LENACHAN'S FAREWELL.

ALEXANDER STUART of Lenachan was a man of gigantic strength, and an officer of the regiment of Appin. He was obliged to make his escape to America, several years subsequent to the Forty-Five, to elude the vengeance of the Camp.. bells. The song is set to music by Smith, in The Scottish Minstrel.

FARE thee weel, my native cot,
Bothy o' the birken-tree!

Sair the heart an' hard the lot

O' the man that parts wi' thee!
My good grandsire's hand thee rear'd—
Then thy wicker-work was full;
Many a Campbell's glen he clear'd,

Hit the buck, an' hough'd the bull.

In thy green and grassy crook

Mair lies hid than crusted stanes;

In thy bein and weirdly nook

Lie some stout Clan-Gillian banes.

Thou wert aye the kinsman's hameRouth and welcome was his fare;

But if serf or Saxon came,

He cross'd Murich's hirst nae mair!

Never hand in thee yet bred

Kendnae how the sword to wield;

Never heart of thine had dread

Of the foray or the field!

Ne'er on straw, mat, bulk, or bed,

Son of thine lay down to dee;

Every lad within thee bred

Died beneath heaven's open ee!

Charlie Stuart he came here

For our king, as right became; Wha could shun the Bruce's heir, Or desert his royal name?

Firm to stand and free to fa',

Forth we march'd right valiantlie—

Gane is Scotland's king and law,

And wo to Appin and to me!

Freeman yet, I'll scorn to fret; Here nae langer I maun stay, But when I my hame forget,

May my heart forget to play! Fare thee weel, my father's cot, Bothy o' the birken-tree!

Sair the heart and hard the lot

O' the warrior leaving thee!

THE STUARTS OF APPIN.

No national calamity has ever given me so much pain as the total bereavement of the brave Clans who stood to the last for the cause of the House of Stuart. It is a stain on the annals of our Legislature which can never be blotted out. Of course, the following effusion, among many others, was sincerely from the heart. The song is set to a fine warlike air, by Peter M'Leod, Esq.

I SING of a land that was famous of

yore,

The land of Green Appin, the ward of the flood, Where every grey cairn that broods o'er the shore,

Marks grave of the royal, the valiant, or good. The land where the strains of grey Ossian were framed,— The land of fair Selma, and reign of Fingal,

And late of a race, that with tears must be named,

The noble Clan Stuart, the bravest of all.

Oh-hon, an Righ! and the Stuarts of Appin!

The gallant, devoted, old Stuarts of Appin!

Their glory is o'er,

For the clan is no more,

And the Sassenach sings on the hills of green Appin.

In spite of the Campbells, their might and renown,

And all the proud files of Glenorchy and Lorn,
While one of the Stuarts held claim on the crown,
His banner full boldly by Appin was borne.
And ne'er fell the Campbells in check or trepan,
In all their Whig efforts their power to renew,
But still on the Stuarts of Appin they ran,

To wreak their proud wrath on the brave and the few.
Oh-hon, an Righ! and the Stuarts of Appin, &c.

In the year of the Graham, while in oceans of blood The fields of the Campbells were gallantly flowingIt was then that the Stuarts the foremost still stood, And paid back a share of the debt they were owing. O, proud Inverlochy! O, day of renown!

Since first the sun rose o'er the peaks of Cruachin Was ne'er such an host by such valour o'erthrown, Was ne'er such a day for the Stuarts of Appin!

Oh-hon, an Righ, and the Stuarts of Appin, &c.

And ne'er for the crown of the Stuarts was fought

One battle on vale, or on mountain deer-trodden,