3
The English Rose was ne’er so red,
The Shamrock wav’d where glory led,
And the Scottish Thistle rais’d its head.
And smil’d upon Vittoria!
Loud was the battle’s stormy swell,
Whar’ thousands fought and many fell;
But the Glasgow heroes bore the bell.
At the battle o’ Vittoria!
The Paris maids may ban them a’,
Their lads are maistly wed awa',
An’ cauld and pale as wreaths o’ snaw,
They lie up on Vittoria.
Peace, to the spirits o’ the brave,
Let all their trophies for them wave.
An’ green be our Cadogan’s grave,
Upon the field Vittoria.
Shout on, my boys, your glasses drain,
An’ fill a bumber up again;
Pledge to the leading star o’ Spain,
The hero o’ Vittoria.
Scotch Sandy's Address.
Ha! bonny lad, ye've now run wrang;
Thae nor’lan’ birkies, stiff and strang,
