Fugitive Poetry. 1600–1878/Conquer! or Fall

Conquer! Or Fall, like True Highland Men.

Brave sons of the mountain, to battle away!Behold, they wait us, in haughty array!   Though our number be small,   We can conquer or fall,   Like true Highlanders all!      Then away! away!

Though the path may be gory, we'll on! we'll on!Since it leadeth to glory, we'll on! we'll on!   Bright though sabres be gleaming,   And death-shots be beaming,   And the red blood be streaming,      We'll on! we'll on!

Say, where is the coward, who trembles or swerves?Let him turn, and await the base death he deserves!   As for us, or to live or die,   Ours be the battle-cry,   Vengeance and liberty!      On, then! on!

By the souls of our fathers, who sleep in their cairns;By their blood which is in us, our wives, and our bairns;   By all that cheer us,   The proud foe shall fear us,   As the offspring of heroes!      We'll on! then, on!

Then forth with your sword, and away with your sheath,Prepare for the harvest of conquest or death!   Loud bid your pibrochs roar,   Flourish each bright claymore,   Shout for MacCallain More!      On! on! on!