Success to Kenmure’s band, Willie,
Success to Kenmure’s band!
There’s no a heart that fears a Whig
That rides by Kenmure’s hand.
Here’s Kenmure’s health in wine, Willie,
Here’s Kenmure’s health in wine!
There ne’er was a coward o’ Kenmure’s blude,
Nor yet o’ Gordon’s line.
O, Kenmure’s lads are men, Willie,
O, Kenmure’s lads are men!
Their hearts and swords are metal true,
And that their faes shall ken.
They’ll live or die wi’ fame, Willie,
They’ll live or die wi’ fame!
But soon wi’ sounding Victorie
May Kenmure’s lord come hame!
Here’s him that’s far awa, Willie,
Here’s him that’s far awa!
And here’s the flower that I lo’e best—
The rose that’s like the sna!
Robert Burns.
CLV
A JACOBITE’S FAREWELL
It was a’ for our rightfu’ king
We left fair Scotland’s strand;
It was a’ for our rightfu’ king,
We e’er saw Irish land,
My dear—
We e’er saw Irish land.
Now a’ is done that men can do,
And a’ is done in vain,
My Love and Native Land fareweel,
For I maun cross the main,
My dear—
For I maun cross the main.