It little skills what faith men vaunt, If loyal men they be To Christ’s ain Kirk and Covenant, Or the King that’s o’er the sea. _Culloden_. DARK, dark was the day when we looked on Culloden And chill was the mist drop that clung to the tree, The oats of the harvest hung heavy and sodden, No light on the land and no wind on the sea. There was wind, there was rain, there was fire on their faces, When the clans broke the bayonets and died on the guns, And ’tis Honour that watches the desolate places Where they sleep through the change of the snows and the suns. Unfed and unmarshalled, outworn and outnumbered, All hopeless and fearless, as fiercely they fought, As when Falkirk with heaps of the fallen was cumbered, As when Gledsmuir was red with the havoc they wrought. _Ah_, _woe worth you_, _Sleat_, _and the faith that you vowed_, _Ah_, _woe worth you_, _Lovat_, _Traquair_, _and Mackay_; _And woe on the false fairy flag of Macleod_, _And the fat squires who drank_, _but who dared not to die_! Where the graves of Clan Chattan are clustered together, Where Macgillavray died by the Well of the Dead, We stooped to the moorland and plucked the pale heather That blooms where the hope of the Stuart was sped. And a whisper awoke on the wilderness, sighing, Like the voice of the heroes who battled in vain, “Not for Tearlach alone the red claymore was plying, But to bring back the old life that comes not again.” _The Last of the Leal_. DECEMBER 31, 1787. HERE’S a health to every man Bore the brunt of wind and weather; Winnowed sore by Fortune’s fan, Faded faith of chief and clan: Nairne and Caryl stand together; Here’s a health to every man Bore the brunt of wind and weather! Oh, round Charlie many ran, When his foot was on the heather, When his sword shone in the van. Now at ending of his span, Gask and Caryl stand together! Ne’er a hope from plot or plan, Ne’er a hope from rose or heather; Ay, the King’s a broken man; Few will bless, and most will ban. Nairne and Caryl stand together! Help is none from Crown or clan, France is false, a fluttered feather; But Kings are not made by man, Till God end what God began, Nairne and Caryl stand together, Gask and Caryl stand together; Here’s a health to every man Bore the brunt of wind and weather! _Jeanne d’Arc_. THE honour of a loyal boy, The courage of a paladin, With maiden’s mirth, the soul of joy, These dwelt her happy breast within. From shame, from doubt, from fear, from sin, As God’s own angels was she free; Old worlds shall end, and new begin To be