The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd Centenary Edition. With a Memoir of the Author, by the Rev. Thomas Thomson ... Poems and Life. With Many Illustrative Engravings [by James Hogg] |
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 | The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd |  |
Scotia's Glens.
'Mang 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 swift an' stately deer,
There live the lads to freedom dear,
By foreign yoke ne'er galled.
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 swift an' stately 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,
And Scotland will be Scotland still,
While hearts so brave defend her:
“Fear not, our sovereign Liege,” they cry,
“We've flourished fair beneath thine eye;
For thee we'll fight, for thee we'll die,
Nor aught but life surrender!
There freemen wander at their will,
And Scotland will be Scotland still,
While hearts so brave defend her:
“Fear not, our sovereign Liege,” they cry,
“We've flourished 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,
And 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 enemy we'll brave,
Or stem the fiercest ocean wave,
Nor heart nor hand shall waver!”
And 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 enemy we'll brave,
Or stem the fiercest ocean wave,
Nor heart nor hand shall waver!”
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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,
'Mang Scotia's glens, with sword and gun,
We'll form a bulwark round him.
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,
'Mang Scotia's glens, with sword and gun,
We'll form a bulwark round him.
| The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd | |