d; as Sleat, Clanronald, Glengarry, Keppoch, and
Glencoe.

[125] _Lit._ Lowland or stranger. Killiecrankie and Sheriff Muir, not to
mention Innerlochy and Tippermuir, must have blended the dying shrieks
of Lowlanders with the triumphant shouts of the Gael. The image is a
fine one.

[126] The armorial emblem was gules.

[127] Prince Charles Edward was expected.

THE BROWN DAIRY-MAIDEN.

Burns was fascinated with the effect of this song in Gaelic; and adopted
the air for his "Banks of the Devon."

My brown dairy, brown dairy,
Brown dairy-maiden;
Brown dairy-maiden,
Bell of the heather!

A fetter beguiling, dairy-maiden, thy smiling;
Thy glove[128] there 's a wile in, of white hand the cover;
When a-milking, thy stave is more sweet than the mavis,
As his melodies ravish the woodlands all over;
Thy wild notes so cheerie, bring the small birds to hear thee,
And, fluttering, they near thee, who sings to discover.
To fulness as growing, so liquid, so flowing,
Thy song makes a glow in the veins of thy lover.
My brown dairy, brown dairy, &c.

They may talk of the viol, and its strings they may try all,
For the heart's dance, outvie all, the songs of the dairy!
White and red are a-blending, on thy cheeks a-contending,
And a smile is descending from thy lips of the cherry;
Teeth their ivory disclosing, like dice, bright round rows in,
An eye unreposing, with twinkle so merry;
At summer-dawn straying, on my sight beams are raying,
From the tresses[129] they 're playing of the maid of the dairy.
My brown dairy, brown dairy, &c.

At milking the prime in, song with strokings is chiming,
And the bowie is timing a chorus-like humming.
Sweet the gait of the maiden, nod her tresses a-spreading
O'er her ears, like the mead in, the rash of the common.
Her neck, amber twining, its colours combining,
How their lustre is shining in union becoming!
My brown dairy, brown dairy, &c.

Thy duties a-plying, white fingers are vying
With white arms, in drying the streams of the heifer,
O to linger the fold in, at noonday beholding,
When the tether 's enfolding, be my pastime for ever!
The music of milking, with melodies lilting,
While with "mammets" she 's "tilting," and her bowies run over,
Is delight; a