But what was said, or what was done, Shame fa’ me gin I tell; But Oh! I fear the kintra soon Will ken as weel’s myself! To the weaver’s, &c. M’Pherson’s Farewell Tune—“M’Pherson’s Rant.” Farewell, ye dungeons dark and strong, The wretch’s destinie! M’Pherson’s time will not be long On yonder gallows-tree. Chorus.—Sae rantingly, sae wantonly, Sae dauntingly gaed he; He play’d a spring, and danc’d it round, Below the gallows-tree. O, what is death but parting breath? On many a bloody plain I’ve dared his face, and in this place I scorn him yet again! Sae rantingly, &c. Untie these bands from off my hands, And bring me to my sword; And there’s no a man in all Scotland But I’ll brave him at a word. Sae rantingly, &c. I’ve liv’d a life of sturt and strife; I die by treacherie: It burns my heart I must depart, And not avenged be. Sae rantingly, &c. Now farewell light, thou sunshine bright, And all beneath the sky! May coward shame distain his name, The wretch that dares not die! Sae rantingly, &c. Stay My Charmer Tune—“An gille dubh ciar-dhubh.” Stay my charmer, can you leave me? Cruel, cruel to deceive me; Well you know how much you grieve me; Cruel charmer, can you go! Cruel charmer, can you go! By my love so ill-requited, By the faith you fondly plighted, By the pangs of lovers slighted, Do not, do not liave me so! Do not, do not leave me so! Song—My Hoggie What will I do gin my Hoggie die? My joy, my pride, my Hoggie! My only beast, I had nae mae, And vow but I was vogie! The lee-lang night we watch’d the fauld, Me and my faithfu’ doggie; We heard nocht but the roaring linn, Amang the braes sae scroggie. But the houlet cry’d frau the castle wa’, The blitter frae the boggie; The tod reply’d upon the hill, I trembled for my Hoggie. When day did daw, and cocks did craw, The morning it was foggie; An unco tyke, lap o’er the dyke, And maist has kill’d my Hoggie! Raving Winds Around Her Blowing Tune—“M’Grigor of Roro’s Lament.” I composed these verses on Miss Isabella M’Leod of Raza, alluding to her feelings on the death of her sister, and the still more melancholy death of her sister’s husband, the late Earl of Loudoun, who shot himself out of sheer heart-break at some mortifications he suffered, owing to the deranged state of his finances.—R.B., 1971. Raving winds around her blowing, Yellow leaves the woodlands strowing, By a river hoarsely roaring, Isabella stray’d deploring— “Farewell, hours that late did measure Sunshine days of joy and pleasure; Hail, thou gloomy night of sorrow, Cheerless night that knows no morrow!