JACOBITE RELICS.
47
THE PROPHECY OF DONN FIRINNEACH.1
BY HENRY GRATTAN CURRAN.
Does thy spirit despond that these wolves3 perfidious,
forsworn,
Should banish God's priests, and laugh his religion to
scorn;
Feeble, exiled, is Charles, the son of the monarch we
loved,
Far, far from the hearts, that would bleed to sustain him,
removed.
Oh foul is the treason, that bids us our truth abjure.
Our faith to our own regal race—oh! dark and impure
The breast that devised, and the traitor lip that proclaims
Our throne and our truth to belong to any but James.
