1st voice.

2d voice.

Both voices.

1st voice.

2d voice.

Both voices.

Wert thou a watcher here?
Many a thousand year.

Then, for aye, our task pursuing,
Never done, yet always doing,
Till our time of bliss draws near.

Shall it never?

Yes, for ever.

Then our joys be ever new!
As our love and duty true!

Our task is love, and 'tis from above,

For love is heaven, and heaven is love!

My name it is Donald M'Donald,
I leeve in the Heelands sae grand;
I hae follow'd our banner and wil do,
Wherever my Maker has land.
When rankit 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' brochin' an a',
Brochin an' brogues an' a';

An' is nae her very weel aff

Wi' her brogues an' brochin an' a'?

What though we befriendit young Charlie? To tell it I dinna think shame;

Poor lad, he came to us but barely,

An' reckon'd our mountains his hame. 'Twas true that our reason forbade us; But tenderness carried the day;

Had Geordie come friendless amang us,
Wi' him we had a' gane away.

Sword an' buckler an' a',

Buckler an' sword an' a';

Now for George we'll encounter the devil,

Wi' sword an' buckler an a'!

An' O, 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 finishing blow,
He ay may depend on M'Donald,
Wi' his Heelanders a' in a row;
Knees an' elbows an' a',
Elbows an' knees an a';
Depend upon Donald M‘Donald,
His knees an' elbows an' a'!

Wad Bonaparte land at Fort-William,

Auld Europe nae langer should grane,
I laugh when I think how we'd gall him,
Wi' bullet, wi' steel, an' wi' stane;
Wi' rocks o' the Nevis and Garny
We'd rattle him off frae our shore,
Or lull him asleep in a cairny,

An' 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!

For the Gordon is good in a hurry,
An' Campbell is steel to the bane,
An' Grant, an' M'Kenzie, an' Murray,
An' Cameron will hurkle to nane;
The Stuart is sturdy an' loyal,

An' sae is M'Leod an' M'Kay;
An' I, their gudebrither, M'Donald,
Shall ne'er be the last in the fray!
Brogues an' brochin an' a',

Brochin an' brogues an' a';

An'

up

wi' the bonny blue bonnet,

The kilt an' the feather an' a'!*

* I once heard the above song sung in the theatre at Lancaster, when the singer substituted the following lines of his own for the last verse.

"For Jock Bull he is good in a hurry,

An' Sawney is steel to the bane,

An' wee Davie Welsh is a widdy,
An' Paddy will hurkle to nane;
They'll a' prove baith sturdy and loyal,
Come dangers around them what may,
An' I, their gudebrither, M' Donald,

Shall ne'er be the last in the fray!" &c.

It took exceedingly well, and was three times encored, and there was I sitting in the gallery, applauding as much as any body. My vanity prompted me to tell a jolly Yorkshire manufacturer that night that I was the author of the song. He laughed excessively at my assumption, and told the landlady that he took me for a half-crazed Scots pedlar.

Another anecdote concerning this song I may mention; and I do it with no little pride, as it is a proof of the popularity of Donald M‘Donald among a class, to inspire whom with devotion to the cause of their country was at the time a matter of no little consequence. Happening upon one occasion to be in a wood in Dumfries-shire, through which wood the highroad passed, I heard a voice singing; and a turn of the road soon brought in sight a soldier, who seemed to be either travelling home upon furlough, or returning to his regiment. When the singer approached nearer I distinguished the notes of my own song of Donald M'Donald. As the lad proceeded with his song, he got more and more into the spirit of the thing, and on coming to the end,

WHERE AM I GAUN?

WHERE am I gaun?—I darena tell;
Alas! I hardly ken myseľ.

There's something burning in my brain
That leads me out this gate my lane.
It's no' to be where I hae been,
It's no' to see wha I hae seen.
Ah no! 'tis to the cauld kirkyard,
To greet aboon the lonely sward.

O my Matilda! when with pain,
I left thy side to cross the main,
I left all dearest to my life,

A new made mother and a wife.

I see thee still-thou sobb'd and wept
Above our baby as he slept:

That look of sorrow, and that tear,
My very soul, till death, will sear.

I kiss'd thee-left thee-where art thou?

I have no wife nor baby now;

I look around me in despair,

And then to heaven, for they are there.
I did not see my baby die;

I did not close his mother's eye;

"An up wi' the bonny blue bonnet

The kilt and the feather an' a'!"

in the height of his enthusiasm, he hoisted his cap on the end of his staff, and danced it about triumphantly. I stood ensconced behind a tree, and heard and saw all without being observed.