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V.
Years have rollid on, Loch na Garr! since I left you;

Years must elapse, ere I tread you again:
Nature of verdure and fowers bas bereft you,

Yet still are you dearer than Albion's plain: England! thy beauties are tame and domestic,

To one who has rov'd on the mountains atar, Oh! for the crags that are wild and majestic,

The steep, frowning glories of dark Loch na Garr.

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What though we befriendit young Charlie ?

To tell it I dinna think shame; Poor lad! he came to us but barely,

An' reckoned our mountains his hame: "Tis 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';
For George will encounter the devil,
Wi' sword an' buckler an' a'.

An' o I wad eagerly press him

The keys of the East to retain; For should he gi'e up the possession,

We'll soon bae to force them again; Than yield up an inch wi' dishonour,

Though it war my finishin' blow,
He ay may depend on Macdonald,
Wi's Highlandmen all in a row.-

Knees an' elbows an'a',
Elbows an' knees an' a';
Depend upon Donald Macdonald,
His knees an' elbows an' a'.

If Bonapart land at Fort William,

Auld Europe nae langer shall grane;
I laugh, whan I think how we'll gall him

Wi' bullet, wi' steel, an' wi' stane;
Wi' rocks o’the Nevis an’ Gairy,

We'll rattle him aff frae our shore;
Or lull bim asleep in a cairney,
An’sing him-Lochaber no more!

Staves an' bullets au' a',
Bullets an’stanes an' a';
We'll finish the Corsican callan',
Wi' stanes an' bullets an'a'.

The Gordon is gude in a hurry;

An' Campbell is steel to the bane; An' Grant, an' Mackenzie, an' Murray,

An' Cameron will hurkle to nane. The Stuarts are sturdy au' wannle,

An’ sae is Macleod an' Mackay; An' I, their gude-brither Macdonald

Sal ne'er be the last i' tlie fray,-

Bros

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* By Pope, seems to be meant, an animal that has two horns like a lamb, and a raice like a dragon. By Turk, the author probably intended a turkey cock.

" Be ours,” he screams, “ the sea, the Thames,"

Then chuckles at the phantom :For bull-dog isle shall ne'er be spoil.

To dunghill breed, or bantam.

Now heav'n vouchsafe the nations peace,

Give each its proper level;
And guard meanwhile our pative isle

From Pope, and Turk,--and Devil!

DEMOCRITUS.

BUONAPARTE.

From All the Talents.

B

EHOLD, my friend, o'er Europe's hapless land,

Almighty vengeance stretch its iron hand;
Its impious agent ev'ry realm enthral,
And with wide wasting carnage cover all.
The human fiend, each day, each hour he lives,
Still to the world some baleful evil gives.
Oh, when he dies, wbat shouts shall shake the sphere!
New suns shall shine and double moons appear;
Death thro' the world one holiday shall make,
And hell get drunk with sulphur for bis sake!
His throne a pile of human sculls sustains,
And bones that fell on those unhappy plains,
Where pale Toulon lay prest beneaih her dead,
Where Lodi fought and fell Marengo bled.
Professing ev'ry faith, he mocks his God,
And virtue trembles underneath bis pod.
The nations, crouching round, his pomp adorn;
Britannia sits apart, and smiles in scorn;
Calm and unharm’d amidst his impious ire,
Wbile trembling millions from the strife retire.
So round some cliff when now the tempest roars,
And the weak Linnet downward turns her vars,
The royal Eagle, from his craggy throne,
Mounts the loud storm majestic and alone,
And steers his plumes athwart the dark profound,
While roaring thunders replicate around!
But now, rous'd slowly from her opiate bed,
Lethargic Europe lifts the heavy head;
Feels round her heart the creeping torpor close,
Aud starts with horror from her dire repose.

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