The mighty in thousands are pouring from Spain,
The Scots—the true Scots4 shall come back again;
To far distant exile no more shall they steal.
But waft the right king to his fond Grana Weal.
Raise your hearts and exult, my beloved! at my words.
Your eyes to your king, and your hands to your swords!—
The Highlands shall send forth the bonnetted Gael,
To grace the glad nuptials of Grana Weal.
And Louis, and Charles, and the heaven-guided Pope,
And the king of the Spaniards shall strengthen our hope;
One religion—one kindred—one soul shall they feel.
For our heart enthroned Exile and Grana Weal.
With weeping and wailing, and sorrow and shame—
And anguish of heart that no pity dare claim;
The craven English churls shall all powerless kneel
To the home-restor'd Stuart and Grana Weal!
F 2
