For, he that did proud Pharaoh crush, And save auld Jacob’s line, Will speak to Charlie in the Bush, Like Moses, lang syne. For oft we’ve garred the red coats run, Frae Garry to the Rhine, Frae Baugé brig to Falkirk moor, No that lang syne. The Duke may with the Devil drink, And wi’ the deil may dine, But Charlie’s dine in Holyrood, As in auld lang syne. For he who did proud Pharaoh crush, To save auld Jacob’s line, Shall speak to Charlie in the Bush, Like Moses, lang syne. _The Prince’s Birthday_. ROME, 31ST DECEMBER, 1721. (A new-born star shone, which is figured on an early Medal of Prince Charles.) A WONDERFUL star shone forth From the frozen skies of the North Upon Rome, for an Old Year’s night: And a flower on the dear white Rose Broke, in the season of snows, To bloom for a day’s delight. Lost is the star in the night, And the Rose of a day’s delight Fled “where the roses go”: But the fragrance and light from afar, Born of the Rose and the Star, Breathe o’er the years and the snow. _The Tenth of June_, 1715. (Being a Song writ for a lady born on June 10th, the birthday of his Most Sacred Majesty King James III. and VIII.) DAY of the King and the flower! And the girl of my heart’s delight, The blackbird sings in the bower, And the nightingale sings in the night A song to the roses white. Day of the flower and the King! When shall the sails of white Shine on the seas and bring In the day, in the dawn, in the night, The King to his land and his right? Day of my love and my may, After the long years’ flight, Born on the King’s birthday, Born for my heart’s delight, With the dawn of the roses white! Black as the blackbird’s wing Is her hair, and her brow as white As the white rose blossoming, And her eyes as the falcon’s bright And her heart is leal to the right. When shall the joy bells ring? When shall the hours unite The right with the might of my King, And my heart with my heart’s delight; In the dawn, in the day, in the night? _White Rose Day_. JUNE 10, 1688. ’TWAS a day of faith and flowers, Of honour that could not die, Of Hope that counted the hours, Of sorrowing Loyalty: And the _Blackbird_ sang in the closes, The _Blackbird_ piped in the spring, For the day of the dawn of the Roses, The dawn of the day of the King! White roses over the heather, And down by the Lowland lea, And far in the faint blue weather, A white sail guessed on the sea! But the deep night gathers and closes, Shall ever a morning bring The lord of the leal white roses, The face of the rightful King? _Red and White Roses_.