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by Sir Harold Boulton
circa 1884

By lonely Loch Shiel in the heart of the Highlands,
The Son of the King stood a-watching all day,
While stretched on the rocks and the bracken around him,
His handful of true-mettled Highlanders lay,
'Twas Bonnie Prince Charlie, the faithful, the fearless,
Who trusted the Clansmen their tryst to fulfill,
His eagle eyes raised to the braes of Glenfinnan,
For the Cameron Clan to come over the hill,

They have passed from the clachan, the croft, and the sheiling,
Who fought and who died to the cry of "Claymore!"
The pibroach sounds rare in Locheil and Lochaber,
And sheep browse in silence by corrie and scaur,
There's gloom over mountain and moorland and meadow,
The mist on Loch Shiel gathers eerie and chill,
But the wraith of of Prince Charlie still looks up Glenfinnan
For the Cameron Clan to come over the hill