  WHITE roses, white roses, In Holyrood’s Hall, On dainty, white bosoms, The whitest of all. White roses at Derby, Ah! withered long since In the bonnets of laddies Who fought for the Prince. A curse upon Cheshire, Its cowardly fear, That drew not a sword For the Young Chevalier! God prosper brave Lancashire, Stalwart for aye! Proud Preston may droop, But her rose shall not die. God’s rest to the clansmen, The Jacobite dead, Who sleep where Culloden’s White roses are red! |
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