Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs By Walter Thornbury. Illustrated by J. Whistler, F. Walker, John Tenniel, J. D. Watson, W. Small, F. Sandys, G. J. Pinwell, T. Morten, M. J. Lawless, and many others |
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The Night after Culloden.
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 | Historical & Legendary Ballads & Songs |  |
65
The Night after Culloden.
The cherry-coloured satin
Moved with its peacock-train,
As the four and twenty fiddlers
Struck up a merry strain.
There was the Laird o' the Willow Glen,
And Sir John of Siller Hall;
Not to forget the Lairds of Fife,
With the Flanders lace and fall.
Moved with its peacock-train,
As the four and twenty fiddlers
Struck up a merry strain.
There was the Laird o' the Willow Glen,
And Sir John of Siller Hall;
Not to forget the Lairds of Fife,
With the Flanders lace and fall.
The yellow satin and the black,
The crimson and the blue,
Moved solemnly along the room,
Slow pacing, two and two.
Cinnamon coat and claret vest
Wore old Sir Robert Clare,
He had the small-sword by his side,
And the powder in his hair.
The crimson and the blue,
Moved solemnly along the room,
Slow pacing, two and two.
Cinnamon coat and claret vest
Wore old Sir Robert Clare,
He had the small-sword by his side,
And the powder in his hair.
The dance was set, the fiddlers stood
With their suspended bows,
When at the gate into the street
There fell three angry blows;
Then, with a bang of folding-doors,
As out flew many a blade,
A stranger came: his red hat bore
The Hanover cockade.
With their suspended bows,
When at the gate into the street
There fell three angry blows;
Then, with a bang of folding-doors,
As out flew many a blade,
A stranger came: his red hat bore
The Hanover cockade.
Swords blazed above his fearless head,
Swords hedged the brave man round;
Swords flashed and glittered past his eyes,
Keen pointed, newly ground.
Ten ladies fainted, twenty screamed;
The satins shook and stirred;
He stood as in the eagle trap,
A crowned and royal bird.
Swords hedged the brave man round;
Swords flashed and glittered past his eyes,
Keen pointed, newly ground.
Ten ladies fainted, twenty screamed;
The satins shook and stirred;
He stood as in the eagle trap,
A crowned and royal bird.
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The fiddler with a trembling rasp
Slipped fiddle in its bag;
The trumpeter with quavering note
In time began to lag;
The dancer, half-way through the dance,
Stopped, listening half afraid,—
Oh, shame for twenty Jacobites
To tremble at one blade!
Slipped fiddle in its bag;
The trumpeter with quavering note
In time began to lag;
The dancer, half-way through the dance,
Stopped, listening half afraid,—
Oh, shame for twenty Jacobites
To tremble at one blade!
“Good gentlemen,” the stranger cried,
Waving away the swords,
“Charles Stuart, whom ye call your chief,
With all his naked hordes,
Is routed on Culloden Moor,—
God bless the day of Spring!—
He flies! a price is on his head!
Adieu! God save the King!”
Waving away the swords,
“Charles Stuart, whom ye call your chief,
With all his naked hordes,
Is routed on Culloden Moor,—
God bless the day of Spring!—
He flies! a price is on his head!
Adieu! God save the King!”
He spoke with such a manly voice,
Head up, and chest full spread,
No rebel dared to even touch
The badge upon his head.
The swords drooped down, and on their knees
Some prayed and sobbed and wept:
How franticly towards the door
A dozen Tories leapt!
Head up, and chest full spread,
No rebel dared to even touch
The badge upon his head.
The swords drooped down, and on their knees
Some prayed and sobbed and wept:
How franticly towards the door
A dozen Tories leapt!
Ten rakehells galloped down the strand
To ship for Popish France,—
A pretty way for gentlemen
To end a pleasant dance!
You cried “Pretender!” and the blood
Rose hot into their face:
These were the men who, beggar-like,
Filled church and market-place.
To ship for Popish France,—
A pretty way for gentlemen
To end a pleasant dance!
You cried “Pretender!” and the blood
Rose hot into their face:
These were the men who, beggar-like,
Filled church and market-place.
With slinking heads the old lords went
To take coach at the door;
They would not stay for stirrup-cup,
But hurried to the shore.
The ferry-boats were filled that night
With muffled men in black,
And every northern road was choked
With horsemen spurring back.
To take coach at the door;
They would not stay for stirrup-cup,
But hurried to the shore.
The ferry-boats were filled that night
With muffled men in black,
And every northern road was choked
With horsemen spurring back.
I shuddered when the sheriff came
Unto the market-place;
The scaffolds grew around the cross,
Stern was the hangman's face.
All night the sullen hammers went;
And when the day turned white,
They brought the wounded creatures out—
The relics of the fight.
Unto the market-place;
The scaffolds grew around the cross,
Stern was the hangman's face.
All night the sullen hammers went;
And when the day turned white,
They brought the wounded creatures out—
The relics of the fight.
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