  'T was on a Monday morning, Right early in the year, When Charlie cam' to our town, The young Chevalier. Oh, Charlie is my darling,
Oh, Charlie is my darling, The young Chevalier. As he cam' marching up the street The pipes played loud an' clear, An' a' the folks cam' running out To meet the Chevalier. Wi' Hieland bonnets on their heads, An' claymores bright an' clear, They cam' to fight for Scotland's right An' the young Chevalier. They 'ye left their bonnie Highland hills, Their wives and bairnies dear, To draw the sword for Scotland's lord, The young Chevalier. Oh, there were mony beating hearts An' mony a hope an' fear, An' mony were the prayers sent up For the young Chevalier. Oh, Charlie is my darling,
Oh, Charlie is my darling, The young Chevalier. There is one of Lady Nairne's songs not quite perfect, for one forced and faulty line in the refrain, which has a higher touch of the imagination than any of the others. The influence of the magic of nature in the interpretation of human sorrow or gladness, and the wild mystery of the birds' melody upon the heart, which is characteristic of the highest order of the folk-song, and which, in its irregularity and simplicity, not less than the melody, which is nature's own voice, rather than the rhythm of art, is beyond the reach of any deliberate skill. It would be hard to find anything more perfect at once in its picture and its interpretation of the voice of nature in human words than— And then the burnie's like the sea, Roarin' an' reamin'; Nae wee bit sangster's on the tree, But wild birds screamin'. While the sadness of human despair that follows and emphasizes the passion of the flood strikes the ear like a veritable wail in the loneliness and darkness. Bonnie ran the burnie down, Wandrin' an' windin'. Sweetly sang the birds above, Care never mindin'. The gentle summer wind Was their music saft an' kind, And it rockit them an' rockit them All in their bowers sae hie. Bonnie ran, etc. The mossy rock was there, An' the water lily fair, An' the little trout would sport about All in the sunny beam. Bonnie ran, etc. Tho' summer days be lang, An' sweet the birdies sang, The wintry night and chilly light Keep aye their eerie roun'. Bonnie ran, etc. An' then the burnie's like a sea, Roarin' an' reamin'; Nae wee bit sangster's on the tree, But wild birds screamin'. Oh, that the past I might forget, Wandrin' an' weepin'; Oh, that aneath the hillock green Sound I were sleepin'. In one other famous song, heard wherever Scotch music is sung, Lady Nairne interpreted the pathos, hardship, and suffering behind the strong, clear voices of the Newhaven fishwives, which may still be heard in the wynds and closes of Edinburgh as they march on their sturdy limbs with the heavy creels laden with the silvery fishes on their backs, and fill the air with their deep, melodious cry.
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