and most of my old supporters said theyd be with me if

For he stood by Avernus' shore,

But he dreamed of a Northern glen

And he murmured, over and o'er,

And his feet, to death that went,

Crept forth to St. Peter's shrine,

O'er the last of the Stuart line.

[Rhymed from the prose version of Mr. Justin Huntly M'Carthy]

The Paradise they bid us fast to win