We’ll never see their like again—the Clans of ’Forty-five.
Brief time hath passed till Finnan’s vale is all alive with men
From east and west in loyal haste proud gathering to their ken,
The royal standard is unfurled—their prince himself is there,
Their loving homage to receive, their dangers all to share;
Grey chiefs, who for his fathers fought, the fire of youth revive,
To stirring pibrochs marshalling the Clans of ’Forty-five.
Let no man say that to restore a deed proscribed they arm—
They think but of his loving trust, his Highland heart so warm,
His royal rights usurped—and they upon his princely brow