ROYAL CHARLIE.
The wind comes frae the land I love,
It moves the flood fu' rarely;
Look for the lily on the lea,
And look for royal Charlie.
Ten thousand swords shall leave their sheaths
And smite fu' sharp and sairly,
And Gordon's might and Erskine's pride,
Shall live and die wi' Charlie.
The sun shines out—wide smiles the sea,
The lily blossoms rarely;
O yonder comes his gallant ship,
Thrice welcome, royal Charlie!
"Yes, yon's a good and gallant ship,
Wi' banners flaunting fairly;
But should it meet your darling prince,.
'Twill feast the fish wi' Charlie.
Wide rustled she wi' silks in state,
And waved her white hand proudlie,
And drew a bright sword from the sheath,
And answered high and loudlie.
