Sure Charlie an' the brave Lochyell
Had been that time beside theirsell,
To plant us in the open fell
In the artillery's e'e, man:
For had we met wi' Cumberland
By Athol braes or yonder strand,
The bluid o' a' the savage band
Had dy'd the German sea, man.
But down we drappit dadd for dadd;
I thought it sude hae put me mad,
To see sae mony a Highlan' lad
Lie bluthrin' on the brae, man.
I thought we ance had won the fray;
We smasht ae wing till it gae way;
But the other side had lost the day,
An' skelpit fast awa, man.
When Charley wi' Macpherson met,
Like Hay, he thought him back to get;
"We'll turn," quo' he, "an' try them yet;
We'll conquer or we'll dee, man."
But Donald jumpit owre the burn,
An' sware an aith she wadna turn,
Or sure she wad hae cause to mourn;
Then fast away did flee, man.
O! had you seen that hunt o' death.
We ran until we tint our breath,
Aye looking back for fear o' skaithe
Wi' hopeless shinin' e'e, man.
But Britain ever may deplore
That day upon Drumossie moor,
Whar thousands ta'en war drench'd in gore, Or hang'd outowr a tree, man.
O! Cumberland! what mean'd ye then
To ravage ilka Highlan' glen?
Our crime was truth an' love to ane;
We had nae spite at thee, man.
An' you or yours may yet be glad
To trust the honest Highlan' lad;
The bonnet blue an' belted plaid
Will stand the last o' three, man.
TUNE-Lord Ballandine's Delight.
'MONG Scotia's glens and mountains blue, Where Gallia's lilies never grew,
Where Roman eagles never flew
Nor Danish lions rallied:
Where skulks the roe in anxious fear,
Where roves the stately, nimble deer,
There live the lads to freedom dear,
By foreign yoke ne'er galled.
There woods grow wild on every hill;
There freemen wander at their will;
Sure Scotland will be Scotland still
While hearts so brave defend her. "Fear not, our Sov'reign liege," they cry, "We've flourish'd fair beneath thine eye; For thee we'll fight, for thee we'll die, Nor aught but life surrender.
"Since thou hast watch'd our every need,
An' taught our navies wide to spread,
The smallest hair from thy gray head
No foreign foe shall sever.
Thy honour'd age in peace to save
The sternest host we'll dauntless brave,
Or stem the fiercest Indian wave,
Nor heart nor hand shall waver.
"Though nations join yon tyrant's arm,
While Scotia's noble blood runs warm,
Our good old man we'll guard from harm,
Or fall in heaps around him.
Although the Irish harp were won,
And England's roses all o'errun,
'Mong Scotia's glens, with sword and gun,
We'll form a bulwark round him."
AIR-Miss Carmichael's Minuet.
WHO will not join the lay,
And hail the auspicious day
That first gave great George the sway
Over our Island?
Fifty long years are gone
Since he first filled the throne ;
And high honours has he won
On sea and by land.
Think on his heart of steel;
Think on his life so leal;
Think how he's watch'd our weal.
Till seiz'd with blindness!
In mercy first sent to us;
In love so long lent to us:
Grateful let's vent our vows
For Heaven's kindness.
No foeman dare steer to us,
Nor tyrant come near to us,
Of all that's dear to us
He's the defender.
Raise the song! raise it loud!
Of our old king we're proud!
George the just! George the good! Still reigns in splendour!
HERSEL pe aughty eirs an' twa,
Te twanty-tird o' May, man;
She twall amang te Heelan hills,
Apoon te reefer Spey, man.
Tat eir tey faucht te Shirramoor,
She first peheld te licht, man;
Tey shot my fater in tat stour-
A plaguit, vexan spite, man.
I've feucht in Scotlan' here at hame,
In France an' Shermanie, man;
An' cot tree tespurt pluddy oons
Peyon te 'Lantic sea, man.
Put wae licht on te nasty gun,
Tat ever she pe porn, man;
File coot claymore te tristle guard
Her leaves pe nefer torn, man.
Ae tay I shot, an' shot, an' shot,
Fan eer it kam my turn, man;
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