Highland Harry Back Again

My Harry was a gallant gay, Fu' stately strade he on the plain; But now he's banish'd far away, I'll never see him back again.

Chorus.--O for him back again!

O for him back again!

I wad gie a' Knockhaspie's land For Highland Harry back again.

When a' the lave gae to their bed, I wander dowie up the glen; I set me down and greet my fill, And aye I wish him back again.

O for him, &c.

O were some villains hangit high, And ilka body had their ain!

Then I might see the joyfu' sight, My Highland Harry back again.

O for him, &c.

The Battle Of Sherramuir

Tune--"The Cameronian Rant."

"O cam ye here the fight to shun, Or herd the sheep wi' me, man?

Or were ye at the Sherra-moor, Or did the battle see, man?"

I saw the battle, sair and teugh, And reekin-red ran mony a sheugh; My heart, for fear, gaed sough for sough, To hear the thuds, and see the cluds O' clans frae woods, in tartan duds, Wha glaum'd at kingdoms three, man.

La, la, la, la, &c.

The red-coat lads, wi' black c.o.c.kauds, To meet them were na slaw, man; They rush'd and push'd, and blude outgush'd And mony a bouk did fa', man: The great Argyle led on his files, I wat they glanced twenty miles; They hough'd the clans like nine-pin kyles, They hack'd and hash'd, while braid-swords, clash'd, And thro' they dash'd, and hew'd and smash'd, Till fey men died awa, man.

La, la, la, la, &c.

But had ye seen the philibegs, And skyrin tartan trews, man; When in the teeth they dar'd our Whigs, And covenant True-blues, man: In lines extended lang and large, When baiginets o'erpower'd the targe, And 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 dows, man!

La, la, la, la, &c.

"O how deil, Tam, can that be true?

The chase gaed frae the north, man; I saw mysel, they did pursue, The hors.e.m.e.n back to Forth, man; And at Dunblane, in my ain sight, They took the brig wi' a' their might, And straught to Stirling wing'd their flight; But, cursed lot! the gates were shut; And mony a hunt.i.t poor red-coat, For fear amaist did swarf, man!"

La, la, la, la, &c.

My sister Kate cam up the gate Wi' crowdie unto me, man; She swoor she saw some rebels run To Perth unto Dundee, man; Their left-hand general had nae skill; The Angus lads had nae gude will That day their neibors' blude to spill; For fear, for foes, that they should lose Their cogs o' brose; they scar'd at blows, And hameward fast did flee, man.

La, la, la, la, &c.

They've lost some gallant gentlemen, Amang the Highland clans, man!

I fear my Lord Panmure is slain, Or fallen in Whiggish hands, man, Now wad ye sing this double fight, Some fell for wrang, and some for right; But mony bade the world gude-night; Then ye may tell, how pell and mell, By red claymores, and muskets knell, Wi' dying yell, the Tories fell, And Whigs to h.e.l.l did flee, man.

La, la, la, la, &c.

The Braes O' Killiecrankie

Where hae ye been sae braw, lad?

Whare hae ye been sae brankie, O?

Whare hae ye been sae braw, lad?

Cam ye by Killiecrankie, O?

Chorus.--An ye had been whare I hae been, Ye wad na been sae cantie, O; An ye had seen what I hae seen, I' the Braes o' Killiecrankie, O.

I faught at land, I faught at sea, At hame I faught my Auntie, O; But I met the devil an' Dundee, On the Braes o' Killiecrankie, O.

An ye had been, &c.

The bauld Pitcur fell in a furr, An' Clavers gat a clankie, O; Or I had fed an Athole gled, On the Braes o' Killiecrankie, O.

An ye had been, &c.

Awa' Whigs, Awa'

Chorus.--Awa' Whigs, awa'!

Awa' Whigs, awa'!

Ye're but a pack o' traitor louns, Ye'll do nae gude at a'.

Our thrissles flourish'd fresh and fair, And bonie bloom'd our roses; But Whigs cam' like a frost in June, An' wither'd a' our posies.

Awa' Whigs, &c.

Our ancient crown's fa'en in the dust-- Deil blin' them wi' the stoure o't!

An' write their names in his black beuk, Wha gae the Whigs the power o't.

Awa' Whigs, &c.

Our sad decay in church and state Surpa.s.ses my descriving: The Whigs cam' o'er us for a curse, An' we hae done wi' thriving.

Awa' Whigs, &c.

Grim vengeance lang has taen a nap, But we may see him wauken: Gude help the day when royal heads Are hunted like a maukin!

Awa' Whigs, &c.

A Waukrife Minnie

Whare are you gaun, my bonie la.s.s, Whare are you gaun, my hinnie?

She answered me right saucilie, "An errand for my minnie."

O whare live ye, my bonie la.s.s, O whare live ye, my hinnie?

"By yon burnside, gin ye maun ken, In a wee house wi' my minnie."

But I foor up the glen at e'en.

To see my bonie la.s.sie; And lang before the grey morn cam, She was na hauf sae saucie.