And his feet, to death that went,
Crept forth to St. Peter's shrine,
And the latest Minstrel bent

O'er the last of the Stuart line.

WHA'LL BE KING BUT CHARLIE?

LADY NAIRN

PRINCE CHARLES had landed at Moidart, a bay on the west coast of Invernesshire, where he hoped to find support among the Highland clans. When counselled to abandon the desperate enterprise, he replied, "I am come home and I will not return to France, for I am persuaded that my faithful Highlanders will stand by me." The song speaks the genuine devotion of the Celts, who made up the bulk of the army with which the Prince invaded England.

The news frae Moidart cam' yestreen,

Will soon gar mony ferlie;1

For ships o' war hae just come in

And landit Royal Charlie.

Come thro' the heather, around him gather,
Ye're a' the welcomer early;

Around him cling wi' a' your kin;

For wha'll be King but Charlie ?
Come thro' the heather, around him gather,
Come Ronald, come Donald, come a' thegither,
And crown your rightfu', lawfu' King!

For wha'll be King but Charlie ?

The Hieland clans, wi' sword in hand,
Frae John o' Groats to Airlie,
Hae to a man declared to stand
Or fa' wi' Royal Charlie.

1 make many wonder.

Come thro' the heather, around him gather,
Ye're a' the welcomer early;

Around him cling wi' a' your kin;

For wha'll be King but Charlie ?

Come thro' the heather, around him gather,
Come Ronald, come Donald, come a' thegither,
And crown your rightfu', lawfu' King!
For wha'll be King but Charlie?

The Lowlands a', baith great and sma',
Wi' mony a lord and laird, hae
Declar'd for Scotia's King an' law,
An' speir 1 ye wha but Charlie ?

Come thro' the heather, around him gather,
Ye're a' the welcomer early;

Around him cling wi' a' your kin;

For wha'll be King but Charlie ?
Come thro' the heather, around him gather,
Come Ronald, come Donald, come a' thegither,
And crown your rightfu', lawfu' King!
For wha'll be King but Charlie ?

There's ne'er a lass in a' the lan',
But vows baith late an' early,
She'll ne'er to man gie heart nor han',
- Wha wadna fecht for Charlie.

Come thro' the heather, around him gather,
Ye're a' the welcomer early;

Around him cling wi' a' your kin;

For wha'll be King but Charlie ?

Come thro' the heather, around him gather,
Come Ronald, come Donald, come a' thegither,
And crown your rightfu', lawfu' King!

For wha'll be King but Charlie ?

Then here's a health to Charlie's cause,
And be't complete an' early;

His very name our heart's blood warms;
To arms for Royal Charlie!

Come thro' the heather, around him gather,
Ye're a' the welcomer early;
Around him cling wi' a' your kin;

For wha'll be King but Charlie?
Come thro' the heather, around him gather,
Come Ronald, come Donald, come a' thegither,
And crown your rightfu', lawfu' King!
For wha'll be King but Charlie?

LAMENT FOR CULLODEN

ROBERT BURNS

THERE was terrible slaughter at Culloden. After the battle, the Highlanders lay in heaps upon the ground. Prince Charles was horrorstruck by the sight of the carnage wrought in his behalf. He had not realized that war was so terrible.

The lovely lass o' Inverness,

Nae joy nor pleasure can she see;
For e'en and morn she cries, Alas!
And aye
the saut tear blins her ee:

Drumossie moor

Drumossie day –

A waefu' day it was to me!

For there I lost my father dear,
My father dear, and brethren three.

Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay,
Their graves are growing green to see:
And by them lies the dearest lad
That ever blest a woman's ee!
Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord,
A bluidy man I trow thou be;
For mony a heart thou hast made sair
That ne'er did wrang to thine or thee.

ENGLAND, WITH ALL THY FAULTS, I LOVE THEE STILL

WILLIAM COWPER

(From "The Task,” Bk. II)

THE third George was proud of being English born and English bred. He determined to make himself master of the political situation, and to be king in fact as well as in name. To this end, old and tried counsellors, such as Chatham, were set aside, and new men were called to the ministry, men who would bow to the royal will. The king's arbitrary policy soon involved England in a war with the American colonies and drove the ablest of her statesmen into opposition.

England, with all thy faults, I love thee still, My country! and, while yet a nook is left Where English minds and manners may be found, Shall be constrained to love thee. Though thy clime Be fickle, and thy year, most part, deformed

With dripping rains, or withered by a frost,
I would not yet exchange thy sullen skies
And fields without a flower, for warmer France
With all her vines; nor for Ausonia's groves
Of golden fruitage, and her myrtle bowers.
To shake thy senate, and from heights sublime
Of patriot eloquence to flash down fire
Upon thy foes, was never meant my task;
But I can feel thy fortunes, and partake
Thy joys and sorrows with as true a heart
As any thunderer there. And I can feel
Thy follies too, and with a just disdain
Frown at effeminates, whose very looks.
Reflect dishonour on the land I love.
How, in the name of soldiership and sense,
Should England prosper, when such things, as smooth
And tender as a girl, all essenced o'er

With odours, and as profligate as sweet,

Who sell their laurel for a myrtle wreath,

And love when they should fight - when such as

these

Presume to lay their hand upon the ark

Of her magnificent and awful cause?

Time was when it was praise and boast enough
In every clime, and travel where we might,
That we were born her children; praise enough
To fill the ambition of a private man,

That Chatham's language was his mother tongue,
And Wolfe's great name compatriot with his own.
Farewell those honours, and farewell with them