The spirit of a Highland chief would lighten in his eye!
But I will hope to see him yet in Scotland’s bonny bounds,
His native land of liberty shall nurse his glorious wounds,
While wide through all our Highland hills his warlike name resounds.
Punch’s Serenade.
Oh where, and oh where, is my Harry Brougham gone?—
He’s gone to see the French, and Philippe upon his throne,
And it’s oh! in my heart, I wish him safe at home.
Oh where, and oh where, does my Harry Brougham dwell?—