| Speed bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing,
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| Onward, the sailors cry
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| Carry the lad that’s born to be king
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| Over the sea to skye
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| Loud the winds howl, loud the waves roar,
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| Thunder clouds rend the air;
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| Baffled our foe’s stand on the shore
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| Follow they will not dare
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| Though the waves leap, soft shall ye sleep
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| Ocean’s a royal bed
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| Rocked in the deep, Flora will keep
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| Watch by your weary head
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| Many’s the lad fought on that day
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| Well the claymore could wield
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| When the night came, silently lay
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| Dead on Culloden’s field
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| Burned are our homes, exile and death
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| Scatter the loyal men
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| Yet, e’er the sword cool in the sheath,
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| Charlie will come again.
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| shores when Flora MacDonald took him, disguised as a serving maid,
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| from Uist to Skye in a small boat.
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| Flora is buried at Kilmuir on the north coast of Skye. |
| Prince Charlie
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| near Rome where he was born.
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| Words by Sir Harold Boulton, Bart., 1884. Music by Annie
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| MacLeod. |