Donald Macdonald.
[This was one of the earliest songs which James Hogg composed. It was written about the year 1803, to the tune of "Woo'd and married and a'," and was long very popular. "I once heard the song," says the author, "sung in the theatre at Lancaster, when the singer substituted the following lines of his own for the last verse:—
'For Jock Bull he is good in a hurry,
An' Sawney is steel to the bane,
An' wee David Welsh is a widdy,
An' Paddy will hurkle to nane;
They'll a' prove baith sturdy and loyal,
Come dangers around them what may,
An' I, their gude-brither, Macdonald,
Shall ne'er be the last in the fray!' &c.
It took exceedingly well, and was three times encored, and there was I sitting in the gallery, applauding as much as any body. My vanity prompted me to tell a jolly Yorkshire manufacturer that night that I was the author of the song. He laughed excessively at my assumption, and told the landlady that he took me for a half-crazed Scots pedlar."]
My name it is Donald Macdonald—
I live in the Highlands sae grand;
I've follow'd my banner, and will do,
Wherever my Maker has land.
When rankit amang the blue bonnets,
Nae danger can fear me ava;
I ken that my brethren around me
Are either to conquer or fa'.
Brogues, and brochan, and a',
Brochan, and brogues, and a";
And is na the laddie weel aff
Wha has brogues,and brochan, and a'?
Short syne we were wonderfu' canty,
Our friends and our country to see
But since the proud Consul's grown vauntie,
We'll meet him by land or by sea.
Wherever a clan is disloyal,
Wherever our king has a foe,
He'll quickly see Donald Macdonald,
Wi' his Highlanders a' in a row.
Guns, and pistols, and a',
Pistols, and guns, and a';
He'll quickly see Donald Macdonald,
Wi' guns, and pistols, and a'.
What though we befreendit young Charlie?
To tell it I dinna think shame;
Puir lad! he cam' to us but barely,
And reckon'd our mountains his hame.
It's true that our reason forbade us,
But tenderness carried the day;
Had Geordie come friendless amang us,
Wi' him we had a' gane away.
Sword, and buckler, and a',
Buckler, and sword, and a';
For George we'll encounter the devil,
Wi' sword, and buckler, and a'.
And O I wad eagerly press him
The keys o' the East to retain;
For should he gi'e up the possession,
We'll soon ha'e to force them again:
Than yield up an inch wi' dishonour,
Though it were my finishln' blow,
He aye may depend on Macdonald,
Wi' his Highlandmen all in a row.
Knees, and elbows, and a',
Elbows, and knees, and a';
Depend upon Donald Macdonald,
His knees, and elbows, and a'.
If Bonaparte land at Fort-William,
Auld Europe nae langer shall grane;
I laugh when I think how we'll gall him
Wi' bullet, wi' steel, and wi' stane:
Wi' rocks o' the Nevis and Garny
We'll rattle him aff frae our shore,
Or lull him asleep in a cairnie,
And sing him Lochaber no more!
Stanes, and bullets, and a'.
Bullets, and stanes, and a';
We'll finish the Corsican callau
Wi' stanes, and bullets, and a'.
The Gordon is gude in a hurry;
And Campbell is steel to the bane,
And Grant, and Mackenzie, and Murray,
And Cameron, will hurkle to nane;
The Stuart is sturdy and wannel;
And sae is Macleod and Mackay;
And I, their gude-brither, Macdonald,
Sall never be last in the fray.
Brogues, and brochan, and a',
Brochan, and brogues, and a';
And up wi' the bonnie blue bonnet,
The kilt, and feather, and a'.