Alas for the foeman who hastes not to yield

When "shoulder to shoulder" the Clans take the field!

When duty demands them their might to display,

The Titans might envy their deeds in the fray.
Derry down &c.

O Albyn! my country so brave and so blest,
'Tis on thy dear bosom I'd take my last rest;
Oh, living or dying, give, give me to dwell

'Mid the music of streams, in some green Highland dell! Derry down &c.

THE LAND OF THE GREEN MAPLE LEAF.

AIR.-" Tam Glen."

Of all the fair lands you can name, boys,
There's one we may well rank the chief;
"Tis that we our own proudly claim, boys,-
The Land of the Green Maple Leaf!
A patriot land well may be, boys,

That land of bright annals, though brief:
Whoever would feel truly free, boys,

Should live 'neath the Green Maple Leaf.

To praises of moorlands and mountains
They well may grow readily deaf
Who dwell by the lakes and the fountains

Fair-fringed by the Green Maple Leaf.

'Tis there that the woodman's axe bringeth The lords of the forest to grief,

Till up to a paradise springeth

His home by the Green Maple Leaf.

He here who a bachelor liveth

May well be set down for a "cuif,” Well shunned by each darling who giveth Love's kiss 'neath the Green Maple Leaf. The heart that is proof to such graces

As theirs, must be hard as a reef;Let's hope that such desperate cases

Are rare 'neath the Green Maple Leaf.

In Lords and their lackeys dependent 'Tis well that our list is but brief; The homage on tinsel attendant

They'd miss 'neath the Green Maple Leaf. Where Autumn the toils of the ploughman Rewards with a fifty-fold sheaf,

The true lords of the soil are our yeomen
Who guard well the Green Maple Leaf.

Sam Slick more than once, in full feather,
To grab it tried hard- the foul thief!
For his pains we well riddled his leather,
And our own kept the Green Maple Leaf;
And our own-ours alone—it shall be, boys,
Despite all who'd work it mischief:
We love it too well e're to see, boys,

Aught harming the green Maple Leaf.

WHEN Noah turn'd seaman, most people agree, man
MacLean of that day had “a boat o' his ain;"
A clansman less famous, though ev'ry inch game, is
Our own gallant Chieftan-the other MacLean.*
CHORUS-

UP, bonnet and feather! Up thistle and heather!
St. Andrew's good advent is on us again:
What Scotsman, revering in its mem'ries endearing,
Would not make a night o't with Chieftan MacLean!

Away with your grumblers whom nothing but tumblers
Of punch and a haggis can tempt to fall in!

The fair happy faces that here fill their places
More proud of by far must be Chieftain MacLean.
Up, bonnet and feather! &c.

Old Scotland's grand story, so pregnant of glory,
The ballads that cheered her in days that have been,
Her songs so heart-touching, all hearers bewitching,
O, who would not feast on with Chieftain MacLean !
Up, bonnet and feather! &c.

The "Chieftain" here referred to-Professor Donald MacLean, of Ann Arbor College, Michigan,-is of the Lochbuy branch of the Clan MacLean. He was at the time these verses were penned, President of the Kingston St. Andrew's Society, and as such, presided at the Festival for which they were composed.

From Ossian and Selma to Lucknow and Alma,

Such triumphs are linked to the war-pipes proud strain That creatures who'd hear it, its music to sneer at, Had best shun the sight of our Chieftain MacLean! Up, bonnet and feather! &c.

Let pinks of perfection, themselves vainly vexing,
A good Scottish reel call a pastime profane;
The worst I wish for them would be "Tullochgorum
To dance till they sweated with Chieftain MacLean.
Up, bonnet and feather! &c.

O, Scotland, dear Scotland! alas that there's not land
Enough in thy bounds all thy sons to contain !
Else not this far west one, but thy own dear breast on,
Our joys would be perfect with Chieftain MacLean.
Up, bonnet and feather! &c.

COUN

MINE OWN DEAR ROMANTIC COUNTRIE!

THOUGH its climate be cold, and its sands hide no gold, Yet the land of the heather for me!

Since, despite its bleak air, Freedom's footsteps are there; Her loved home, bonnie Scotland, is thee!

CHORUS―Then ho! for the Old Land! that stern, sturdy, bold land,

Whose sons 'tis our glory to be!

O, who would not love thee, and proudly sing

of thee,

Mine own dear, romantic countrie!

Not without tug and toil, Albyn dear, on thy soil

Our bold sires planted Liberty's tree;

And we swear that no foe shall e'er touch stem or bough While we have hands to defend it and thee.

Then ho! for the Old Land! &c.

From the homes of their birth, to the ends of the earth
Let thy sons wander ever so free,

As to magnet the steel, so, in woe or in weal,
Turn their hearts ever fondly to thee.

Then ho! for the Old Land! &c.

Land of heroes high-famed-land by foe never tamed,
Sorely tried though thou sometimes might be,-
Bards are aye most inspired-hearts heroic best fired
When they think, bonnie Scotland, of thee.
Then ho! for the Old Land! &c.

ETHEL.

AIR-" The Lass o' Gowrie."

'TIS said that angels in disguise

Are sometimes found beneath the skies
And looking into thy dear eyes,

I cannot doubt it, Ethel.

The one thing sure is, that thy face

So full is of angelic grace

That all I once could love give place

To thee, delightful Ethel !