Transcribed from the 1862 R. Mason edition by David Price, email ccx074@pglaf.org [Picture: Public domain book cover] DAVID MORGAN, THE WELSH JACOBITE; A CONTRIBUTION TO THE HISTORY OF JACOBITISM IN WALES. * * * * * BY WILLIAM LLEWELLIN, F.G.S., F.G.H.S., &c., &c., &c. * * * * * Reprinted from the “Cambrian Journal,” 1861. * * * * * TENBY: PRINTED BY R. MASON, HIGH STREET. 1862. * * * * * DAVID MORGAN, THE WELSH JACOBITE. “Although my lands are fair and wide, Its here no longer I must bide; Yet my last hoof, and horn, and hide, I’ll gie to bonnie Charlie. “Although my heart is unco sair, And lies fu’ lowly in its lair, Yet the last drap of blude that’s there, I’ll gie for bonnie Charlie.” _Jacobite Ballad_. ONE of the most romantic and spirit-stirring episodes in English History is that presented to us by the last effort of the partisans of the expelled House of Stuart to place the representative of the exiled family on the throne of his ancestors. The Rebellion of 1745 has been acknowledged universally to have been remarkable for the interesting incidents, and romantic adventures, to which it gave rise; and the annals of history do not furnish examples of greater personal sacrifices, more exalted heroism, and chivalrous devotion, than were exhibited during that momentous struggle. In these peaceful times, and blessed with institutions that afford the fullest security for the preservation of our civil and religious liberties, it is difficult to conceive the stormy struggles to which the country was subjected, in the efforts of our forefathers, amid contending factions, to secure and maintain the liberties which we now enjoy, and to hand them down to us unimpaired. Still more difficult is it to realize the fact, that very little more than a century has passed since this country was the scene of a fierce civil war, in which members of the same family were arrayed against each other in hostile conflict, and, during the progress of which, and of the ruthless and vindictive executions that followed it, the bravest blood of Britain,—that of the devoted, though mistaken, adherents of the Stuarts,—was poured out like water on their native soil.