The Last of the Stuarts

The last of the Stuarts
Has sunk in the grave.
And their name and their lineage is gone:
And the land of the stranger
A resting place gave
To him that was heir to a throne.
But the noon of their glory
Was soon overspread,
And their sun,
He grew dark with dismay
And the clouds of misfortune
Hung over their head,
Till their sceptre had vanished away.
Last of the Stuarts
Last of the Stuarts
Last of the Stuarts
Last of the Stuarts
No more for their cause
Shall the trumpet be blown,
Nor their followers crowd to the field:
Their hopes were all wreck’d
When Culloden was won,
And the fate of their destiny seal’d.
Cold is that heart
Which could stand o’er his grave,
Nor think of their fate with a sigh,
That the glory of kings,
Like a wreck from the wave,
Here lone and deserted must lie.
Last of the Stuarts
Last of the Stuarts
Last of the Stuarts
Last of the Stuarts
Last of the Stuarts
Last of the Stuarts
Last of the Stuarts
Last of the Stuarts
Last of the Stuarts
Last of the Stuarts
Last of the Stuarts
Last of the Stuarts
Last of the Stuarts
Last of the Stuarts
Last of the Stuarts
Last of the Stuarts
Last of the Stuarts
Last of the Stuarts
Last of the Stuarts
Last of the Stuarts