When Queen Anne lay stiff in bed, with no successor, declared as dead,
Parliament sought up and down a protestant to wear the crown.
James, the old pretender refused to be the faith’s defender,
thus trading three kingdoms for a mass
His crown to Hanover would pass.
German George in no hurry, in his duchy long would tarry,
Ere he’d deign to go.
Knowing not his kingdom’s tongue, to Old Britannia he would come
His queer retinue in tow.
With Mustapha and Mahomet, the Maypole and the Elephant,
George did claim his throne.
With faithless wife locked tight away, (for thirty years, if a day),
This king would reign alone.
High Tory and the Jacobite would n’er accept the country’s plight
Contending yet for Divine right,
The Stuarts to restore.
For those with Popish leanings, in closeted convenings,
Treason was the meaning,
One could scarce ignore.
As many white cockaded hosts raised their glass in furtive toasts,
To James forevermore.
No longer strife disguising, began the ’15 rising,
Though t’would prove a damned devising,
Headed by Lord Mar.
With Stuart standard he proclaimed Scotland in his sovereign’s name,
South to England now his aim
Intent on civil war.
With less sense than bluster, the English north did muster,
Under Thomas Forster,
Wearing the general’s plume.
To Newcastle and Preston the army marched predestined
With a battle plan sure doomed.
‘Pon news to Jemmie of the tidings of his Scottish clans uprising,
He was struck with disbelief.
But jubilation took its place on this exiled sovereign’s face,
And to his Scotland he did race
To his troops’ relief.
Now at last had come his chance
And funded by the King of France
Akin to some great romance,
The Chevalier set sail.
To fulfill this most devout mission,
Coronation his ambition,
And ever closer to fruition,
But once more doomed to fail.
Arriving yet again too late,
With fervor conquered by the State,
According to the Stuart fate.
With Sheffmuir lost, the rebels thwarted,
The guilty hung, beheaded, transported.
Nigh thirty years was the Cause aborted,
E’er springing back to life.
Until the Young Pretender,
A worthier contender,
Again their passions would engender,
In the ’45.
- by Emery Lee