Then I saw the Maiden mount and ride, With a good steel sperthe that swung by her side, And girt with the sword of the Heavenly Bride, That is sained with crosses five for a sign, The mystical sword of St. Catherine. And the lily banner was blowing wide, With the flowers of France on the field of fame And, blent with the blossoms, the Holy Name! And the Maiden’s blazon was shown on a shield, _Argent_, _a dove_, _on an azure field_; That banner was wrought by this hand, ye see, For the love of the Maid and chivalry. Her banner was borne by a page of grace, With hair of gold, and a lady’s face; And behind it the ranks of her men were dressed— Never a man but was clean confessed, Jackman and archer, lord and knight, Their souls were clean and their hearts were light: There was never an oath, there was never a laugh, And La Hire swore soft by his leading staff! Had we died in that hour we had won the skies, And the Maiden had marched us through Paradise! A moment she turned to the people there, Who had come to gaze on the Maiden fair; A moment she glanced at the ring she wore, She murmured the Holy Name it bore, Then, “For France and the King, good people pray!” She spoke, and she cried to us, “_On and away_!” And the shouts broke forth, and the flowers rained down, And the Maiden led us to Orleans town. _Lone Places of the Deer_. LONE places of the deer, Corrie, and Loch, and Ben, Fount that wells in the cave, Voice of the burn and the wave, Softly you sing and clear Of Charlie and his men! Here has he lurked, and here The heather has been his bed, The wastes of the islands knew And the Highland hearts were true To the bonny, the brave, the dear, The royal, the hunted head. _An Old Song_. 1750. OH, it’s hame, hame, hame, And it’s hame I wadna be, Till the Lord calls King James To his ain countrie, Bids the wind blaw frae France, Till the Firth keps the faem, And Loch Garry and Lochiel Bring Prince Charlie hame. May the lads Prince Charlie led That were hard on Willie’s track, When frae Laffen field he fled, Wi’ the claymore at his back, May they stand on Scottish soil When the White Rose bears the gree, And the Lord calls the King To his ain countrie! Bid the seas arise and stand Like walls on ilka side, Till our Highland lad pass through With Jehovah for his guide. Dry up the River Forth, As Thou didst the Red Sea, When Israel cam hame To his ain countrie. {11} _Jacobite_ “_Auld Lang Syne_.” LOCHIEL’S REGIMENT, 1747. THOUGH now we take King Lewie’s fee And drink King Lewie’s wine, We’ll bring the King frae ower the sea, As in auld lang syne.