Then we bounded from our covert, -
Judge how looked the Saxons then,
When they saw the rugged mountain
Start to life with armèd men!
Like a tempest down the ridges

Swept the hurricane of steel,
Rose the slogan of Macdonald

Flashed the broadsword of Locheill! Vainly sped the withering volley

'Mongst the foremost of our band On we poured until we met them, Foot to foot, and hand to hand.

Horse and man went down like driftwood
When the floods are black at Yule,
And their carcasses are whirling
In the Garry's deepest pool.
Horse and man went down before us

Living foe there tarried none

On the field of Killiecrankie,

When that stubborn fight was done!

And the evening star was shining
On Schehallion's distant head,
When we wiped our bloody broadswords
And returned to count the dead.
There we found him gashed and gory,
Stretched upon the cumbered plain,

II

As he told us where to seek him,

In the thickest of the slain. And a smile was on his visage, For within his dying ear

Pealed the joyful note of triumph,

And the clansmen's clamorous cheer; So, amidst the battle's thunder,

Shot, and steel, and scorching flame,

In the glory of his manhood

Passed the spirit of the Græme !

Open wide the vaults of Athol,

Where the bones of heroes rest –

Open wide the hallowed portals
To receive another guest!
Last of Scots, and last of freemen
Last of all that dauntless race
Who would rather die unsullied
Than outlive the land's disgrace!

O thou lion-hearted warrior!

Reck not of the after-time: Honor may be deemed dishonor, Loyalty be called a crime. Sleep in peace with kindred ashes

Of the noble and the true,

Hands that never failed their country,

Hearts that never baseness knew.

Wakes the dead from earth and sea, Scotland shall not boast a braver

Chieftain than our own Dundee !

"IT WAS A' FOR OUR RIGHTFU' KING."

"It was a' for our rightfu' king

We left fair Scotland's strand!

It was a' for our rightfu' king

We e'er saw Irish land, my dear,

We e'er saw Irish land.

"Now a' is done that men can do,

An' a' is done in vain :

My love an' native land, farewell,

For I maun cross the main, my dear,
For I maun cross the main."

He turned him right an' round about,
Upon the Irish shore,

An' ga'e his bridle-reins a shake,

With, "Adieu for evermore, my dear,"

With, "Adieu for evermore.'