But 'tis not my sufferings thus wretched, forlorn; My brave gallant friends! 'tis your ruin I mourn; Your deeds proved so loyal in hot bloody trialAlas! I can make you no sweeter return!

LOVELY DAVIES.

TUNE-"Miss Muir."

Oн how shall I, unskilfu', try
The poet's occupation,

The tuneful powers, in happy hours,
That whisper inspiration?
Even they maun dare an effort mair

Than aught they ever gave us,
Or they rehearse, in equal verse,
The charms o' lovely Davies.

Each eye it cheers, when she appears,
Like Phoebus in the morning,
When past the shower, an' ev'ry flower
The garden is adorning.

As the wretch looks o'er Siberia's shore
When winter-bound the wave is,

Sae droops our heart when we maun part
Frae charming, lovely Davies.

Lovely Davies.

Her smile's a gift frae 'boon the lift,
That mak's us mair than princes;
A sceptred hand, a king's command,
Is in her darting glances:

The man in arms 'gainst female charms,
Even he her willing slave is;

107

He hugs his chain, an' owns the reign Of conquering, lovely Davies.

My muse, to dream of such a theme,
Her feeble powers surrender;
The eagle's gaze alone surveys
The sun's meridian splendour:
I wad in vain essay the strain,
The deed too daring brave is;
I'll drap the lyre, an' mute admire
The charms o' lovely Davies.

YOUNG JOCKEY.

TUNE-"Young Jockey."

YOUNG JOCKEY was the blithest lad
In a' our town or here awa':
Fu' blithe he whistled at the gaud,*
Fu' lightly danced he in the ha'.
He roosed my een, sae bonnie blue,

He roosed my waist, sae genty sma', An' aye my heart cam' to my mou' When ne'er a body heard or saw.

* The gaud-at the plough.

The Battle of Sheriff-Muir.

My Jockey toils upon the plain,

Thro' wind an' weet, thro' frost an' snaw;
An' o'er the lea I leuk fu' fain

When Jockey's owsen hameward ca'.
An' aye the night comes round again,
When in his arms he tak's me a',

An'

aye he vows he'll be my ain

As lang 's he has a breath to draw.

109

THE BATTLE OF SHERIFF-MUIR,

BETWEEN THE DUKE OF ARGYLE AND THE EARL OF MAR.

TUNE-"The Cameronian rant.'

[An old song, abridged and improved by Burns.]

"OH cam' ye here the fight to shun,
Or herd the sheep wi' me, man?
Or were you at the Sherra-muir,
An' did the battle see, man?"
"I saw the battle, sair an' tough,
An reekin' red ran mony a sheugh,
My heart, for fear, gaed sough for sough,
To hear the thuds, an' see the cluds,
O' clans frae wuds, in tartan duds,

Wha glaum'd at kingdoms three, man.

"The red-coat lads, wi' black cockades,
To meet them were na slaw, man;
They rush'd an' push'd, and' blude outgush'd,

An' mony a bouk did fa', man;

The great Argyle led on his files,

I wat they glanc'd for twenty miles:

They hack'd an' hash'd, while broadswords clash'd,

An' thro' they dash'd, an' hew'd an' smash'd,
Till fey men died awa', man.

"But had you seen the philabegs,
An' skyrin' tartan trews, man,
When in the teeth they dar'd our Whigs,
An' covenant true blues, man;

In lines extended lang an' large,
When bayonets opposed the targe,
An' thousands hasten'd to the charge,
Wi' Highland wrath they frae the sheath
Drew blades o' death, till, out o' breath,
They fled like frighted doos, man."

“Oh, how de'il, Tam, can that be true?
The chase gaed frae the north, man;
I saw myself, they did pursue

The horsemen back to Forth, man;
An' at Dumblane, in my ain sight,
They took the brig wi' a' their might,
An' straught to Stirling wing'd their flight;