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Scotland: A Jacobite's Lament.
By W. M. MacKeracher
Where are those days, O Caledon,
So glorious and bright,
In which thy star resplendent shone
With passing lustrous light?
Alas! alas! those happier days
Are shrouded in the past,
Thy glory was like that of Greece,
Too bright it shone to last.
Where are those knightly heroes bold,
Those champions of the right,
That bore the shield and couched the lance
So valiant in the fight?
Whether for king and country's weal
In freedom's cause they strove,
Or courted glory and renown
To win their lady-love.
The Wallace nobly lived and died
To save his land from shame,
The royal Bruce as nobly fought
Her freedom to reclaim.
How would their generous hearts have mourned
Could they have pierced the veil,
And, peering into future years,
Have read thy woful tale!
Then patriots raised the royal flag
Around the noble Graemes,
And dyed the heather with their blood
For Scotland and King James.
A wreath of honour nobly won
Encircled then thy brow;
How is that garland, once so green,
So sadly faded now?
Now mercenary lust hath ta'en
The place of chivalry,
And that devoted Faith of yore
Is gone for bigotry.
What wonder then that to my eye
The tear will sometimes start?
What wonder that the clouds of grief
Hang heavy o'er my heart?
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