And though you be weary,
We'll make your heart cheery,
And welcome our Charlie,

And his loyal train.

We'll bring down the track deer,
We'll bring down the black steer,
The lamb from the braken,
And doe from the glen,
The salt sea we 'll harry,
And bring to our Charlie
The cream from the bothy
And curd from the penn.

Come o'er the stream, Charlie,
Dear Charlie, brave Charlie;
Come o'er the sea, Charlie,
And dine with M'Lean;
And you shall drink freely
The dews of Glen-sheerly,
That stream in the starlight
When kings do not ken;
And deep be your meed
Of the wine that is red,
To drink to your sire,

And his friend The M'Lean.

Come o'er the stream, Charlie,
Dear Charlie, brave Charlie;
Come o'er the stream, Charlie,
And dine with M'Lean;

If aught will invite you
Or more will delight you

"Tis ready, a troop of our bold Highlandmen,

All ranged on the heather,

With bonnet and feather,

Strong arms and broad claymores,
Three hundred and ten!

CHARLIE IS MY DARLING.*

'TWAS on a Monday morning,
Right early in the year,
That Charlie cam' to our town,

The young Chevalier.

An' Charlie is my darling,

My darling, my darling;
Charlie is my darling,
The young Chevalier.

As Charlie he came up the gate,
His face shone like the day;
I grat to see the lad come back
That had been lang away.

An' Charlie is my darling, &c.

Then ilka bonny lassie sang,

As to the door she ran,

Our King shall hae his ain again,

An' Charlie is the man:

For Charlie he's my darling, &c.

* Altered at the request of a lady who sang it sweetly, and published in the "Jacobite Relics."-Hogg.

Out ow'r yon moory mountain,
An' down the craggy glen,
Of naething else our lasses sing,
But Charlie an' his men.

An' Charlie he's my darling, &c.

Our Highland hearts are true an' leal, An' glow without a stain;

Our Highland swords are metal keen, An' Charlie he 's our ain.

An' Charlie he's my darling,

My darling, my darling;
Charlie he's my darling,
The young Chevalier.

LOVE IS LIKE A DIZZINESS.

AIR-" Paddy's Wedding."

I LATELY lived in quiet ease,
An' never wish'd to marry, O!
But when I saw my Peggy's face,
I felt a sad quandary, O!
Though wild as ony Athol deer,
She has trepann'd me fairly, O!
Her cherry cheeks an' e'en sae clear
Torment me late an' early, O!
O, love, love, love!

Love is like a dizziness,
It winna let a poor body
Gang about his business!

To tell my feats this single week,
Would mak' a daft-like diary, O!
I drave my cart outow'r a dike,
My horses in a miry, O!
I wear my stockings white an' blue,
My love's sae fierce an' fiery, O!
I drill the land that I should plough,
An' plough the drills entirely, O!
O, love, love, love! &c.

Ae morning, by the dawn o' day,
I rose to theek the stable, O!
I keust my coat an' plied away
As fast as I was able, O!

I wrought that morning out an' out,
As I'd been redding fire, O!
When I had done an' look'd about,
Gude faith, it was the byre, O!
O, love, love, love! &c.

Her wily glance I'll ne'er forget,

The dear, the lovely blinkin' o't

Has pierced me through an' through the heart, An' plagues me wi' the prinklin' o't.

I tried to sing, I tried to pray,

I tried to drown 't wi' drinkin' o't,
I tried wi' sport to drive 't away,
But ne'er can sleep for thinkin' o't.
O, love, love, love! &c.

Nae man can tell what pains I prove,
Or how severe my pliskie, O!
I swear I'm sairer drunk wi' love

Than e'er I was wi' whisky, O!

For love has raked me fore an' aft,
I scarce can lift a leggie, O!
I first grew dizzy, then gaed daft,
An' soon I'll dee for Peggy, O!
O, love, love, love!

Love is like a dizziness,
It winna let a poor body
Gang about his business!

O, WEEL BEFA' THE MAIDEN GAY.*

O, WEEL befa' the maiden gay,
In cottage, bught, or penn,
An' weel befa' the bonny May

That wons in yonder glen;

* This song was written at Elleray, Mr Wilson's seat in Westmoreland, where a number of my very best things were written. There was a system of competition went on there, the most delightful that I ever engaged in. Mr Wilson and I had a "Queen's Wake" every wet day-a fair set-to who should write the best poem between breakfast and dinner, and, if I am any judge, these friendly competitions produced several of our best poems, if not the best ever written on the same subjects before. Mr Wilson, as well as Southey and Wordsworth, had all of them a way of singing out their poetry in a loud sonorous key, which was very impressive, but perfectly ludicrous. Wilson, at that period, composed all his poetry by going over it in that sounding strain; and in our daily competitions, although our rooms were not immediately adjoining, I always overheard what progress he was making. When he came upon any grand idea, he opened upon it full swell, with all the energy of a fine fox-hound on a hot trail. If I heard many of these vehement aspirations, they weakened my hands and discouraged my heart, and I often said to myself, "Gude faith, it's a' ower wi' me for this day!" When we went over the poems together in the evening, I was always anxious to learn what parts of the poem had excited the sublime breathings which I had heard at a distance, but he never could tell me.-Hogg.