In peaceful thought the field of death surveyed,
To fainting squadrons sent the timely aid,
Inspired repulsed battalions to engage,

And taught the doubtful battle where to rage.
So when an angel by divine command
With rising tempests shakes a guilty land,
Such as of late o'er pale Britannia past,
Calm and serene he drives the furious blast;
And, pleased the Almighty's orders to perform,
Rides in the whirlwind, and directs the storm.

J. ADDISON (from The Campaign).





On the flight of James II to France in 1688 some of his supporters preferred to go into exile with him, rather than recognize William and Mary as lawful sovereigns. Many of the Jacobites also took refuge in France and Italy after the failure of the risings in 1715 and 1745.

No kings ever had such faithful servants as the Stuarts had, and no servants were ever treated so ungratefully.


To my true king I offered, free from stain,
Courage and faith: vain faith, and courage vain.
For him I threw lands, honours, wealth, away,
And one dear hope, that was more prized than they.
For him I languished in a foreign clime,
Grey-haired with sorrow in my manhood's prime;
Heard on Lavernia Scargill's whispering trees,
And pined by Arno for my lovelier Tees;
Beheld each night my home in fevered sleep,
Each morning started from the dream to weep; 10
Till God, who saw me tried too sorely, gave
The resting-place I asked, an early grave.





O thou, whom chance leads to this nameless stone,
From that proud country which was once mine own,
By those white cliffs I never more must see,
By that dear language which I spake like thee,
Forget all feuds, and shed one English tear
O'er English dust. A broken heart lies here.

7. Lavernia. A reference to a grove near Rome in which stood a temple dedicated to the goddess Lavernia.

Scargill's. Scargill Cliff, about 900 feet high, is on the Yorkshire moors four miles south of Barnard Castle. [See Scott's Rokeby, III. xi.]



Walpole was Prime Minister from 1721-40. For nineteen years he kept England at peace, and completed and confirmed the settlement of the Revolution.

SEEN him I have, but in his happier hour
Of social pleasure, ill-exchanged for power;
Seen him, uncumbered with the venal tribe,
Smile without art, and win without a bribe.
Would he oblige me? let me only find,
He does not think me what he thinks mankind.
A. POPE (from The Epilogue to the Satires).


6. what he thinks mankind. Referring to what probably he did not say of the Commons: 'Every man has his price.' [See Morley's Walpole.]



The Jacobite rising of '45, in favour of Charles Edward, grandson of James II (called the Young Pretender by his foes, the Young Chevalier and Prince of Wales by his partisans), began in a blaze of success. The Prince defeated George II's forces at Preston Pans; held his court at Edinburgh in Holyrood; and, even after his retreat from his march south, towards the end of 1745, inflicted a severe check on the King's troops at Falkirk in January 1746.

'TWAS on a Monday morning,
Right early in the year,

When Charlie came to our town,

The young Chevalier.

Oh, Charlie is my darling,
My darling, my darling,
Oh, Charlie is my darling,
The young Chevalier.

As he came marching up the street,
The pipes play'd loud and clear,
And a' the folks came running out
To meet the Chevalier.

Oh, Charlie is my darling, &c.

Wi' Hieland bonnets on their heads,
And claymores bright and clear,
They came to fight for Scotland's right,
And the young Chevalier.

Oh, Charlie is my darling, &c.

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They've left their bonnie Hieland hills,
Their wives and bairnies dear,

To draw the sword for Scotland's lord,
The young Chevalier.

Oh, Charlie is my darling, &c.

Oh, there were many beating hearts,
And many a hope and fear,
And many were the prayers put up
For the young Chevalier.

Oh, Charlie is my darling, &c.






Two months after the battle of Falkirk (see introduction to last poem) the Jacobite rising of '45 ended in disaster at the battle of Culloden (or Drumossie Moor), near Inverness. The Highlanders were defeated, and the Duke of Cumberland (George II's brother), who was in command of the King's army, earned for himself the nickname of 'Butcher' by his ruthless slaughter of the flying enemy.

THE lovely lass o' Inverness,

Nae joy nor pleasure can she see;
For e'en and morn she cries, alas;
And aye the saut tear blins her ee:
Drumossie moor, Drumossie day,

A waefu' day it was to me;
For there I lost my father dear,
My father dear, and brethren three.


Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay,
Their graves are growing green to see;
And by them lies the dearest lad

That ever blest a woman's ee!
Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord,
A bluidy man I trow thou be;
For mony a heart thou hast made sair,
That ne'er did wrang to thine or thee.





This lovely dirge was written early in 1746. Britain had become involved in the War of the Austrian Succession: in 1745 British soldiers had taken part in the fierce battle of Fontenoy. [See introduction to last poem.]

How sleep the brave, who sink to rest
By all their country's wishes blest!
When Spring, with dewy fingers cold,
Returns to deck their hallow'd mould,
She there shall dress a sweeter sod
Than Fancy's feet have ever trod.

By fairy hands their knell is


By forms unseen their dirge is sung:
There Honour comes, a pilgrim gray,
To bless the turf that wraps their clay;
And Freedom shall awhile repair
To dwell a weeping hermit there!




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