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I have been roaming through the book "The Scottish Minstrel" by Rev. Charles Rogers, LL.D, F.S.A., Scot
and these are some of the poems in this book about the
Stewarts/Stuarts.
It boggles the mind that although many were not for Prince Charlie's cause he is imortalized in song and verse by so many poets and writers. Both Protestant and Catholic alike fought for Prince Charlie who was but a lad of 24 with no proper advisors. The loyalty that drove people onward is called "FREEDOM".
The Emigrants Farewell
by Alexander Stewart
The wind shipped the canvas. The tall-masted vessel strained
Sail to the west in it's voyage of sorrow.;
Fast faded Cantyree: the sad slight from the Highlands was
Bitter today and uncertain tomorrow,
Red gold on the ocean the sunset before them.
But the sea lanes in storms had no terrors for Dugald:
His eyes stung with tears for farewell to his home.
He stood in the stern with his gaze on the mountains
Dusk-dark in the distance, the peaks of Argyll:
Such peaks as looked down on his forefathers' dwelling
"O, land of my heart", were the words of his grieving
"Dammed byt the tyrants, the faithless and grasping,
"They have driven us out like the mists of the morning
dispelled by the glare of the gathering day".
The deer and moorcock claim crofts long grown silent:
"The blood-ties that bound us, once stronger than iron,
corrupt Chiefs have broken, like Judas, for gain;
Fat sheep from the south graze the land that was our land:
Woe, wealth without honour, estates without men!
Copied from the book "Daughters of the Glen" when in Scotland by Jean Watson in 2003
Charlie's Comin'
By Colin Rae Brown
*note*
The tragedy was landowners started using the "law of property" to try to get richer at the expense of their tenants.
Charlie's comin' o'er the sea,
Soon he'll set the country free
From those that bear the rule and gree
In bonnie Caledonia!
Gentle breezes, solftly blow,
We burn until we meet the foe,
And strike the bold decisive blow
For king and Caledonia!
Nobel hearts are beating high,
All with fight, none basely fly,
For if they conquer not, they'll die
For ancient Caledonia!
Oh, that Charlie were but here!
The base usurper then might fear-
As loud the din fell on his ear
Of joy in Caledonia!
Heard ye not that distant hum?
And now the pipe, and now the drum,
Proclaim the news that Charlie's come
To gladden Caledonia!
Tyrants, tremble, Charlie's here!
Now indeed, ye've cause to fear;
Hielan' hearts be of good cheer,
And on for Caledonia!
By Colin Rae Brown
Index of Poems
1. Imigrants Farewell,
2. Charlies Comin'
3. Wha'll Be King But Charlie?
4. He's Iver The Hills That I Lo'e Well
5. The Stuarts of Appin
6. The Yellow Locks O' Charlie
7. M'Lean's Welcome
8. Queen Mary's Escape Fro Loch Leven Castle
9. Rise! Rise! Lowland and Highland Men
10. Waes Me For Prince Charlie
11. Heard Ye The Bagpipe?
12. When Charlie To The Highlands Came
13. The Highlander
14. Charlie Is My Darling
15. Lament For The Old Highland Warriors
16. Loch Lomond
17. The Lay of the Minstrel (in part)
The Stuarts of Appin
By James Hogg
(some words are missing)
Bonnie Prince Charlie
I sing of a land that was famous of yore.
The land of green Appin, the ward of the flood,
Where every grey cairn that broods o'er the shore,
Marks grave of the royal, the valiant, or good.
The land where thes trains of grey Ossian wer framed,
The land of fair Selma, the reign of Fingal.
And late of a race, that with tears must be named-
The noble Clan-Stuart, the bravest of all.
Oh-hon, an Righ! and the Stuarts of Appin!
The gallant, devoted, old Stuarts of Appin-
their glory is o'er,
For the clan is no more,
And the Sassenach sings on the hills of green Appin.
In spite of the Campbells, their might and renown,
His banner full boldly by Appin was borne,
and ne'er fell the Campbells in check or the pan,
In all their Whig efforts their power __ renew,
But still on the Stuart ______ ______
To w___ ne Flowers o' Scotland,
a____emblems o' the free,
The guardians for a thousand years,
Their guardians still we'll be.
In the year of the Graham, while in oceans of blood,
The fields of the Campbells were gallantly flowing,
It was then that the Stuarts the foremost still stood,
And paid back a share of the debt they were owing.
O, proud Inverlochy! O, day of renown!
Since first the sun rose o'er the peaks of Cruachin,
Was ne'er such a host by valour o'erthrown,
Was ne'er such a day for the Stuarts of Appin.
And ne'er for the crown of the Stuarts was fought
One battle on vale, or on mountain deer-trodden,
But dearly to Appin the glory was brought,
And, dearest of all, on the field of Culloden.
Lament, O, Glen-Creran, Glen-Duror, Ardshiel,
High offspring of heroes who conquer'd were never,
For the deeds of your fathers no bard shall reveal,
And the bold Clan of Stuart must perish for ever!
Clan-Chattan is broken, the Seaforth bends low,
The sun of clan-Ranald is sinking in labour;
Glencoe, and Clan Donnachie, where are they now?
And where is bold Keppoch, the lord of Lochaber?
All gone with the house they supported!- laid low,
While dogs of the south their bold life-blood were lapping,
Trod down by a proud and merciless foe-
The brave are all gone with the Stuarts of Appin!
They are gone! they are gone! the redoubted, the brave,
The sea-breezes lone o'er their relics are sighing;
Dark weeds of oblivion shroud many a grave,
Where the unconquer'd foes of the Campbells are lying.
But, long as the grey hairs wave over this brow,
And earthy emotions my spirit are wrapping,
My old heart with tides f regret shall o'erflow,
And bleed for the fall of the Stuarts of Appin.
Oh-hon, an Righ! and the Stuarts of Appin!
the gallant, devoted, old Stuarts of Appin-
By: James Hogg
Cam' ye by Athol, lad wi' the philabeg,
Down by the Tummel or banks o' the Garry,
Saw ye our lads wi' their bonnets and white cockades,
Leaving their mountains to follow Prince Charlie?
Follow thee! follow thee! wha wadna follow thee?
Lang hast thou loved and trusted us fairly!
Charlie, Charlie, wha wadna follow thee,
King o' the Highland hearts, bonnie Prince Charlie?
I ha'e but ae son, my gallant young Donald;
But if I had ten they should follow Glengary!
Health to M'Donnell and gallant Clan Ronald-
For these are the men that will die for their Charlie!
I'll to Lochiel and Appin, and kneel to them,
Down by Lord Murray, and Roy of Kildarlie;
Brave M'Intosh, he shall fly to the field with them,
These are the lads I can trust wi' my Charlie!
Down through the Lowlands, down wi ' the Wigamore!
Loyal true Highlanders, down wi' them rarely!
Ronald and Donald, drive on, wi' the broad claymore,
Over the necks o' the foes o' Prince Charlie!
The Yellow Locks O' Charlie
By Henry Scott Riddell
The gathering clan, 'mong Scotia's glens,
Wi' martial steps are bounding,
And loud and lang, the wilds amang,
The war-pipe's strains are sounding;
The sky and stream reflect the gleam
Of broadswords glancing rarely,
To guard till death the hills of heath
Against the foes o' Charlie.
Then let on high the banners fly,
And hearts and hands rise prouder,
And wake amain the warlike strain
Still louder, and still louder;
For we ha'e swarn, ere dawn the morn
O'er Appin's mountains early,
Auld Scotland's crown shall nod aboon
The yellow locks o'Charlie.
While banners wave aboon the brave
Our foemen vainly gather,
And swear to claim, by deeds o'fame,
Our hills and glens o' heather.
for seas shall swell to wild and fell,
And crown green Appin fairly,
Ere hearts so steel'd to foemen yield
The rights o' royal Charlie.
Then wake mair loud the pibroch prud,
And let the mountains hoary
Re-echo round the warlike sound
That speaks of Highland glory.
For stains sublime, through future time,
Shall tell the tale unsparely,
How Scotland's crown was place aboon
The yellow locks o' Charlie.
By Henry Scott Riddell
When Charlie To The
Highlands Came
By Robert Allen
When Charlie to the Highlands came,
It was a joy and gladness,
We trow'd na that our hearts sae soon
Wad broken be wi' sadness.
Oh! why did Heave sae on us frown,
And break our hears wi' sorrow;
Oh! it will never smile again,
And bring a gladsome morrow!
our dwellings, and our outlay gear,
Lie smoking, and in ruin;
Our bravest youths, like mountain deer,
The foe is oft pursuing.
Our home is now the barren rock,
As if by Heaven forsaken;
Our shelter and our canopy,
The heather and the bracken.
Oh! we maun wander far and near,
And foreign lands maun hide in;
Our bonnie glens we lo'ed sae dear,
We daurna langer bide in.
B: Robert Allan
Queen Mary's Escape from
Lochleven Castle
Put off, put off, and row with speed,
For now's the time, and the hour of need!
To oars, to oars, and trim the bark,
Nor Scotland's Queen be a warder's mark!
Yon light that plays round the castle's mote
Is only the warder's random shot!
Put off, put off, and row with speed,
For now is the time, and the hour of need!
Those pond'rous keys* shall the kelpies keep,
And lodge in their caverns dark and deep;
Nor shall Lochleve's towers or hall,
Hold thee, our lovely lady, in thrall;
Or be the haunt of traitors, sold,
While Scotland has hands and hearts so bold;
Then, steersmen, steersmen, on with speed,
For ow is the time, and the hoour of need!
Hark! the alarum-bell hath rung,
And the warder's voice hath treason sung;
The echoes to the falconet's roar,
Chime softly to the dashing oar.
Let town, ad hall, and battlements gleam,
We steer by the light of the tapers' beam;
For Scotland and Mary, on with speed,
Now, now is the time, and the hour of need!
By: Robert Allan
* the keys to the tower where Mary Queen of
Scotland was held was thrown into the loch as they
escaped in a row boat thanks to young Douglass
who helped her escape. These keys were, at a recennt period,found in the lake.
Lament For The Old Highland Warriors
By Robert Chambers
Oh, where are the pretty men of yore!
Oh, where are the brave men gon?
Oh, where are the heroes of the north!
Each under his own grey stone.
Oh, where now the broad bright claymore?
Oh, where are the trews and plaid?
Oh, where now the merry Highland heart?
In silence for ever laid.
Och n a rie, och on a rie,
Och on a rie, all are gone;
Och on a rie, the heroes of yore
Each under his own grey stone.
The Chiefs that were foremost of old,
Macdonald and brave Lochiel,
The Gordon, the Murray, and the Graham,
With their clansmen true as steel;
Who follow'd and fought with Montrose
Glencairn, and bold Dundee;
Who to Charlie gave their swords and their all,
And would aye rather fa' than flee.
The hills that our brave fathers trod
Are now to the stranger a store;
The voice of the pipe and the bard
Shall awaken never more.
such things it is sad to think on-
They come like the mist by day-
And I wish I had less in this world to leave,
And be with them that are away.
Waes Me For Prince Charlie
by William Glen
A wee bird cam to our ha' door,
He warbled sweet a' clearly
An' aye the owercome o' his sang
Was,, "Waes me for Prince Charlie!"
Oh! whan I heard the bonnie soun',
The tears cam drappin' rarely;
I took my bannet aff my head,
For weel I lo'ed Prince Charlie.
Quoth I, "My bird, my bonnie, bonnie bird,,
Is that a song ye borrow?
Are thae some words ye've learnt by heart,
Or a lilt o' dule an' sorrow?"
"Oh, no, no, no.!" the wee bird sang,
"I've flown sin' mornin' early,
But sic' a day o' wind and rain!-
Oh! waes me for Prince Charlie."\
"On hills that are by right his ain,
He roves a lanely stranger;
On every side he's press'd by want-
On every side is danger.
Yestereen I saw him in a glen,
My heart maist burstit fairly,
for sadly changed indeed was he-
Oh! waes me for Prince charlie."
"Dark night cam on, the tempest roar'd
Loud o'er the hills and valleys;
An' whare was't that your Prince lay doun,
Whase hame sould be a palace?
He row'd him in a Highland plaid,
Which cover'd him by sparely,
An' slept beneath a bush o' broom-
Oh! waes me for Prince Charlie"
But now the bird saw some red-coats,
An' he shok his wings wi' anger;
"Oh! this is no a land for me,
I'll tarry here nae langer."
He hover'd on the wing a while,
Ere he departed fairly;
But weel I mind the farewell strain
Was, "Waes me for Prince Charlie."
THE HIGHLANDER
By William Gillespie
True story
From the climes of the sun, all war-worn
and weary,
The Highlander sped to his youthful abode;
Fair visions of home cheer'd the desert so
dreary,
Though fierce was the noon-beam, and
steep was the road.
Till spent with the march that still lengthen'd
before him,
He stopp'd by the way in a sylvan retreat;
The light shady boughs of the birch-tree
wav'd o'er him,
The stream of the mountain fell soft at his feet.
He sunk to repose where the red heaths are blended,
On dreams of his childhood his fancy past o'er;
But his battles are fought, and his march it is ended,
The sound of the bagpipe shall wake him no more.
No arm in the day of the conflict could wound him,
Though war launch'd her thunder in fury to kill;
Now the Angel of Death in the desert has found him.
And stretch'd him in peace by the stream of the hill.
Pale Autumn speads o'er him the leaves of the forest,
The fays of the wild chant the dirge of his rest;
And thou, little brook, still the sleeper deplorest,
And moistens the heath-bell that weeps on his breast.
By: William Gillespie
* Many years ago, a poor Highland soldier, on his return
to his native hills, fatigued, as was supposed, by the length of his march and the heat of the weather sat down under the shade of a birch tree on the solitary road of Lowran, that winds along the margin of Loch Ken, in Galloway. Here he was found dead; and this incident forms the subject of these verses.
Charlie Is My Darling
By Baroness Carolina Nairne
"t was on a Monday morning
Right early in the year,
When Charlie cam' to our toun,
The Young Chevalier.
As he came marching up the street,
The pipes play'd loud and clear,
And a' the folk cam' running out,
To meet the Chevalier.
Wi' Highlnad bonnets on their heads,
And claymores bright and clear,
They cam' to fight for Scotland's right
And 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! there were many beating hearts,
And many a hope and fear,
And many were the prayers put up
For the young Chevalier.
Chorus: Oh! Charlie is my darling,
My darling, my darling,
Oh! Charlie is my darling
The young Chevalier.
By: Carolina, Baroness Nairne
He's Iwer The Hills That I Lo'e Weel
By Baroness Nairne
He's ower the hills that I lo'e well,
He's ower the hills we daurna name;
He's ower the hills ayont Dunblane,
Wha soon will get his welcome hame.
My father's gane to fight for him,
My brithers winna bide at hame;
My mither grets and prays for them
And 'deed she thinks they're no to blame.
The Whigs may scoff, the Whigs may jeer;
But, ah! that love maun be sincere
Which still keeps true whate'er betide,
An' for his sake leaves a' beside.
His right these hills, his right these plains;
Ower Highland hearts secure he reigns;
What lads e'er did our laddies will do;
Were I a laddie, I'd folow him too.
Sae noble a look, sae princely an air,
Sae gallant and bold, sae young and sae fair;
Oh, did ye but see him, ye'd do as we've done!
Hear him but ance, to his standard you'll run.
Then draw the claymore, for charlie then fight;
For your country, religion, and a' that is right;
Were ten thousand lives now given to me,
I'd die as aft for ane o' the three.
By: Carolina, Baroness Nairne
Wha'll Be King But Charlie?
By Baroness Nairne
The news frae Moidart cam' yestereen,
Will soon gar many ferlie,
For ships o' war hae just come in,
and landed Royal Charlie.
Come thro' the heather, around him gather,
Ye'r a' the welcomer early;
Around him cling wi' a your kin,
For wha'll be king but Charlie?
Chorus:
Come thro' the heather, around him gather,
Come Ronald, come Donald, come a' thegetehr,
And crown your rightfu', lawfu' king!
For wha'll be king but Charlie?
The Highland clans wi' sword in hand,
Frae John o' Groat's to Airlie,
Hae to a man declared to stand
Or fa' wi Royal Charlie.
The Lowlands a', baith great an' sma',
Wi' mony a lord and laird, hae
Declar'd for Scotia's king an' law,
An' speir ye wha but Charlie?
Ther's ne'er a lass in a' the lan',
But vows baith late an' early,
she'll ne'er to man gi'e heart nor han',
Wha wadna fecht for Charlie.
Then here's a health to Charlie's cause,
And be't complete and' early;
His very name our heart's blood warms-
To arms for Royal Charlie!
Come thr' the heather, around him gather,
Ye'r a' the welcomer early;
Aroound him cling wi' a' your kin,
For wh'll be king vut charlie?
Come thro' the heather, around him gather,
Come Ronald, come Donald, come a' thegether,
and crown your rightfu', lawfu' king!
For wh'll be king but Charlie!
Written by Baroness Nairne
M'Lean's Welcome
By James Hogg
Come o'er the stream, Charlie
Dear Charlie, brave Charlie;
Come o'er the stream, Charlie
And dine with M'Lean.
and though you art weary,
We'll make your heart cheery,
And welcome our Charlie,
And his loyal train.
We'll bring down the track deer,
We'll bring down the black steer
The lamb from the bracken
And doe from the glen,
The salt sea we'll harry,
And bring to our charlie
The cream from the bothy
And curd from the penn.
And you shall drink freely
The dews of Glen-sheerly,
That stream in the starlight
When kings do not ken;
and deep be your meed
Of the wine that is red,
To drink to your sire,
And his friend The M'Lean.
If aught will invite you
Or more will delight you,
'Tis ready, a troop of our
bold Highlandmen,
All ranged on the heather
With bonnet and feather,
strong arms and broad claymores,
Three hundred and ten!
By: James Hogg
Rise! Rise! Lowland and Highland Men
By John Imlah
HEARD YE THE BAGPIPE?
By Margaret M. Inglis
Rise! Rise! Lowland and Highland men;
Bald sire and beardless son, each come,and early:
Rise! Rise! mainland and island men,
Belt on yur broadswords and fight for Prince Charlie!
Down from the mountain steep,
Up from the valley deep,
Out from the clachan, the bothy, and shielding:
Bugle and battle-drum,
bid chief and vassal come;
Loudly on bagpipe the pibroch are pealing.
Rise! Rise!
Men of the muntains! descendants of heroes!
Heirs of the fame and the hills of your fathers-
Say, shall the Sassenach southron not fear us,
When fierce to the war-peal each plaided clan gathers?
Long on the trophied walls
Of our ancestral halls
Rust hath been blunting the armour of Albin:
Seize then, ye mountain Macs,
buckler and battle-axe,
Lods of Lochaber, Braemar, and Breadalbine.
Rise! Rise!
When hath the tartan plaid mantled a coward?
When did the bonnet blue crest the disloyal?
Up, then and crowd to the standard of Stuart!
Follow your hero, the rightful, the royal.
come, Chief of Clanronald,
And gallant M'Donand;
Come Lovat, Lochiel, with the Grant, and the Gordon.
Rouse every kilted clan
Rouse every loyal man;
Musket on shoulder, and thigh the broad sword on!
Rise! Rise! Lowland and Highland men,
bald sire and beardless son, each come, and early;
Rise! Rise! mainland and island men,
Belt on your broad swords and fight for Prince Charlie!
By: James Hogg
Heard ye the bagpipe, or saw ye the banners
That floated sae light o'er the fields o' Kildairlie;
Saw ye the broadswords, the shields, and the tartan hose,
Heard ye the muster-roll sworn to Prince Charlie?
Saw ye brave Appin, wi' bonnet and belted plaid.
Or saw ye the Lords o' Seaforth and Airlie;
Saw ye the Glengarry, M'Leod and Clan Donachil,
Plant the wite rose in their bonnets for Charile?
Saw ye the halls o' auld Holyrod lighted up,
Kenn'd ye the nobles that revell'd sae rarely;
Saw ye the chiefs o' Lochiel and Clanronald,
Wha rush'd frae their mountains to follow Prince Charlie?
But saw ye the blod-streaming fields of Culloden,
Or kenn'd ye the banners were tatter'd sae sairly;
Heard ye the pibroch sae wild and sae wailing,
That mourn'd for the chieftains that fell for Prince Charlie.
Wha, in yon Highland glen, weary and shelterless,
Pillows his head on the heather sae barely;
Wha seeks the darkest night, what maunna face the light,
Borne down by lawless might- gallant Prince Charlie?
Wha, like the stricken deer,
'Chased by the hunter's spear,
Fled frae the hills o' his father sae scaredly;
But wha, by affection's chart, reins in auld Scotland's heart-
Wha but the Royal, the gallant Prince Charlie?
Poem "Lay of the Minstrel"
(in part) by
Sir Walter Scott
Breathes there the man, with soul so dead,
Who never to himself hath said,
This is my own, my native land!
Whose heart hath ne'er within him burn'd,
As home his footsteps he hath turn'd
From wandering on a foreign strand!
If such there breathe, go, mark him well;
For him no Minstrel raptures swell;
High though his titles, proud his name,
Boundless his wealth as wish can claim;
Despite those titles, power, and pelf,
The wretch, concentred all in self,
Living, shall forfeit fair renown,
And, doubly dying, shall go down
To the vile dust, from whence he sprung,
Unwept, unhonour'd, and unsung.
The Bonnie Bonnie Banks of Loch Lomond
By yon bonnie banks and by yon bonnie braes,
Where the sun shines bright on Loch Lomond,
Where me and my true love were ever wont to gae,
On the bonnie, bonnie banks o' Loch Lomond.
Chorus
Oh, ye'll tak the high road, and I'll tak the low road,
And I'll be in Scotland afore ye;
But me and my true love will never meet again
On the bonnie, bonnie banks o' Loch Lomond.
'Twas there that we parted in yon shady glen,
On the steep, steep side o' Ben Lomond,
Where in purple hue the Highland hills we view,
And the moon coming out in the gloamin.
O braw Charlie Stewart, dear true, true heart,
Wha could refuse thee protection,
Like the weeping birk on the wild hillside,
How gracefu he looked in dejection.
There the wild flowers spring and the wee birdies sing,
And in sunshine the waters are sleepin',
But the broken heart it kens nae second spring again,
Though the waefu may cease frae their greetin'
