Page:Fugitive Poetry 1600-1878.djvu/422

I'll sell my rock, I'll sell my reel,
My rippling kame, and spinning wheel,
To buy my lad a tartan plaid,
A braidsword, and a white cockade.

I'll sell my rokely and my tow,
My gude gray mare and hawket cow,
That every loyal Buchan lad
May tak' the field wi' his white cockade.

What's a' the Steer?

What's a' the steer, kimmer?
 What's a' the steer?
Charlie he is landed,
 An', haith, he'll soon be hero.
The win' was at his back, carle,
 The win' was at his back;
I carena, sin' he's come, carle,
 We were na worth a plack.

I'm right glad to hear't, kimmer,
 I'm right glad to hear't;
I hae a gude braid claymore,
 And for his sake I'll wear't.
Sin' Charlie he is landed,
 We hae nae mair to fear;
Sin' Charlie he is come, kimmer,
 We'll hae a jubilee year.

Adieu for Evermore.

It was a' for our richtfu' king
 We left fair Scotland's strand;
It was a' for our richtfu' king
 We e'er saw Irish land, my dear,
We e'er saw Irish land.

Now a' is done that men can do,
 And a' is done in vain:
My love, my native land, farewell;
 For I maun cross the main, my dear,
  For I maun cross the main.