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The old Jacobite ballads still have power to thrill. Queen Victoria herself used to have the pipers file out before her at Balmoral to the "skirling" of "Bonnie Dundee," "Over the Water to Charlie," and "Wha'll Be King but Charlie!" It is a sentiment that has never died.
A German gave us "Och! mein lieber Augustin!" the three Frenchmen roared through the Marseilles Hymn; the English and Scotchmen gave us "Rule Britannia," and "Wha'll be King but Charlie?" the Italians and Spaniards screamed through some national affairs, for which I was none the wiser; and we three Yankees made an attempt at the "Star-spangled Banner."
A German gave us ``Ach! mein lieber Augustin! the three Frenchmen roared through the Marseilles Hymn; the English and Scotchmen gave us ``Rule Britannia, and ``Wha'll be King but Charlie? the Italians and Spaniards screamed through some national affairs, for which I was none the wiser; and we three Yankees made an attempt at the ``Star-spangled Banner. After these national tributes had been paid, the Austrian gave us a pretty little love-song, and the Frenchmen sang a spirited thing, ``Sentinelle!
"I wonder wha'll be to preach the morn tod, it'll likely be Mr. Skinner, frae Dundee; him an' the minister's chief, ye ken." We're sure, if it's Mr. Skinner, he'll come wi' the post frae Tilliedrum the nicht, an' sleep at the manse." "Weel, I assure ye," said Leeby, descending from the attic, "it'll no be Mr.
The old Jacobite ballads still have power to thrill. Queen Victoria herself used to have the pipers file out before her at Balmoral to the "skirling" of "Bonnie Dundee," "Over the Water to Charlie," and "Wha'll Be King but Charlie!" It is a sentiment that has never died.
For a century the bones of both the Pretenders have moldered in alien soil; the names of James Edward, and Charles Edward, which were once trumpet blasts to rouse armed men, mean as little to the multitude of today as those of the Saxon Ethelbert, and Danish Hardicanute, yet the world goes on singing and will probably as long as the English language is spoken "Wha'll be King but Charlie?"
"And would you really entice our men till their death?" "My life's worth as much as theirs, I suppose. "Nae! your life! it's na worth a button; when you dee, your next kin will dance, and wha'll greet? but our men hae wife and bairns to look till." "Ah! I didn't look at it in that light," said Lord Ipsden.
"I'm only gaun to sleep wi' Tibbie Dyster, puir blin' body!" "Lat the blin' sleep wi' the blin', an' come ye hame wi' me," said Robert oracularly, abusing several texts of Scripture in a breath, and pulling Annie away with him. "Ye'll be drooned afore the mornin' in some hole or ither, ye fashous rintheroot! And syne wha'll hae the wyte o' 't?"
For a century the bones of both the Pretenders have moldered in alien soil; the names of James Edward, and Charles Edward, which were once trumpet blasts to rouse armed men, mean as little to the multitude of today as those of the Saxon Ethelbert, and Danish Hardicanute, yet the world goes on singing and will probably as long as the English language is spoken "Wha'll be King but Charlie?"
Suddenly I felt a hand fumbling down the coverlid, and 't was Nannie, my old nurse, and her arm was laid heavily across me. "Dinna greet," she whispered, "dinna greet and dull your een that are brighter noo than a' the jauds can show, the bonny blink o' them! They sha' na flout and fleer, the feckless queans, the hissies wha'll threep to stan' i' your auld shoon ae day! Dinna greet, lass, dinna!"
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