For a merciless sword on Culloden shall They are true to the last of their blood and wave, their breath, Culloden that reeks with the blood of the And like reapers descend to the harvest of 'Tis the fire-shower of ruin, all dreadfully driven From his eyrie, that beacons the darkness of heaven. death. Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock! Let him dash his proud foam like a wave on the rock! But woe to his kindred, and woe to his cause, When Albin her claymore indignantly draws; When her bonneted chieftains to victory crowd, Clanronald the dauntless, and Moray the proud, All plaided and plumed in their tartan array WIZARD. -Lochiel, Lochiel! beware of the day; For, dark and despairing, my sight I may seal, But man cannot cover what God would reveal; 'Tis the sunset of life gives me mystical lore, And coming events casts their shadows before. I tell thee, Culloden's dread echoes shall ring With the bloodhounds that bark for thy fugitive king. Lo! anointed by heaven with the vials of wrath, Behold, where he flies on his desolate path! Oh, crested Lochiel! the peerless in might, Now in darkness and billows he sweeps Whose banners arise on the battlements' height, Heaven's fire is around thee, to blast and to burn; Return to thy dwelling! all lonely return! For the blackness of ashes shall mark where it stood, from my sight: Rise, rise! ye wild tempests, and cover his flight! 'Tis finish'd. Their thunders are hush'd on the moors; Culloden is lost, and my country deplores. And a wild mother scream o'er her famish- But where is the iron-bound prisoner? ing brood. LOCHIEL. where? For the red eye of battle is shut in despair. False wizard, avaunt! I have marshall'd Say, mounts he the ocean-wave, banish'd, my clan; forlorn, Their swords are a thousand, their bosoms Like a limb from his country cast bleeding are one! and torn? Ah no! for a darker departure is near; The war-drum is muffled and black is the bier; His death-bell is tolling. Oh! mercy, dispel Yon sight, that it freezes my spirit to tell! Life flutters convulsed in his quivering limbs, And his blood-streaming nostril in swims. agony What lowe is yon, quo' the gude Lochiel, Accursed be the fagots that blaze at his Were London palace, tower, and town feet, Where his heart shall be thrown ere it ceases to beat, With the smoke of its ashes to poison the gale As fast and brightly burning. AUTHOR UNKNOWN. LOCHIEL. -Down, soothless insulter! I trust not For never shall Albin a destiny meet Though my perishing ranks should be Like ocean-weeds heap'd on the surf- Lochiel, untainted by flight or by chains, remains, Shall victor exult, or in death be laid low, the foe! And, leaving in battle no blot on his name, Look proudly to heaven from the deathbed of fame. THOMAS CAMPBELL. YOUNG AIRLY. KEN ye aught of brave Lochiel? Or ken ye aught of Airly? They have belted on their bright broad swords, And off and awa' wi' Charlie. Now bring me fire, my merry, merry men, At mirk midnight there flash'd a light CHARLIE IS MY DARLING. Right early in the year, An' Charlie is my darling, My darling, my darling, The young Chevalier. As Charlie he came up the gate, An' Charlie is my darling, Then ilka bonnie lassie sang, As to the door she ran, For Charlie he's my darling, My darling, my darling, The young Chevalier. Out owre yon moory mountain, Health to M'Donnel, and gallant Clan- And. aye the o'ercome o' his sang Follow thee! follow thee! wha wadna I took my bonnet aff my head, follow thee? Lang hast thou loved and trusted us fairly: Charlie, Charlie, wha wadna follow thee, For weel I lo'ed Prince Charlie. Quoth I: "My bird, my bonny, bonny bird, Is that a tale ye borrow? King o' the Highland hearts, bonny Or is't some words ye've learn'd by rote, Prince Charlie? Or a lilt o' dool and sorrow?" I'll to Lochiel and Appin, and kneel to "Oh, no, no, no!" the wee bird sang, them, "I've flown sin' morning early; Down by Lord Murray, and Roy of But sic a day o' wind and rain!Oh, wae's me for Prince Charlie! Kildarlie; "On hills that are by right his ain He roams a lonely stranger; On ilka side by danger. My heart near bursted fairly; For sadly changed indeed was heOh, wae's me for Prince Charlie! "Dark night came on; the tempest howl'd Out owre the hills and valleys; Thy tow'ring spirit now is broke, And where was't that your prince lay While the pale phantoms of the slain down, Whase hame should be a palace? He row'd him in a Highland plaid, Which cover'd him but sparely, And slept beneath a bush o' broomOh, wae's me for Prince Charlie!" But now the bird saw some red-coats, And he shook his wings wi' anger: "Oh, this is no a land for me I'll tarry here nae langer." A while he hover'd on the wing, But weel I mind the farewell strain, THE TEARS OF SCOTLAND. MOURN, hapless Caledonia, mourn The wretched owner sees afar What boots it, then, in every clime, Through the wide-spreading waste of time, Thy martial glory, crown'd with praise, Glide nightly o'er the silent plain. O baneful cause! O fatal morn! The pious mother, doom'd to death, While the warm blood bedews my veins, My sympathizing verse shall flow: |