The Stuarts of Appin.
[James Hogg.—Music by Peter M'Leod.]
I sing of a land that was famous of yore,
The land of green Appin, the ward of the flood,
Where every grey cairn that broods o'er the shore,
Marks grave of the royal, the valiant, or good.
The land where the strains of grey Ossian were framed,—
The land of fair Selma, and reign of Fingal,—
And late of a race, that with tears must be named,
The noble Clan Stuart, the bravest of all.
Oh-hon, an righ! and the Stuarts of Appin!
The gallant, devoted, old Stuarts of Appin!
Their glory is o'er, for the clan is no more,
And the Sassenach sings on the hills of green Appin.
In spite of the Campbells, their might and renown,
And all the proud files of Glenorchy and Lorn,
While one of the Stuarts held claim on the crown,
His banner full' boldly by Appin was borne.
And ne'er fell the Campbells in check or trepan,
In all their whig efforts their power to renew,
But still on the Stuarts of Appin they ran,
To wreak their proud wrath on the brave and the few.
Oh-hon, an righ! and the Stuarts of Appin, &c.
In the year of the Graham, while in oceans of blood
The fields of the Campbells were gallantly flowing—
It was then that the Stuarts the foremost still stood,
And paid back a share of the debt they were owing.
O, proud Inverlochy! O, day of renown!
Since first the sun rose o'er the peaks of Cruachin,
Was ne'er such an host by such valour o'erthrown,
Was ne'er such a day for the Stuarts of Appin!
Oh-hon, an righ! and the Stuarts of Appin, &c.
And ne'er for the crown of the Stuarts was fought
One battle on vale, or on mountain deer-trodden,
But dearly to Appin the glory was bought,
And dearest of all on the field of Culloden!
Lament, O, Glen-Creran, Glen-Duror, Ardshiel,
High offspring of heroes, who conquer'd were never,
For the deeds of your fathers no bard shall reveal,
And the bold clan of Stuart must perish for ever!
Oh-hon, an righ! and the Stuarts of Appin, &c.
Clan-Chattan is broken, the Seaforth bends low,
The sun of Clan-Ranald is sinking in labour;
Glencoe, and Clan-Donnachie, where are they now?
And where is bold Keppoch, the lord of Lochaber?
All gone with the house they supported!—laid low,
While dogs of the south their bold life-blood were lapping,
Trod down by a proud and a merciless foe—
The brave are all gone with the Stuarts of Appin!
Oh-hon, an righ! and the Stuarts of Appin, &c.
They are gone! they are gone! the redoubted, the brave!
The sea-breezes lone o'er their relics are sighing,
Dark weeds of oblivion shroud many a grave,
Where the unconquer'd foes of the Campbell are lying.
But, long as the grey hairs wave over this brow,
And earthly emotions my spirit are wrapping,
My old heart with tides of regret shall o'erflow,
And bleed for the fall of the Stuarts of Appin!
Oh-hon, an righ! and the Stuarts of Appin!
The gallant, devoted, old Stuarts of Appin!
Their glory is o'er, for their star is no more,
And the green grass waves over the heroes of Appin!