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O garb renown'd the whole world round! What mortal man would swither

To toast with me-now three times three"The bonnet, kilt and feather!"

O dear to me, &c.

MY MORAG.

AIR. "The Haughs of Cromdale."

I WOULD not, if I could, declare
How all-surpassing sweet and fair
Art thou, my fond heart's only care,
My bonnie, blithesome Mòrag!

I'd rather play the miser, dear,
And hide thee as he hides his gear;
Small chance for me, did all but hear
How beautiful is Morag !

Yet wert thou only once mine own,
How would I praise my treasure won—
Of all earth's daughters counting none
So charming as my Môrag!

How would my song in joyful flow
Proclaim thee queen of hearts below,
And immortality bestow

On dear, delightful Mòrag!

AVICH'S FAIRY BOWER.

The following song was suggested by an old favourite fairy "luinneag," the chorus of which runs thus :—

"Am bun a chruidh cha chaidil mi,

Am bun a chruidh cha bhi mi;

Am bun a chruidh cha chaidil mi,

'S mo leabaidh anns an t-sithean."

The luinneag in question had its origin in a superstition not yet entirely dead in the Scottish Highlands, where for a pretty mortal maiden to be wooed by a "leannan-sith," was up to the beginning of the present century, quite a popular belief among "the sea-divided Gael" of both Ireland and Scotland. A no unfrequent consequence of such intercourse was that the damsel thus wooed allowed herself to be charmed away by her elfin lover into some near-by abode of the "good people," never again to revisit her own home!

IN vain to me shews Beltane fair

Its wealth of song and flower,—
The elves have wiled my Annie dear
To Avich's fairy bower.

Chorus.-Ochòin a righ for Annie O,

Sweet Annie of Glengower!
Woe's me to think of Annie O
Within yon fairy bower!

They met her in the gloaming grey

Near Dovan's warlock tower,

Syne witched her with their music gay
To yonder fairy bower.

Ochoin a righ, &c.

Where oft together herding kye

I in my plaid did row her, Alone I now may sing or sigh, Sad-thinking on yon bower. Ochòin a righ, &c.

To tempt her stay, the fay folk may
A queenly state allow her,
And yet, withal, her heart be wae;-
The sorrow take yon bower!
Ochòin a righ, &c.

With endless youth and beauty both,
"Tis said they can endow her;
Small joy to me, who thinks she'd be
More happy in Glengower.
Ochòin a righ, &c.

O that old Merlin's magic key
At my good service now were!
Then would this night her latest be
In Avich's fairy bower.

Ochoin a righ, &c.

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Peggy bhan has wooers plenty
At her feet; but, faith, they'll see
Shira's river rolling upward

Ere she breaks her troth to me!
Oh! how, &c.

THE HERO OF KARS.

AIR." When the Kye come Hame."

WHEN mad Muscovite ambition

Challenged Britain to the fight,

And the bravest of the brave went forth
To battle for the Right,

There is none that you can name me
Of those soldiers stout and tars
Who more nobly did his duty
Than the Hero of Kars.

The born Hero of Kars!

The stern Hero of Kars!

Never was a chief more gallant
Than the Hero of Kars!

Think of yon beleagured city

Where, like lion bold at bay,

The more dread the odds against him,
The more fierce he fronts the fray;

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