The Jacobite Songs and Ballads of Scotland from 1688 to 1746: With an Appendix of Modern Jacobite Songs

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Charles Mackay
R. Griffin, 1861 - 348 pàgines
 

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Pàgina 78 - Israel, whose day is come, when iniquity shall have an end, thus saith the Lord God ; Remove the diadem, and take off the crown: this shall not be the same: exalt him that is low, and abase him that is high. I will overturn, overturn, overturn, it: and it shall be no more, until he come whose right it is; and I will give it him.
Pàgina 46 - 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...
Pàgina 178 - Twas on a Monday morning Right early in the year, That Charlie came to our town — The Young Chevalier! As he was walking up the street The city for to view, O, there he spied a bonie lass The window looking thro...
Pàgina 317 - For a field of the dead rushes red on my sight, And the clans of Culloden are scatter'd in fight. They rally, they bleed, for their kingdom and crown ; Woe, woe to the riders that trample them down ! Proud Cumberland prances, insulting the slain, And their hoof-beaten bosoms are trod to the plain.
Pàgina 146 - King! Long live our noble King! God save the King! Send him victorious, Happy and glorious, Long to reign over us! God save the King!
Pàgina 111 - Here's Kenmure's health in wine, Willie ! Here's Kenmure's health in wine ; There ne'er was a coward o' Kenmure's blude, Nor yet o
Pàgina 117 - And fare thee well, George Collingwood, Since fate has put Us down ; If thou and I have lost our lives, Our king has lost his crown.
Pàgina 213 - MOURN, hapless Caledonia ! mourn Thy banish'd peace, thy laurels torn-! Thy sons, for valour long renown'd, Lie slaughter'd on their native ground ; Thy hospitable roofs no more Invite the stranger to the door ; In smoky ruins sunk they lie, The monuments of cruelty.
Pàgina 215 - The pious mother, doom'd to death, Forsaken wanders o'er the heath ; The bleak wind whistles round her head, Her helpless orphans cry for bread ; Bereft of shelter, food, and friend, She views the shades of night descend ; And, stretch'd beneath th' inclement skies Weeps o'er her tender babes, and dies.
Pàgina 342 - twas 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 Bonny Dundee. " Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, Come saddle your horses, and call up your men; Come open the West Port, and let me gang free, And it's room for the bonnets of Bonny Dundee!

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