O, Kenmure's lads are men, Willie,
O, Kenmure's lads are men!
Their hearts and swords are metal true,
And that their faes shall ken.

They'll live or die wi' fame, Willie,
They'll live or die wi' fame!
But soon wi' sounding Victorie
May Kenmure's lord come hame!

Here's him that's far awa, Willie,
Here's him that's far awa!

And here's the flower that I lo'e best-
The rose that's like the sna!

Robert Burns.

CLV

A JACOBITE'S FAREWELL

It was a' for our rightfu' king
We left fair Scotland's strand;
It was a' for our rightfu' king,
We e'er saw Irish land,
My dear-

We e'er saw Irish land.

Now a' is done that men can do,
And a' is done in vain,

My Love and Native Land fareweel,
For I maun cross the main,
My dear-

For I maun cross the main.

He turn'd him right and round about
Upon the Irish shore,

And gae his bridle reins a shake,

With adieu for evermore,
My dear-

And adieu for evermore!

The soger frae the wars returns,
The sailor frae the main,
But I hae parted frae my love
Never to meet again,
My dear-

Never to meet again.

When day is gane, and night is come,
And a' folk bound to sleep,

I think on him that's far awa
The lee-lang night, and weep,
My dear-

The lee-lang night and weep.

CLVI

Robert Burns.

CHARLIE IS MY DARLING

Oh! Charlie is my darling, my darling, my darling,
Oh! Charlie is my darling, the young Chevalier !

As he cam' marchin' up the street,
The pipes played loud and clear,
An' a' the folk cam' rinnin' oot

To meet the Chevalier.

Wi' Hieland bonnets on their heads,
An' claymores bricht an' clear,

They cam' to fecht for Scotland's richt,
An' the young Chevalier.

They've left their bonnie Hieland hills,
Their wives and bairnies dear,

To draw the sword for Scotland's lord,
The young Chevalier.

Oh! Charlie is my darling, my darling, my darling,
Oh! Charlie is my darling, the young Chevalier !

Lady Nairn

CLVII

WHA'LL BE KING BUT CHARLIE?

THE news frae Moidart cam' yestreen

Will soon gar mony ferlie;

For ships o' war hae just come in,

And landed Royal Charlie.

Come through 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 ?

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.

There's ne'er a lass in a' the land,
But vows both late an' early,
To man she'll ne'er gie heart or han',
Wha wadna fecht for Charlie.

Then here's a health to Charlie's cause,

An' be't complete an' early;

His very name our hearts' blood warms

To arms for Royal Charlie!

Come through the heather, around him gather,
Come Ronald, come Donald, come a' thegither,
And claim your rightfu', lawfu' King,

For wha'll be King but Charlie ?

Lady Nairn.

CLVIII

WAE'S ME FOR PRINCE CHARLIE

A WEE bird cam' to our ha' door,

An'

He warbled sweet an' clearly,
aye
the o'ercome o' his sang,
Was Wae's me for Prince Charlie!'

O when I heard the bonnie, bonnie bird,
The tears cam' droppin' rarely;

I took my bonnet aff my head,

For weel I lo'ed Prince Charlie.

Quoth I, 'My bird, my bonnie, bonnie bird, Is that a sang ye borrow?

Are these some words ye've learnt by heart, Or a lilt o' dool an' sorrow?' 'O! no, no, no,' the wee bird sang,

'I've flown sin' mornin' early, But sic a day o' wind an' rain

Oh! wae's me for Prince Charlie!

On hills that are by right his ain,
He roams a lonely stranger,
On ilka hand he's press'd by want,
On ilka side by danger:
Yestreen I met him in a glen,

My heart maist burstit fairly;
For sairly changed indeed was he-

O! wae's me for Prince Charlie!'

Dark night cam' on, the tempest roar'd
Cauld o'er the hills an' valleys;

An' whaur was't that your prince lay down,
Whase hame should be a palace?
He row'd him in a Hieland plaid,
Which cover'd him but sparely,
An' slept beneath a bush o' broom-
O! wae's me for Prince Charlie!

But now the bird saw some red-coats, An' he shook his wings wi' anger; 'O! this is no a land for me;

I'll tarry here nae langer.'

A while he hover'd on the wing,
Ere he departed fairly,

But weel I mind the fareweel strain

Was Wae's me for Prince Charlie!'

William Glen.

CLIX

SKYE BOAT-SONG

Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing,
'Onward' the sailors cry;

Carry the lad that's born to be king
Over the sea to Skye!

Loud the winds howl, loud the waves roar,
Thunder-clouds rend the air;

Baffled, our foes stand by the shore,
Follow they will not dare.

Though the waves leap, soft shall ye sleep;
Ocean's a royal bed.

Rocked in the deep, Flora will keep

Watch by your weary head.

Many's the lad fought on that day
Well the claymore could wield,
When the night came silently lay
Dead on Culloden's field.

Burned are our homes, exile and death
Scatter the loyal men;

Yet ere the sword cool in the sheath

Charlie will come again.

Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing,

'Onward' the sailors cry;

Carry the lad that's born to be king

Over the sea to Skye!

Harold Boulton.

CLX

A KISS OF THE KING'S HAND

It wasna from a golden throne,
Or a bower with milk-white roses blown,
But 'mid the kelp on northern sand
That I got a kiss of the King's hand.