Where, beside the hostile Cossack,
He with pest and famine wars,
Till, in yielding, still a victor

Seemed 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.

Well may Nova Scotia proudly
Boast the prowess of her son;
Long may chief so justly famous
Wear the laurels he has won.
Never did a grateful country

Deck a truer knight with stars;
Never knight did more to win them
Than the Hero of Kars!

The born Hero of Kars!

The stern Hero of Kars!
Never lived a chief more gallant

Than the Hero of Kars.

MAGGIE MARTIN.

AIR." Nora Crina."

YOUR flirting belle may look as gay
As silks and satins well can make her,
And in her own coquettish way

Of fools be quite a brisk heart-breaker ;-
A fickle thing all sham and show—
None such will e'er my hand or heart win;
You would not wonder did you know
That woodland fairy, Maggie Martin.
Sweetly-smiling Maggie Martin !
Winning, wiling Maggie Martin!
Fond and free, and fair is she;
The girl for me is Maggie Martin !

In her combined, how sweet to find

The charms of mind and form and feature!

No praise she courts, yet wins all hearts
By the mere force of sweet good nature.

Let others task their wits to bask

In fame or fortune's smiles uncertain, More happy far I'd count my star If mine were darling Maggie Martin. Sweetly-smiling Maggie Martin! Winning, wiling Maggie Martin ! This life would be no life for me If wanting thee, sweet Maggie Martin !

THE DAY AN' A' WHA HONOUR IT.

(The following lyric, as well as the five songs immediately succeeding it, appeared originally among the "bard's "quota of rhyme, contributed over a series of years to the St. Andrew's Night festivities customary with the Kingstonian Scots.)

WHAT though we Scotsmen may agree
To differ somewhat now and then,-
Each in his own opinion free

Unflinching as a Grampian Ben,—
No Kirks or Creeds divide us here;-
Alike Conservative and Grit

As one rejoice to toast and cheer
"The Day an' a' wha honour it!"

The Day an' a' wha honour it "-
What magic in that simple phrase !

It fires my blood to fever heat,

It minds me of far broomy braes :
Fair Scotia's Forths and Clydes and Speys
Seem gliding at my very feet:
A patriot-ring exultant has

"The Day an' a' wha honour it!"

It wafts me back to days long gone

When grasp'd the Bruce his Carrick spear,

And deeds eclipsing Marathon

Made him to fame and freedom dear;

I see the flash of broadswords bare,
And Scotland's foes in full retreat;-
Hurrah then for our slogan rare,
"The day an' a' wha honour it!"

St Patrick-terror of the snakes-
Old Erin's sons may well hold dear;
They got him from the land of Cakes,
And thus we too his name revere:
St. George loved less the Cross than Spear,-
Why sainted, puzzles quite my wit:

Here's to St. Andrew's memory rare,

Let niggard bodies miss our joy—

Too meanly counting on the cost,— The patriot flame to fan, say I,

Is never love or labour lost.

Then of our Day let's make the most;—
Time never travels half so fleet

As when together Scotsmen toast

"The Day an' a' wha honour it!"

THE LAND EVER DEAREST TO ME.

AIR. -" Derry down."

HURRAH for that land ever dearest to me,

The noblest in story-the fairest to see,-
A land where fans Freedom her holiest fires!
O, who would not love thee, dear land of my sires!
Derry down.

Down, down, derry down.

What patriot, striking for freedom and right,

Can match with such heroes as Ellerslie's Knight, The Randolph, the Douglas, the Bruce and the Græme? The bare thought of their deeds sets my blood in a flame? Derry down &c.

Who knows not how stoutly, when Truth did require, Her Camerons and Knoxes faced faggot and fire,Bequeathing to us the rich freedom of Mind,

Spite the prelate, the priest, and the devil combined! Derry down &c.

Just think of her minstrels-a glorious throng!
What strains so sublime as in Selma were sung?
Who lists not enraptured to Coila's sweet lyre,

Whose lays will enchant till this earth shall expire!
Derry down &c.