One of the best known and most admired of this class of Jacobite songs is “The Lament of Flora Macdonald,” beginning, “Far over yon hills of the heather so green,” of which we here quote the last verse:—
“The target is torn from the arms of the just,
The helmet is cleft on the brow of the brave,
The claymore for ever in darkness must rust,
But red is the sword of the stranger and slave;
The hoof of the horse, and the foot of the proud
Have trod o’er the plumes on the bonnet of blue.
Why slept the red bolt in the breast of the cloud,
When tyranny revell’d in blood of the true?
Fareweel, my young hero, the gallant and good!