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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=538103" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Charles Edward At Versailles</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">ON THE ANNIVERSARY OF CULLODEN</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br>Take away that star and garter-<br>Hide them from my aching sight:<br>Neither king nor prince shall tempt me<br>From my lonely room this night;<br>Fitting for the throneless exile<br>Is the atmosphere of pall,<br>And the gusty winds that shiver<br>'Neath the tapestry on the wall.<br>When the taper faintly dwindles<br>Like the pulse within the vein,<br>That to gay and merry measure<br>Ne'er may hope to bound again,<br>Let the shadows gather round me<br>While I sit in silence here,<br>Broken-hearted, as an orphan<br>Watching by his father's bier.<br>Let me hold my still communion<br>Far from every earthly sound-<br>Day of penance-day of passion-<br>Ever, as the year comes round;<br>Fatal day, whereon the latest<br>Die was cast for me and mine-<br>Cruel day, that quelled the fortunes<br>Of the hapless Stuart line!<br>Phantom-like, as in a mirror,<br>Rise the griesly scenes of death-<br>There before me, in its wildness,<br>Stretches bare Culloden's heath:<br>There the broken clans are scattered,<br>Gaunt as wolves, and famine-eyed,<br>Hunger gnawing at their vitals,<br>Hope abandoned, all but pride-<br>Pride, and that supreme devotion<br>Which the Southron never knew,<br>And the hatred, deeply rankling,<br>'Gainst the Hanoverian crew.<br>Oh, my God! are these the remnants,<br>These the wrecks of the array<br>That around the royal standard<br>Gathered on the glorious day,<br>When, in deep Glenfinnan's valley;<br>Thousands, on their bended knees,<br>Saw once more that stately ensign<br>Waving in the northern breeze,<br>When the noble Tullibardine<br>Stood beneath its weltering fold,<br>With the Ruddy Lion ramping<br>In the field of tressured gold,<br>When the mighty heart of Scotland,<br>All too big to slumber more,<br>Burst in wrath and exultation,<br>Like a huge volcano's roar?<br>There they stand, the battered columns,<br>Underneath the murky sky,<br>In the hush of desperation,<br>Not to conquer, but to die.<br>Hark! the bagpipe's fitful wailing:<br>Not the pibroch loud and shrill,<br>That, with hope of bloody banquet,<br>Lured the ravens from the hill,<br>But a dirge both low and solemn,<br>Fit for ears of dying men,<br>Marshalled for their latest battle,<br>Never more to fight again.<br>Madness-madness! Why this shrinking?<br>Were we less inured to war<br>When our reapers swept the harvest<br>From the field of red Dunbar?<br>Bring my horse, and blow the trumpet!<br>Call the riders of Fitz-James:<br>Let Lord Lewis head the column!<br>Valiant chiefs of mighty names-<br>Trusty Keppoch, stout Glengarry,<br>Gallant Gordon, wise Locheill-<br>Bid the clansmen hold together,<br>Fast, and fell, and firm as steel.<br>Elcho, never look so gloomy-<br>What avails a saddened brow?<br>Heart, man, heart! we need it sorely,<br>Never half so much, as now.<br>Had we but a thousand troopers,<br>Had we but a thousand more!<br>Noble Perth, I hear them coming!-<br>Hark! the English cannons' roar.<br>God! how awful sounds that volley,<br>Bellowing through the mist and rain!<br>Was not that the Highland slogan?<br>Let me hear that shout again!<br>Oh, for prophet eyes to witness<br>How the desperate battle goes!<br>Cumberland! I would not fear thee,<br>Could my Camerons see their foes.<br>Sound, I say, the charge at venture-<br>'Tis not naked steel we fear;<br>Better perish in the mêlée<br>Than be shot like driven deer;<br>Hold! the mist begins to scatter!<br>There in front 'tis rent asunder,<br>And the cloudy bastion crumbles<br>Underneath the deafening thunder;<br>There I see the scarlet gleaming!<br>Now, Macdonald-now or never!-<br>Woe is me, the clans are broken!<br>Father, thou art lost for ever!<br>Chief and vassal, lord and yeoman,<br>There they lie in heaps together,<br>Smitten by the deadly volley,<br>Rolled in blood upon the heather;<br>And the Hanoverian horsemen,<br>Fiercely riding to and fro,<br>Deal their murderous strokes at random.-<br>Ah, my God! where am I now?<br>Will that baleful vision never<br>Vanish from my aching sight?<br>Must those scenes and sounds of terror<br>Haunt me still by day and night?<br>Yea, the earth hath no oblivion<br>For the noblest chance it gave,<br>None, save in its latest refuge-<br>Seek it only in the grave!<br>Love may die, and hatred slumber,<br>And their memory will decay,<br>As the watered garden recks not<br>Of the drought of yesterday;<br>But the dream of power once broken,<br>What shall give repose again?<br>What shall charm the serpent-furies<br>Coiled around the maddening brain?<br>What kind draught can nature offer<br>Strong enough to lull their sting?<br>Better to be born a peasant<br>Than to live an exiled king!<br>Oh, these years of bitter anguish!-<br>What is life to such as me,<br>With my very heart as palsied<br>As a wasted cripple's knee!<br>Suppliant-like for alms depending<br>On a false and foreign court,<br>Jostled by the flouting nobles,<br>Half their pity, half their sport.<br>Forced to hold a place in pageant,<br>Like a royal prize of war,<br>Walking with dejected features<br>Close behind his victor's car,<br>Styled an equal-deemed a servant-<br>Fed with hopes of future gain-<br>Worse by far is fancied freedom<br>Than the captive's clanking chain!<br>Could I change this gilded bondage<br>Even for the dusky tower,<br>Whence King James beheld his lady<br>Sitting in the castle bower;<br>Birds around her sweetly singing,<br>Fluttering on the kindling spray,<br>And the comely garden glowing<br>In the light of rosy May.<br>Love descended to the window-<br>Love removed the bolt and bar-<br>Love was warder to the lovers<br>From the dawn to even-star.<br>Wherefore, Love, didst thou betray me?<br>Where is now the tender glance?<br>Where the meaning looks once lavished<br>By the dark-eyed Maid of France?<br>Where the words of hope she whispered,<br>When around my neck she threw<br>That same scarf of broidered tissue,<br>Bade me wear it and be true-<br>Bade me send it as a token<br>When my banner waved once more<br>On the castled Keep of London,<br>Where my fathers' waved before?<br>And I went and did not conquer-<br>But I brought it back again-<br>Brought it back from storm and battle-<br>Brought it back without a stain;<br>And once more I knelt before her,<br>And I laid it at her feet,<br>Saying, 'Wilt thou own it, Princess?<br>There at least is no defeat!'<br>Scornfully she looked upon me<br>With a measured eye and cold-<br>Scornfully she viewed the token,<br>Though her fingers wrought the gold;<br>And she answered, faintly flushing,<br>'Hast thou kept it, then, so long?<br>Worthy matter for a minstrel<br>To be told in knightly song!<br>Worthy of a bold Provençal,<br>Pacing through the peaceful plain,<br>Singing of his lady's favour,<br>Boasting of her silken chain,<br>Yet scarce worthy of a warrior<br>Sent to wrestle for a crown.<br>Is this all that thou hast brought me<br>From thy fields of high renown?<br>Is this all the trophy carried<br>From the lands where thou hast been?<br>It was broidered by a Princess,<br>Canst thou give it to a Queen?'<br>Woman's love is writ in water!<br>Woman's faith is traced in sand!<br>Backwards-backwards let me wander<br>To the noble northern land:<br>Let me feel the breezes blowing<br>Fresh along the mountain-side;<br>Let me see the purple heather,<br>Let me hear the thundering tide,<br>Be it hoarse as Corrievreckan<br>Spouting when the storm is high-<br>Give me but one hour of Scotland-<br>Let me see it ere I die!<br>Oh, my heart is sick and heavy-<br>Southern gales are not for me;<br>Though the glens are white with winter,<br>Place me there, and set me free;<br>Give me back my trusty comrades-<br>Give me back my Highland maid-<br>Nowhere beats the heart so kindly<br>As beneath the tartan plaid!<br>Flora! when thou wert beside me,<br>In the wilds of far Kintail-<br>When the cavern gave us shelter<br>From the blinding sleet and hail-<br>When we lurked within the thicket,<br>And, beneath the waning moon,<br>Saw the sentry's bayonet glimmer,<br>Heard him chant his listless tune-<br>When the howling storm o'ertook us,<br>Drifting down the island's lee,<br>And our crazy bark was whirling<br>Like a nutshell on the sea-<br>When the nights were dark and dreary,<br>And amidst the fern we lay,<br>Faint and foodless, sore with travel,<br>Waiting for the streaks of day;<br>When thou wert an angel to me,<br>Watching my exhausted sleep-<br>Never didst thou hear me murmur-<br>Couldst thou see how now I weep!<br>Bitter tears and sobs of anguish,<br>Unavailing though they be:<br>Oh, the brave-the brave and noble-<br>That have died in vain for me!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Edmondstoune+Aytoun">William Edmondstoune Aytoun</a><div class=q>
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Take away that star and garter-
Hide them from my aching sight:
Neither king nor prince shall tempt me
From my lonely room this night;
Fitting for the throneless exile
Is the atmosphere of pall,
And the gusty winds..."></div>
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