Oh! if amidst the valiant slain
The warrior’s bier had been thy lot,
E’en though on red Culloden’s plain,
We then had mourn’d thee not.
But darkly closed thy dawn of fame,
That dawn whose sunbeam rose so fair;
Vengeance alone may breathe thy name,
The watchword of Despair!
Yet, oh! if gallant spirit’s power
Hath e’er ennobled death like thine,