Song of the Highland Clans

Oran Nam Fineachan Gaidhealach.
Alasdair mac Mhaighstir Alasdair

A chomuinn rìoghail rùnaich
Sàr-ùmhlachd thugaibh uaibh,
Biodh ur roisg gun smùirnein,
‘S gach cridh’ gun treas gin lùib ann;
Deoch-slàinte Sheumais Stiùbhairt
Gu mùirneach cuir mu’n cuairt!
Ach ma ta giamh air bith ‘nur stamaig,
A’ chailis naomh na truaill.
Lìon deoch-slàinte Theàrlaich,
A mheirlich! stràic a’ chuach!
B’ì siod an ìocshlàint’ àluinn
Dh’ath-bheòthaicheadh mo chàileachd,
Ged a bhiodh am bàs orm,
Gun neart, gun àgh, gun tuar —
Rìgh nan dùl a chur do chàbhlaich
Oirnn thar sàl ri luas!

O, tog do bhaideil arda,
Chaol, dhìonach, shàr-gheal, nuadh,
Ri d’ chrainnghridh bìgh-dhearg, làidir,
Gu taisdeal nan tonn gàireach;
Tha Æolus ag ràitinn
Gun sèid e ràp-ghaoth chruaidh
O’n àird anear, ‘s tha Neptun dìleas
Gu mìneachadh a’ chuain.
Is bochd atà do chàirdean
Aig ro-mheud t’fhardail uainn,
Mar àlach maoth gun mhàthair,
No beachainn bhreac a’ ghàraidh
Aig sionnach ‘n d’èis am fàsaichth’
Air fàillinn feadh nam bruach;
Aisig cabhagach le do chàbhlach,
Us leighis plàigh do shluaigh.

Tha na dèe ann an deagh-rùn duit,
Greas ort le sùrd neo-mharbh
Thar dhronnag nan tonn dubh-ghorm,
Dhriom-robach, bhàrr-chas, shiùbhlach,
Ghleann-chladhach, cheann-gheal, shùgh-dhlùth,
Nam mòthar cùl-ghlas, garbh;
Na cuan-choirean greannach, stuadh-thorrach,
‘S crom-bhileach, molach, falbh.
Tha muir us tìr cho rèidh dhuit
Mur dean thu fèin an searg’;
Dòirtidh iad ‘nan ceudaibh,
‘Nan laomaibh tiugha, treuna,
A Breatuinn us a h-Eirinn
Mu d’ standard brèid-gheal, dearg;
A’ ghaisreadh sgaiteach, ghuineach, rìoghail,
Chreuchdach, fhìor-luath, gharg.

Thig do chinneadh fèin ort,
Na treun-fhir laomsgair, gharbh,
‘Nam beathraichibh gu reubadh,
‘Nan leòmhannaibh gu creuchdadh,
‘Nan nathraichibh grad-leumnach,
A lotas geur le ‘n calg;
Le ‘n gathaibh faobharach, rinn-bheurra
Nì mòr-euchd le ‘n arm’.
‘Nam brataichibh làn-èidicht’
Le dealas geur gun chealg,
Thig Domhnullaich ‘nan dèidh sin,
Cho dìleas duit ri d’ lèine,
Mar choin air fasdadh èille
Air chath chrith geur gu sealg;
‘S mairg nàimhde do ‘n nochd iad fraoch,
Long, leòmhann, craobh, ‘s làmh dhearg.

Gun neartaich iad do champa
Na Caimbeulaich gu dearbh,
An Diùc Earraghàidhealach mar cheann orr’,
Gu mòralach, mear, prionnsail,
Ge b’è sid an tionnsgnadh searbh,
B’è sid an tionnsgnadh searbh,
Le lannaibh lotach, dubh-ghorm, toirteil,
Sgoltadh chorp gu’m balg.
Gu tairbeartach, glan, caismeachdach,
Fìor-thartarach ‘nan ranc,
Thig Cluainidh le ‘chuid Phearsanach,
Gu cuanna, gleusda, grad-bheirteach,
Le spàinnichibh teann-bheirticht’
‘S cruaidh fead ri sgailceadh cheann;
Bidh fuil da dòrtadh, smùis da spealtadh,
Le sgealpaireachd ur lann.

Druididh suas ri d’ mheirghe,
Nach meirbh an am an àir,
Clann Ghill’ Eathain nach meirgich
Airm ri h-uchd do sheirbhis,
Le ‘m brataichean ‘s snuadh feirg’ orr’,
‘San leirg mar thairbh gun sgàth;
Am foirne fearail, nimheil, arrail,
As builleach, ealamh làmh.
Gun tig na fiùrain Leòdach ort
Mar sheochdain ‘s eòin fo ‘n spàig;
‘Nan tùiribh lann-ghorm, tinnisneach,
Air chorra-ghleus gun tiomachas,
An rèisimeid fhìor-innealta,
‘S fàth giorraig dol ‘na dàil;
Am bi iomadh bòcan fuilteach, foirmeil,
Thèid le stoirm gu bàs.

Thig curaidhnean Chlann-Chamshroin ort,
Thèid meanmnach sìos ‘nad spàirn;
An fhoireann ghuineach, chaithreamach,
‘S neo-fhiamhach an am tarruinge,
An lainn ghlas mar lasair dealanaich
Gu gearradh cheann us làmh;
‘S mar luas na dreige, ‘s cruas na creige,
Chluinnte sgread nan cnàmh.
Thig mìlidhean Chlann-Iain ort,
Thèid fritheilteach gu d’ champ,
Mar fhaloisg ris na sliabh-chnuic
Us gaoth a’ Mhàirt ‘ga biathadh,
No marcaich’ air each srianach
A rachadh sìos gun chàird –
Cho ealamh ris an fhùdar ullamh,
An t-srad ‘n uair bhuineadh dhà.

Gur cinnteach dhuibh d’ur coinneachadh
Mac Coinnich mòr Cheann-t-sàil’,
Fir làidir, dhàna, cho innealta
Do’n fhìor-chruaidh air a foinneachadh,
Nach ghabh fiamh no somaltachd
No sgreamh roimh theine bhlàr;
‘S iad gu nàrach, fuileach, foinnidh,
Air bhoil’ gu dol ‘nad chàs.
Gur foirmeil, pròiseil, ordail,
Thig Tòisichean ‘nan ranc,
A’ màrsal stàtail, comhnard,
Gu pìobach, bratach, sròl-bhuidh’;
Tha rìoghaltachd us mòrchuis
Gun sòradh anns an dream,
Daoine làidir, neartmhor, cròdha,
‘S iad gun ghò, gun mheang.

Thig Granndaich gu ro-thartarach,
Neo-fhad-bheirteach do d’ champ,
Air phriob-losgadh gu cruadal,
Gu snaidh’ cheann us chluas diubh,
Cho nimheil ris na tigiribh,
Le feachdraidh dian-mhear, dàn’,
Chuireas iomadh fear le sgreadail
‘S a’ breabadaich gu làr.
Thig a rìs na Frisealaich
Gu sgibidh le neart garbh,
‘Nan seochdaibh fìor-ghlan, togarrach,
Le fuathas bhlàr nach bogaichear,
An comhlan feardha, cosgarrach,
‘S mairg neach do ‘n nochd iad fearg;
An spuir ghlas aig dlùths an dèirich
Bidh ‘nan èibhlibh dearg.

‘Nan gaisreadh ghaisgeil, losgarra,
Thig Lachlunnaich gun chàird,
‘Nan soighdibh dearga, puinnseanta,
Gu claidhmheach, sgiathach, cuinnsearach,
Gu gunnach, dagach, ionnsaichte,
Gun chunntas ac’ air àr;
Dol ‘nan deannaibh ‘n aodainn pheileir
Tiochd o theine chàich.
Gabhaidh pàirt de t’ iorghaill-sa
Clann-Fhionghain ‘s sìor-bhualadh,
Mar thuinn ri tìr a’ sìor-bhualadh,
No bile lasrach dian-losgadh,
‘Nan treudaibh luatha, sìor-chonfach,
Thoirt grìosaich air an nàmh’;
An dream chathach, Mhuileach, Shrathach,
‘S maith gu sgathadh chnàmh!

‘S mòr a bhios ri corp-rùsgadh
Nan closaichean ‘sa bhlàr,
Fithich ann, a’ rocadaich,
Ag itealaich, ‘s a’ cnocaireachd,
Cìocras air na cosgarraich
Ag òl ‘s ag ith’ an sàth;
Och, ‘s tùrsach, fann, a chluinntear mochthrath,
Ochanaich nan àr.
Bidh fuil us gaorr dam fùidreadh ann
Le lùth-chleasan ur làmh,
Meangar cinn us dùirn diubh,
Gearrar uilt le smùisreadh,
Cìosnaichear ur biùthaidh,
Dan dubh-losgadh, ‘s dan cnàmh’;
Crùnar le poimp Tearlach Stiùbhart,
Us Frederic Prionns’ fo shàil.

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The White King’s Chastened Soul

CHARLES I.
AN OLD HARPER’S TALE.

The tide of time hath swept the land, and the blight of blackened grain
Lies withered, and ungarnered, that encumbered England’s plain;
The sowers cast the seeds of death, and reaped with blood-stained sword,
That day they sent the white king’s soul to meet their Judge and Lord.

I knew him in his youth, my Lords! and loved his winsome ways,
The scholars’ or the artists’ taste for quiet and restful days;
I said ‘Tis well for England’s need, bold Harry holds the helm,
And not this gentle boy whom adverse winds would soon o’erwhelm.

I trembled, for I loved him so, that day I saw him crowned,
To mark the dreamer’s listless gaze unheed the lowering brows around.
‘No power to stand between thy will and God’s—O! Sovereign Lord, and King,
‘Twas much to place in that frail hand, the power of one man’s seal and ring.

Of mind too delicate to bear the glare and dazzle of a throne,
I ne’er had feared for Harry’s sake—had he to stand alone!
God willed it otherwise, my Lords! the strong was ta’en in death,
To leave the sceptre of his race to pass—with one poor victim’s death.

I saw him in his spotless garb, that winter’s day he died!
The dreamer’s gaze had gone, my Lords! the gold was there in furnace tried.
Not Harry in his boldest mood, more fearless could have stood,
Nor sweeter smile have lit that face, the day his Spanish bride he woo’ed.

Had he but waked to clearer sight, nor tried to quell with cold disdain,
But one short year o’er this, he had not reigned a king in vain!
Yet ah! the cruel destiny that erst pursued his race, he shared:
To nerve the murderer Cromwell’s hand, to raise the flashing steel unbared.

I saw him die, my Lords! I wept the blood-stain on our land,
I never wept for him, my Lords! he was too high and grand.
White was his chastened soul, my Lords! white were the robes he wore,
And the white snow fell from God’s own hand on the purple pall they bore.
White to his cruel grave he went, so quiet, so calm, so pale,
For kingly race will tell, my Lords! where baser blood would fail.

— Alice C. MacDonell of Keppoch.

A Royal Pedigree to Half the Population of the Country

Detail of The Downsitting of Parliament, from Chatelain's "Atlas Historique" of 1720, showing a graphic scheme of the opening of the Estates of Parliament of Scotland about 1680 - 1685.
Detail of The Downsitting of Parliament, from Chatelain’s “Atlas Historique” of 1720, showing a graphic scheme of the opening of the Estates of Parliament of Scotland about 1680 – 1685.

That so many families claiming royal lineage should be found among our lowest classes is not astonishing. History tells us of change after change in the ruling dynasties of these islands, and of the advent of races the most varied in time and origin. During the last two thousand years enough kings and nobles have sunk from power to furnish a royal pedigree to half the population of the country. It is true that the present Royal Family, and the present aristocracy, inherit, to some extent, the blood of extinct dynasties. But only to some extent. The Prince of Wales has lawfully succeeded to various dignities; but these are of such opposite origin that they cannot possibly be typified in the person of one man. He cannot be, at the same time, a typical Prince of Wales and a typical Prince of Scotland; a genuine Duke of Cornwall and as genuine a Duke of Rothesay; a perfect specimen of the Lords of the Isles and an equally perfect Earl of Chester; he cannot be a thoroughbred Plantagenet, Stewart, Tudor, and Guelph — though a certain proportion of the blood of each may run in his veins. The circumstances that developed such titles have been matters of history for many generations; the titles themselves are now merely so many graceful honours, attaching by right of birth to the Heir Apparent.

David MacRitchie, Ancient and Modern Britons (London: 1884).

Diùc Baile Bhòid

Personal arms of Prince Charles as Duke of Rothesay.
Personal arms of Prince Charles as Duke of Rothesay.

There’ll Never Be Peace Till Jamie Comes Hame

James Francis Edward Stuart, Prince of Wales.
James Francis Edward Stuart, Prince of Wales.

By yon Castle wa’, at the close of the day,
I heard a man sing, though his head it was gray;
And as he was singing, the tears down came —
There’ll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.

The Church is in ruins, the State is in jars,
Delusions, oppressions, and murderous wars;
We dare na weel say’t, but we ken wha’s to blame —
There’ll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.

My seven braw sons for Jamie drew sword,
But now I greet round their green beds in the yird;
It brak the sweet heart o’ my faithfu’ auld dame —
There’ll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.

Now life is a burden that bows me down,
Sin’ I tint my bairns, and he tint his crown;
But till my last moments my words are the same —
There’ll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.

— There’ll Never Be Peace Till Jamie Comes Hame, Robert Burns.

A Jacobite Verse to God Save the King

Prince Charles Edward Stuart.

 

 

God bless the prince, I pray,
God bless the prince, I pray,
Charlie I mean;
That Scotland we may see
Freed from vile Presbyt’ry,
Both George and his Feckie,
Ever so, Amen.

The Black Watch (Royal Highland Regiment) of Canada

The Badge of the Black Watch (Canada).

The Black Watch (Royal Highland Regiment) of Canada
Colonel-in-Chief: His Royal Highness The Prince Charles Prince of Wales KG KT GCB OM AK QSO GCL SOM CD ADC

BADGE

Description

Azure the figure of St. Andrew proper standing on a mount Vert holding his cross Argent all within an annulus Azure fimbriated and inscribed “NEMO ME IMPUNE LACESSIT” in letters Or, ensigned by the Royal crown and environed by a wreath of thistles proper all between a scroll on either side of the Crown inscribed THE BLACK WATCH and two scrolls Or in base inscribed ROYAL HIGHLAND REGIMENT and OF CANADA in letters sable, the whole set on the diamond-cut star of the Order of the Thistle Argent.

Symbolism

The Crown represents service to the Sovereign. The badge of the regiment is styled on that of their former British allied regiment The Black Watch (Royal Highland Regiment) – now, through amalgamation, The Royal Regiment of Scotland – whose badge, in turn, was based on that of the Most Ancient and Most Noble Order of the Thistle, the highest order of chivalry in Scotland. The diamond-cut star, the thistles (the national flower of Scotland) and the representation of St. Andrew (the patron saint of the Order and of Scotland) and the cross appear on the Order’s badge. The scrolls bearing the words “THE BLACK WATCH”, “ROYAL HIGHLAND REGIMENT” and “OF CANADA” are a form of the regimental title and “NEMO ME IMPUNE LACESSIT” is the motto of the regiment and the Order of the Thistle.

MOTTO

NEMO ME IMPUNE LACESSIT (No one shall touch me with impunity)

MARCH

Quick March

“The Highland Laddie”

Slow March

“The Red Hackle”

ALLIANCE

British Army

The Royal Regiment of Scotland

BATTLE HONOURS

South African War

SOUTH AFRICA, 1899-1900.

The First World War

YPRES, 1915, ’17; Gravenstafel; St. Julien; FESTUBERT, 1915; MOUNT SORREL; SOMME, 1916; Pozières; Flers-Courcelette; Thiepval; Ancre Heights; Ancre, 1916; ARRAS, 1917, ’18; Vimy, 1917; Arleux; Scarpe, 1917, ’18; HILL 70; Passchendaele; AMIENS; Drocourt-Quéant; HINDENBURG LINE; Canal du Nord; PURSUIT TO MONS; FRANCE AND FLANDERS, 1915-18.

The Second World War

BOURGUÉBUS RIDGE; Faubourg de Vaucelles; Verrières Ridge-Tilly-la-Campagne; FALAISE; Clair Tizon; Forêt de la Londe; Dunkirk, 1944; Antwerp-Turnhout Canal; THE SCHELDT; Woensdrecht; South Beveland; Walcheren Causeway; THE RHINELAND; The Hochwald; Xanten; THE RHINE; Groningen; Oldenburg; NORTH-WEST EUROPE, 1944-1945.

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