea,
He said he saw naething sae lovely as me;
He hecht me baith rings and monie braw things;
And were na my heart licht I wad dee.

He had a wee titty that loo'd na me,
Because I was twice as bonnie as she,

She rais'd such a pother 'twixt him and his mother,

That were na my heart licht I wad dee.

The day it was set, and the bridal to be;

The wife took a dwam, and lay doun to dee,

She main'd and she graned out o' dolour and pain,

Till he vow'd he never wad see me again.

His kin was for ane of a higher degree,
Said, What had he to do wi' the like of me?
Albeit I was bonnie, I was na for Johnnie:
And were na my heart licht I wad dee.

They said I had neither cow nor calf,
Nor dribbles o' drink rins through the draff,
Nor pickles o' meal rins through the mill-e'e;
And were na my heart licht I wad dee.

His titty she was baith wylie and slee,
She spied me as I cam' ower the lea;
And then she ran in, and made a loud din;
Believe your ain een an ye trow na me.

His bonnet stood aye fu' round on his brow;
His auld ane look'd aye as weel as some's new;
But now he lets 't wear ony gate it will hing,
And casts himself dowie upon the corn-bing.
And now he gaes daundrin' about the dykes,
And a' he dow do is to hund the tykes:
The live-lang nicht he ne'er steeks his e'e;
And were na my heart licht I wad dee.

Were I young for thee, as I ha'e been,

We should ha'e been gallopin' doun on yon green,
And linkin' it ower the lily-white lea;
And wow! gin I were but young for thee!

O THE EWE-BUGHTING'S BONNIE.

O the ewe-bughting's bonnie, baith e'ening and

morn,

When our blythe shepherds play on the bog-reed and horn;

While we're milking they're lilting sae jocund and clear;

But my heart's like to break when I think o' my dear!

O the shepherds take pleasure to blow on the horn,

To raise up their flocks i' the fresh simmer morn: On the steep ferny banks they feed pleasant and free --

But, alas! my dear heart, all my sighing's for thee!

O the sheep-herding's lightsome amang the green braes

Where Cayle wimples clear 'neath the whiteblossomed slaes,

Where the wild-thyme and meadow-queen scent the saft gale,

And the cushat crouds luesomely doun in the

dale.

There the lintwhite and mavis sing sweet frae the thorn,

And blythe lilts the laverock aboon the green

corn,

And a' things rejoice in the simmer's glad prime But my heart's wi' my love in the far foreign clime!

O the hay-making's pleasant in bright sunny

June

The hay-time is cheery when hearts are in tune; But while others are joking and laughing sae free,

There's a pang at my heart and a tear i' my e'e.
At e'en i' the gloaming, adown by the burn,
Fu' dowie, and wae, aft I daunder and mourn;
Amang the lang broom I sit greeting alane,
And sigh for my dear and the days that are gane.

O the days o' our youtheid were heartsome and gay,

When we herded thegither by sweet Gaitshaw brae,

When we plaited the rushes and pu'd the witchbells

To win honour and gowd (gif his life it be spared!)
Ah! little I care for wealth, favour, or fame,
Gin I had my dear shepherd but safely at hame!

Then round our wee cot though gruff winter sould roar,

And poortith glowr in like a wolf at the door;

bink;

Yet, he wi' his hirsel, and I wi' my wheel, Through the howe o' the year we wad fen unco weel;

Till the lintwhite, and laverock, and lambs bleating fain,

Brought back the blythe time o' ewe-bughting again.

WILLIAM HAMILTON of Gilbert field, the friend and correspondent of Allan Ramsay, was the second son of Captain William Hamilton of Ladylands, Ayrshire, and was born about 1665. He entered the army early in life, but after considerable service abroad returned to Scotland, with no higher rank than that of lieutenant. His time was now spent in field sports; in the cultivation of the society of men of genius and culture; and the occasional production of some effusion, in which the gentleman and the poet were alike conspicuous. His intimacy with the author of the "Gentle Shepherd "three of his epistles to whom are to be found in several editions of Ramsay's works-commenced in an admiration on the part of the afterwards celebrated poet of some pieces of Hamilton's which had come under his notice. Allan, in an epistle addressed to his friend, says:

"When I begoud first to con verse,

And cou'd your Ardry Whins' rehearse,
Where bony Heck ran fast and fierce,
It warm'd my breast;

Then emulation did me pierce,
Whilk since near ceast.

"May I be lickit wi' a bittle,
Gin of your numbers I think little;
Ye're never ragget, shan, nor kittle,
But blyth and gabby;
And hit the spirit to a tittle

Of Standart Habby."

Towards the close of his life Hamilton resided at Letterick, in the county of Lanark,

where he died at an advanced age, May 24th, 1751. His principal productions are to be found in Watson's Choice Collection of Scots Poems. One of his compositions, which displays much simplicity and sweetness, records a very poetic circumstance in the ancient customs of Scotland:

"wha will gar our shearers shear? Wha will bind up the brags of weir ?" In the old days it was the custom for a piper to play behind the reapers while at work; and to the poetical enthusiasm thus excited and kept alive we are most probably indebted for many of those sweet songs which have given Scottish airs so unrivalled a celebrity, while the authors and composers of them remain as unknown as if they had never lived. In 1722 Hamilton published an abridgment, in modern Scottish, of Blind Harry's Life of Sir William Wallace, a book that became a great favourite among certain classes in Scotland, and inspired the boyhood of numerous poets with patriotic and martial ardour. A writer says, "The name of Hamilton of Gilbertfield has suffered in celebrity from its similarity to that of a greater poet; but, if not illustrated by works of such merit as those of Hamilton of Bangour, it is connected with productions of too much merit to justify a slight regard. A writer whose strains could inspire an Allan Ramsay with emulation could not have been of a class to be forgotten. Oblivion will be kind to him on this account alone, as Sir Walter Raleigh