April 1836, in the fifty-fifth year of his age. His remains were
interred in the sequestered cemetery of St Mary's, in Yarrow. The few
songs which he has written are composed in a vigorous style, and entitle
him to rank among those whom he delighted to honour.[17]

[16] In the "Key to the Chaldee MS.," he is described as the author of
"The White Cottage, a Tale;" this was not written by him, but was the
production of one More, a native of Berwickshire, whose literary
aspirations he had promoted.

[17] For a number of particulars in this memoir, we are indebted to our
venerated friend Mr Alexander Bald, of Alloa.

CULLODEN; OR, LOCHIEL'S FAREWELL.

AIR--_"Fingal's Lament."_

Culloden, on thy swarthy brow
Spring no wild flowers nor verdure fair;
Thou feel'st not summer's genial glow,
More than the freezing wintry air.
For once thou drank'st the hero's blood,
And war's unhallow'd footsteps bore;
Thy deeds unholy, nature view'd,
Then fled, and cursed thee evermore.

From Beauly's wild and woodland glens,
How proudly Lovat's banners soar!
How fierce the plaided Highland clans
Rush onward with the broad claymore!
Those hearts that high with honour heave,
The volleying thunder there laid low;
Or scatter'd like the forest leaves,
When wintry winds begin to blow!

Where now thy honours, brave Lochiel?
The braided plumes torn from thy brow,
What must thy haughty spirit feel,
When skulking like the mountain roe!
While wild birds chant from Locky's bowers,
On April eve, their loves and joys,
The Lord of Locky's loftiest towers
To foreign lands an exile flies.

To his blue hills that rose in view,
As o'er the deep his galley bore,
He often look'd and cried, "Adieu!
I 'll never see Lochaber more!
Though now thy wounds I cannot feel,
My dear, my injured native land,
In other climes thy foe shall feel
The weight of Cameron's deadly brand.

"Land of proud hearts and mountains gray,
Where Fingal fought, and Ossian sung!
Mourn dark Culloden's fateful day,
That from thy chiefs the laurel wrung.
Where once they ruled and roam'd at will,
Free as their own dark mountain game,
Their sons are slaves, yet keenly feel
A longing for their father's fame.

"Shades of the mighty and the brave,
Who, faithful