For the banner that waves is a banner of peace,
And the tidings it bears are the tidings of grace
In the stillness of Sabbath 'tis wafted abroad,
To assemble the clansmen to worship their God.

Oh! thus may each banner of discord and strife,
Yet send forth the tidings of gladness and life;
Thus calling on mankind with joyful accord,
To appear at His altar to worship the Lord.

MY MOTHER.

Who fed me from her gentle breast,
Who hush'd me in her arms to rest,
And on my cheek sweet kisses prest?

My Mother.
When sleep forsook my open eye,
Who was it sang sweet lullaby,

And rock'd me that I should not cry?

My Mother.

Who sat and watch'd my infant head,
When sleeping in my cradle bed,
And tears of sweet affection shed?

My Mother.

When pain and sickness made me cry,
Who gazed upon my heavy eye,
And wept for fear that I should die?

My Mother.

Who ran to help me when I fell,
And would some pretty story tell,
Or kiss the part to make it well?

My Mother.
Who taught my infant lips to pray,
To love God's holy word and day,
And walk in wisdom's pleasant way?
My Mother.

And can I ever cease to be,
Affectionate and kind to thee,
Who wast so very kind to me,

My Mother?

"Deir an t-aosda, 's e 'g éiridh le faoilt air a ghruaidh, "O chi mi an sanus tha 'tional an t-sluaigh!

Mo cheum ged is anfhann, 's mo chiabh ged is liath,
Théid mi le sòlas thabhairt aoradh do m' Dhia."

O nach robh bratach 'gach dùthcha, 's gach tìr'!
Air an sgaoileadh mar so air maduinn na sìth,
A' toirt caiseamachd àrd a thuigeadh na sloigh,
Had a dh'aoradh do'n Ti d'an dligheach gach glòir.

MO MHATHAIR.

Cò thog mi air a cìochaibh tlà,
'Sa thalaidh mi gu suain le bàigh,

'S a dh' altrum mi 'na h-uchd le gràdh ;

Mo Mháthair.

'Nuair theich an cadal fada uam

Cò thog an guth bu bhinne fuaim,

Air chor 's gu'n thuit mi ann a'm' shuain?

Mo Mhàthair.

Cò dh' fhair thairis orm gu caomh,

'S mi 'm luidhe anns a' chreathail fhaoin,
'S a shil na deôir le bàigh cho caoin?

Mo Mhathair.

Fo euslainte 'nuair bha mi'n sàs,

O àm gu h-àm ni's laige 'fàs,
Cò ghuil le geilt gu'm faighinn bàs?

Mo Mhàthair.

Со а ruith gu m' thogail suas,

'S a chogair sgeula beag a' m' chluais,
'S a phòg air falbh mo leòn le truas ?

Mo Mhàthair.

Cò air ùrnuigh dhùisg mo dhéigh,
Do fhocal naomh a's latha Dhé,
Gu triall 'na shlighe dhìreach, réidh ?

Mo Mhàthair.

Am feud e bith nach deanar leam,
Caidreamh a's caoimhneas riut gach àm,
A bha cho bàigheil, chaoimhneil rium,

Mo Mhàthair?

Oh no! the thought I cannot bear;
And, if God please my life to spare,
I hope I shall reward thy care,

My Mother.
When thou art feeble, old, and grey,
My healthy arm shall be thy stay,
And I will soothe thy pains away,

My Mother.

And when I see thee hang thy head,
'Twill be my turn to watch thy bed,
And tears of sweet affection shed,

My Mother.

VERSES

As if they had been composed by Alexander Selkirk, during his solitary abode on the island of Juan Fernandez.

I am monarch of all I survey,

My right there is none to dispute ;
From the centre all round to the sea,
I am lord of the fowl and the brute.
O solitude! where are the charms

That sages have seen in thy face?
Better dwell in the midst of alarms,
Than reign in this horrible place.

I am out of humanity's reach,

I must finish my journey alone,
Never hear the sweet music of speech,-
I start at the sound of my own.
The beasts, that roam over the plain,
My form with indifference see;
They are so unacquainted with man,
Their tameness is shocking to me.

Society, friendship, and love,
Divinely bestow'd upon man,
O, had I the wings of a dove,

How soon would I taste you again!

Cha 'n fheud-b'e sin a bhi gun truas;
'S ma chumas Dia mo bheatha suas,
Cha bhi do chaoimhneas dhomh gun duais,
Mo Mhàthair.

'Nuair dh' fhàsas tusa lag sa' cheum,
Gheibh thu lorg o m' ghàirdein féin,

'S bithidh mi a' m' thaice dhuit a' d' fheum,

Mo Mhathair.

'Nuair chailleas tu do lùth 's do threòir,

Ni mi faireadh ort le deòir,

A dh'oidhch''s a latha bi’dh mi d' chòir,

Mo Mhàthair.

RANNAN

Mar gu'n rachadh an deanamh le Alasdair Selcirc, an uair a bha e 'na aonaran air eilein Iuan Fernandes.

Tha mi 'm righ air na chi mi mu'n cuairt,

Cha 'n 'eil aon ann 'chur suarach mo reachd ;

Fad na tìre gu crìochaibh a' chuain,

Tha gach eun agus fia'-bhea'ch fo m' smachd.

O aonrachd! c'à' bheil gach buaidh

Chaidh a luaidh ort cho tric ann an dàn ?
B' fhearr gaoir-chatha gach latha bhi 'm chluais,
Na bhi 'm righ an àit' oillteil mar tha.

Tha mi far nach faigh duine a'm' chòir,
'A'm ònar thig crìoch air mo réis,
Cha chluinn mi aon fhocal na cainnt,

Thig clisg orm le fuaim mo ghuth féin.
Tha gach beathach tha 'siubhal an raoin,
'Gam fhaicinn gun ioghnadh gun sgàth;
Tha iad sin cho neo-chleachdta ri daoin',
Tha oillt orm am faicinn cho càld'.

Comh-chomunn, a's càirdeas, a's gaol,
Chaidh a bhuileach' air daoinibh o'n åird,
Na'm biodh agam-sa sgiathan an eòin,
'S mi mhealadh a rìs sibh gun dail!

My sorrows then I might assuage
In the ways of religion and truth,
Might learn from the wisdom of age,
And be cheer'd by the sallies of youth.

Religion! What treasure untold
Resides in that heavenly word!
More precious than silver and gold,
Or all that this earth can afford.
But the sound of the church-going bell
These vallies and rocks never heard,
Never sigh'd at the sound of a knell,
Or smiled when a Sabbath appear'd.

Ye winds, that have made me your sport,
Convey to this desolate shore
Some cordial, endearing report

Of a land I shall visit no more.
My friends, do they now and then send
A wish or a thought after me?
O tell me I yet have a friend,

Though a friend I am never to see.

How fleet is a glance of the mind! Compared with the speed of its flight, The tempest itself lags behind,

And the swift-winged arrows of light. When I think of my own native land, In a moment I seem to be there; But, alas recollection at hand

Soon hurries me back to despair.

But the sea fowl is gone to her nest,
The beast is laid down to his lair;
Even here is a season of rest,

And I to my cabin repair.
There's mercy in every place,
And mercy, encouraging thought!
Gives even affliction a grace,

And reconciles man to his lot.