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For see, on yon mountain, the dark cloud of death,

O'er Connel's lone cottage, lies low on the heath;

While bloody and pale, on a far distant shore,

He lies to return to his Flora no more.

Ye light fleeting spirits that glide o'er the steep,

O would you but waft me across the wild deep!

There fearless I'd mix in the battle's loud roar,

I'd die with my Connel, and leave him no more.

TULLOCHGORUM.

Words by the Rev. JOHN SKINNER. "The reel o' Tullochgorum."

Key-note D.

Come gi’e's a sang, Montgomery cried,

And lay your disputes all aside,

What nonsense 'tis for folks to chide,

For what's been done before them!

Let Whig and Tory all agree,

Whig and Tory, Whig and Tory,

Whig and Tory all agree,

To drop their whig-meg-morum;

Let Whig and Tory all agree,

And spend this night with mirth and glee,

And cheerful sing along wi' me

The reel o' Tullochgorum.

Tullochgorum's my delight.

It gars us a' in ane unite,

And ony sumph that keeps up spite,

In conscience I abhor him.

Blythe and merry we's be a'

Blythe and merry, blythe and merry,

Blythe and merry we's be a',

And make a cheerful quorum.

Blythe and merry we's be a',

As lang as we hae breath to draw,

And dance, till we be like to fa',

The reel of Tullochgorum.

There needs na be sae great a phraise,

Wi' dringing dull Italian lays ;

I wadna gie our ain strathspeys

For hauf a hunder score o' em.

They're douff and dowie at the best,

Douff and dowie, douff and dowie,

They're douff and dowie at the best,

Wi' a' their variorum.