Embrac’d with tears in tender strain,
And hearing that Lochiel was well,
His heart-felt joy did not conceal.
The Prince was now in a poor dress,
Poverty’s picture in distress,
A black coat with many patches,
Barefooted, and wanting breeches,
No signs of roy’lty or pride,
A durk and pistol by his side,
All weather-beaten, his gun in’s hand,