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 Forty-Second's welcome to Scotland.
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 | The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd |  |
The Forty-Second's welcome to Scotland.
Old Scotia! wake thy mountain strain,
In all its wildest splendours,
And welcome back the lads again,
Your honour's dear defenders.
Be every harp and viol strung,
Till all the woodlands quaver;
Of many a band your bards have sung,
But never hail'd a braver.
Raise high the pibroch, Donald Bane,
We're all in key to cheer it;
And let it be a martial strain,
That warriors bold may hear it.
In all its wildest splendours,
And welcome back the lads again,
Your honour's dear defenders.
Be every harp and viol strung,
Till all the woodlands quaver;
Of many a band your bards have sung,
But never hail'd a braver.
Raise high the pibroch, Donald Bane,
We're all in key to cheer it;
And let it be a martial strain,
That warriors bold may hear it.
Ye lovely maids, pitch high your notes
As virgin voice can sound them;
Sing of your brave, your noble Scots,
For glory blazes round them.
Small is the remnant you will see,
Lamented be the others,
But such a stem of such a tree
Take to your arms like brothers.
Then raise the pibroch, Donald Bane,
Strike all the glen with wonder;
Let the chanter yell, and the drone-notes swell,
Till music speaks in thunder.
As virgin voice can sound them;
Sing of your brave, your noble Scots,
For glory blazes round them.
Small is the remnant you will see,
Lamented be the others,
But such a stem of such a tree
Take to your arms like brothers.
Then raise the pibroch, Donald Bane,
Strike all the glen with wonder;
Let the chanter yell, and the drone-notes swell,
Till music speaks in thunder.
What storm can rend your mountain-rock?
What wave your headlands shiver?
Long have they stood the tempest's shock,
Thou know'st they will for ever.
Sooner your eye those cliffs shall view
Split by the wind and weather,
Than foeman's eye the bonnet blue
Behind the nodding feather.
Oh raise the pibroch, Donald Bane!
Our caps to the sky we'll send them:
Scotland, thy honours who can stain,
Thy laurels who dare rend them?
What wave your headlands shiver?
Long have they stood the tempest's shock,
Thou know'st they will for ever.
Sooner your eye those cliffs shall view
Split by the wind and weather,
Than foeman's eye the bonnet blue
Behind the nodding feather.
Oh raise the pibroch, Donald Bane!
Our caps to the sky we'll send them:
Scotland, thy honours who can stain,
Thy laurels who dare rend them?
| The Works of The Ettrick Shepherd | |