The Hope of the World and other poems by Charles Mackay |
 |
|
| I. |
| II. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
|
| I. |
| II. |
| III. |
| IV. |
| V. |
| VI. |
| VIII. |
| IX. |
| X. |
| XI. |
| XII. |
|
|
MOUNTAIN DEW. |
|
 | The Hope of the World and other poems |  |
155
MOUNTAIN DEW.
Away with your port, your champagne and your sherry,
And fill up with toddy as high as you please;
We men of the northland should know ourselves better
Than pledge her in liquors so foreign as these!
In whisky that reeks of the peat and the heather,
We 'll drink to the land of the brave and the true;—
Unsullied in honour,
Our blessings upon her!
Scotland for ever, and old Mountain Dew!
And fill up with toddy as high as you please;
We men of the northland should know ourselves better
Than pledge her in liquors so foreign as these!
In whisky that reeks of the peat and the heather,
We 'll drink to the land of the brave and the true;—
Unsullied in honour,
Our blessings upon her!
Scotland for ever, and old Mountain Dew!
Mountain dew! clear as a Scot's understanding,
Pure as his conscience wherever he goes,
Warm as his heart to the friend he has chosen,
Strong as his arm when he fights with his foes!
In liquor like this should old Scotland be toasted;
So fill up again, and the pledge we'll renew.
Long flourish the honour
Her children have won her;
Scotland for ever, and old Mountain Dew!
Pure as his conscience wherever he goes,
Warm as his heart to the friend he has chosen,
Strong as his arm when he fights with his foes!
156
So fill up again, and the pledge we'll renew.
Long flourish the honour
Her children have won her;
Scotland for ever, and old Mountain Dew!
May her worth, like her lowland streams, roll on unceasing;
Her fame, like her highland hills, last evermore;
May the cold of her glens be confined to the climate,
Nor enter the heart, tho' it creep through the door;
And never may we while we love and revere her,
As long as we 're brave, and warm-hearted and true,
Want reason to boast her,
Or whisky to toast her;
Scotland for ever, and old Mountain Dew!
Her fame, like her highland hills, last evermore;
May the cold of her glens be confined to the climate,
Nor enter the heart, tho' it creep through the door;
And never may we while we love and revere her,
As long as we 're brave, and warm-hearted and true,
Want reason to boast her,
Or whisky to toast her;
Scotland for ever, and old Mountain Dew!
| The Hope of the World and other poems | |