"Now tell us all about the war, "It was the English", Kaspar cried, "My father lived at Blenheim then, Yon little stream hard by; They burned his dwelling to the ground, And he was forced to fly: So with his wife and child he fled, Nor had he where to rest his head. "With fire and sword the country round Was wasted far and wide; And many a wretched mother then And new-born baby died; But things like that, you know, must be At every famous victory. "They say, it was a shocking sight After the field was won; For many thousand bodies here Lay rotting in the sun! But things like that, you know, must be After a famous victory. "Great praise the Duke of Marlborough won And our good prince Eugene." "Why, 't was a very wicked thing!" Said little Wilhelmine. "Nay-nay-my little girl," quoth he, "It was a famous victory! "And everybody praised the Duke, "Why, that I cannot tell," said he, Southey. Fontenoy (1745) H bad the march, the weary march, beneath these alien skies, But good the night, the friendly night, that soothes our tired eyes. And bad the war, the tedious war that keeps us sweltering here, But good the hour, the friendly hour, that brings the battle near. That brings us on the battle, that summons to their share The homeless troops, the banished men, the exiled sons of Clare. Oh little Corca Bascinn, the wild, the bleak, the fair! Oh little stony pastures, whose flowers are sweet, if rare! Oh rough and rude Atlantic, the thunderous, the wide, Whose kiss is like a soldier's kiss that will not be denied! The whole night long we dream of you, and waking think we're there, Vain dream, and foolish waking, we never shall see Clare, The wind is wild to-night, there's battle in the air; Clare. Have you nothing, nothing for us, loud brawler of the night? No news to warm our heart-strings, to speed us through the fight? In this hollow, star-pricked darkness, as in the sun's hot glare, In sun-tide, moon-tide, star-tide, we thirst, we starve for Clare! Hark! yonder through the darkness one distant rattat-tat! The old foe stirs out there, God bless his soul for that! The old foe musters strongly, he's coming on at last, And Clare's Brigade may claim its own wherever blows fall fast. Send us, ye western breezes, our full, our rightful share, For Faith, and Fame, and Honour, and the ruined hearths of Clare. Hon. Emily Lawless. Welcome, Royal Charlie! (1745) Oh! he was lang o' comin', HEN he on Moidart's shore did stand, W Came down and shook him by the hand, The dress that our Prince Charlie had, A true king's son was Charlie. But oh! he was lang o' comin', Anon. Wha'll be King but Charlie? HE news frae Moidart cam' yestreen Will soon gar mony ferlie; For ships o' war hae just come in, Come through the heather, around him gather, Around him cling w' a' your kin; For wha'll be King but Charlie? The Hieland clans wi' sword in hand, There's ne'er a lass in a' the land, To man she'll ne'er gie heart nor han', Then here's a health to Charlie's cause, His very name our heart's blood warms- Come through the heather, around him gather, For wha'll be King but Charlie? Lady Nairne. Bonnie Dundee O the Lords of Convention 't was Claver'se who spoke, Ere the King's crown shall fall there are crowns to be broke; So let each Cavalier who loves honour and me, Come follow the bonnet of Bonnie Dundee. Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the street, |