The poetical works of William Nicholson :: :: University of Virginia Library

The heath-cock crawed o'er muir and dale,
Red raise the sun, the sky was cloudy,
While mustering far, wi' distant yell,
The northern bands marched stern and steady.

Chorus.—

Oh! Duncan, Donald's ready!
Oh! Duncan, Donald's ready!
Wi' sword and targe he seeks the charge,
And frae his shouther flings the plaidie.

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Nae mair we chase the fleet-foot roe,
O'er down and dale, o'er mountain flyin';
But rush like tempests on the foe,
Through mingled groans the war note cryin'.
Oh! Duncan, Donald's ready, &c.

A prince is come to claim his ain,
A stem o' Stewart, frien'less Charlie;
What Highlan' han' its blade would hain,
What Highlan' heart behint would tarry?
Oh! Duncan, Donald's ready, &c.

I see our hardy clans appear,
The sun back frae their blades is beamin';
The Southern trump falls on my ear,
Their bannered lions proudly streamin'.
Now, Donald, Duncan's ready!
Now, Donald, Duncan's ready!
Within his hand he grasps his brand;
Fierce is the fray, the field is bluidy.

But lang shall Scotlan' rue the day
She saw her flag sae fiercely flyin';
Culloden's hills were hills o' wae;
Her honour lost, her warriors dyin'.
Duncan now nae mair is ready!
Duncan now nae mair is ready!
The brand is fa'n frae out his hand,
His bonnet blue lies stained and bluidy!

Fair Flora's gane her love to seek;
Lang may she wait for his returnin';
The midnight dews fa' on her cheek;
What han' shall dry her tears o' mournin'?
Duncan now nae mair is ready, &c.