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IN LUCKIE MACLEARY'S TAVERN.

"IN the middle of this din, the Baron repeatedly implored silence; and when at length the instinct of polite discipline so far prevailed, that for a moment he obtained it, he hastened to beseech thier attention 'unto a military ariette, which was a particular favourite of the Maréchal Duc de Berwick;' then, imitating, as well as he could, the manner and tone of a French musquetaire, he immediately commenced,"

Mon cœur volage, dit-elle,

N'est pas pour vous, garçon, Est pour un homme de guerre, Qui a barbe au menton. Lon, Lon, Laridon.

Qui porte chapeau a plume,

Soulier a rouge talon,

Qui joue de la flute,

Aussi de violon.

Lon, Lon, Laridon.

"Balmawhapple could hold no longer, but break n with what he called a d-d good song, composed by Gibby Gaethrowit, the Piper of Cupar; and, without wasting more time, struck up—”

It's up Glenbarchan's braes I gaed, And o'er the bent of Killiebraid, And mony a weary cast I made,

To cuittle the moor-fowl's tail.

If up a bonny black-cock should spring,
To whistle him down wi' a slug in his wing,
And strap him on to my lunzie string,
Right seldom would I fail.

Chap. xi.

(5.)" HIE AWAY, HIE AWAY."

"THE stamping of horses was now heard in the court, and Davie Gellatley's voice singing to the two large deer greyhounds,"

Chap. xii.

(6.)-ST. SWITHIN'S CHAIR.

"THE view of the old tower, or fortalice, introduced some family anecdotes and tales of Scottish chivalry, which the Baron told with great enthusiasm. The projecting peak of an impending crag, which rose near it, had acquired the name of St. Swithin's Chair. It was the scene of a peculiar superstition, of which Mr. Rubrick mentioned some curious particulars, which reminded Waverley of a rhyme quoted by Edgar in King Lear; and Rose was called upon to sing a little legend, in which they had been interwoven by some village poet,

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All those idle thoughts and phantasies, Devices, dreams, opinions unsound, Shows, visions, soothsays, and prophecies, And all that feigned is, as leasings, tales, and lies. Chap. xiii.

(9.)-FLORA MACIVOR'S SONG.

"FLORA had exchanged the measured and monotonous recitative of the bard for a lofty and uncommon Highland air, which had been a battle-song in former ages. A few irregular strains introduced a prelude of a wild and peculiar tone, which harmonized well with the distant water-fall, and the soft sigh of the evening breeze in the rustling leaves of an aspen which overhung the seat of the fair harpress. The following verses convey but little idea of the feelings with which, so sung and accompanied, they were heard by Waverley:"

There is mist on the mountain, and night on the vale,
But more dark is the sleep of the sons of the Gael.
A stranger commanded-it sunk on the land,
It has frozen each heart, and benumb'd every hand!

The dirk and the target lie sordid with dust,
The bloodless claymore is but redden'd with rust;
On the hill or the glen if a gun should appear,
It is only to war with the heath-cock or deer.

The deeds of our sires if our bards should rehearse, Let a blush or a blow be the meed of their verse! Be mute every string, and be hush'd every tone, That shall bid us remember the fame that is flown.

But the dark hours of night and of slumber are past,
The morn on our mountains is dawning at last;
Glenaladale's peaks are illumed with the rays,
And the streams of Glenfinnan leap bright in the
blaze.

O high-minded Moray!--the exiled-the dear!—
In the blush of the dawning the STANDARD uprear!
Wide, wide on the winds of the north let it fly,
Like the sun's latest flash when the tempest is nigh!

Ye sons of the strong, when that dawning shall break,
Need the harp of the aged remind you to wake?
That dawn never beam'd on your forefathers' eye,
But it roused each high chieftain to vanquish or die.

O sprung from the Kings who in Islay kept state, Proud chiefs of Clan-Ranald, Glengary, and Sleat! Combine like three streams from one mountain of

snow,

And resistless in union rush down on the foe!

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(10.)-LINES ON CAPTAIN WOGAN.

"THE letter from the Chief contained Flora's lines on the fate of Captain Wogan, whose enterprising character is so well drawn by Clarendon. He had | originally engaged in the service of the Parliament, but had abjured that party upon the execution of Charles I.; and upon hearing that the royal standard was set up by the Earl of Glencairn and General Middleton in the Highlands of Scotland, took leave of Charles II., who was then at Paris, passed into England, assembled a body of cavaliers in the neighbourhood of London, and traversed the kingdom, which had been so long under domination of the usurper, by marches conducted with such skill, dexterity, and spirit, that he safely united his handful of horsemen with the body of Highlanders then in arms. After several months of desultory warfare, in which Wogan's skill and courage gained him the highest reputation, he had the misfortune to be wounded in a dangerous manner, and no surgical assistance being within reach, he terminated his short but glorious career." The Verses were inscribed,

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Each in his shroud,

While winds pipe loud,

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Awake in thy chamber, thou sweet southland gale!
Like the sighs of his people, breathe soft on his sail;

And the red moon peeps dim through the cloud. Be prolong'd as regret, that his vassals must know,

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