me or country for him, as he would be despised
and hunted out of the glen. Accordingly he kept steady to his trust,
and was executed. This trusty servant's name was John Macnaughton, from
Glenlyon, in Perthshire. He deserves to be mentioned, both on account
of his incorruptible fidelity, and of his testimony to the honourable
principles of the people, and to their detestation of a breach of trust
to a kind and honourable master, however great might be the risk, or
however fatal the consequences, to the individual himself."--Vol.1., pp.
52,53, 3rd Edit.

NOTE TO THE TWO DROVERS.

Note 11.--ROBERT DONN'S POEMS.

I cannot dismiss this story without resting attention for a moment on
the light which has been thrown on the character of the Highland Drover
since the time of its first appearance, by the account of a drover poet,
by name Robert Mackay, or, as he was commonly called, Rob Donn--that
is, Brown Robert--and certain specimens of his talents, published in the
ninetieth number of the Quarterly Review. The picture which that paper
gives of the habits and feelings of a class of persons with which the
general reader would be apt to associate no ideas but those of wild
superstition and rude manners, is in the highest degree interesting,
and I cannot resist the temptation of quoting two of the songs of this
hitherto unheard-of poet of humble life. They are thus introduced by the
reviewer:--

"Upon one occasion, it seems, Rob's attendance upon his master's cattle
business detained him a whole year from home, and at his return he found
that a fair maiden to whom his troth had been plighted of yore had lost
sight of her vows, and was on the eve of being married to a rival (a
carpenter by trade), who had profited by the young drover's absence.
The following song was composed during a sleepless night, in the
neighbourhood of Creiff, in Perthshire, and the home sickness which it
expresses appears to be almost as much that of the deer-hunter as of the
loving swain.

'EASY IS MY BED, IT IS EASY,
BUT IT IS NOT TO SLEEP THAT I INCLINE;
THE WIND WHISTLES NORTHWARDS, NORTHWARDS,
AND MY THOUGHTS MOVE WITH IT.
More pleasant were it to be with thee
In the little glen of calves,
Than to be counting of droves
In the enclosures of Creiff.
EASY IS MY BED, ETC.

'Great is my esteem of the maiden
Towards whose dwelling the north wind blows;
She is ever cheerful, spor