and the authorship came to be assigned to different
individuals. Fletcher afterwards announced himself as the author, and
completely established his claim. He was the author of various metrical
compositions both in Gaelic and English.

THE CLACHAN OF GLENDARUEL.

Thy wily eyes, my darling,
Thy graces bright, my jewel,
Have grieved me since our parting
At the kirk of Glendaruel.

'Twas to the Kirkton wending
Bright eyes encounter'd duty,
And mavis' notes were blending
With the rosy cheeks of beauty.

Oh, jimpsome is her shapely waist,
Her arms, her instep queenly;
And her sweet parting lips are graced
With rows of ivory inly.

When busy tongues are railing,
Lown is her word unsaucy,
And with modest grace unfailing
She trips it o'er the causey.

Should royalty prefer me,
Preferment none I crave,
But to live a shepherd near thee,
On the howes of Corrichnaive.

Would fortune crown my wishes--
The shealing of the hill,
With my darling, and the rushes
To couch on, were my will.

I hear, but not instruction,
Though faithful lips are pleading--
I read thy eyes' perfection,
On their dew of mildness feeding.

My hand is swiftly scrolling,
In the courts of reverend men;[46]
But, ah! my restless soul in
Is triumphing my Jean.

I fear, I fear their frowning--
But though they chased me over
Where Holland's flats[47] are drowning,
I 'll live and die thy lover.

FOOTNOTES:

[46] The poet waxes professional. He was session-clerk and clerk-depute
of presbytery.

[47] The war was raging in Holland, under the command of the Duke of
York. The bard threatens to exchange the pen for the sword.

THE LASSIE OF THE GLEN.

Versified from the Gaelic Original by the Author.

Beneath a hill 'mang birken bushes,
By a burnie's dimplit linn,
I told my love with artless blushes
To the lassie o' the glen.

Oh! the birken bank sae grassy,
Hey! the burnie's dimplit linn;
Dear to me 's the bonnie lassie
Living in yon rashy glen!

Lanely Ruail! thy stream sae glassy
Shall be aye my fav'rite theme,
For on thy banks my Highland lassie
First confess'd a mutual flame.

What bliss to sit, and nane to fash us,
In some sweet