And looks he not beyond that sea,
Where his lov'd land is lying?
And is it not for it that he
So heavily is sighing?
Scotland!—the word sounds as a spell,
The marks of magic bearing,
And, like a mother's voice, doth swell
Remembrances endearing—
Tho' rough thy shore, and cold thy clime,
Thy son, where'er he ranges,—
Be't by the heavy-rolling Rhine,
Or heavier-rolling Ganges,—
Still thinks upon thy thousand rills,
While the big tear doth gather,—
And longs to climb thy hoary hills,
And brush their native heather.
The Highland Soldier.
[Arranged to music by John Barnett.]
Oh! welcome, dear Scotland, my country, my home,
From my own native country no more will I roam;
I have travelled afar, but no spot upon earth
Can offer thy blessing, dear land of my birth.
For riches, for honour, for fame have I fought,
A portion of each with my sword have I bought;
But purer delights I now hasten to feel
At home, with my bannocks of barley meal.
Yet, still I am ready to fight in thy cause,
To guard our good monarch, religion, and laws;
Tho' the claims of my home are, wife, children, and ease,
The claims of my duty are stronger than these.
But call me to splendour or pleasure, oh no!
The splendour I'd scorn, and the pleasure forego;
No dainties abroad can such comfort reveal
As home, and a bannock of barley meal.
Yet think me not idle, oh! think not but here
Employment I find to a parent most dear;
In training my children their arms for the field,
Their hearts for those treasures which virtue will yield.
And oh! when by heaven I'm summon'd away,
My children, your mother protect and obey;
And the blessing of heaven, rewarding your zeal,
Will sweeten your bannock of barley meal.
The Campbell’s Pibroch.
[The first stanza by Burns, the second and third by an Amateur. The first stanza was originally adapted to the air entitled "Charles Gordon's Welcome Home."]
Out over the Forth I look'd to the north,
But what is the north or its Hielands to me?
The south nor the east bring nae ease to my breast,
The wild rocky mountains, or dark rolling sea.
But I look to the west, when I gae to my rest,
That happy my dreams and my slumbers may be,
For far in the west lives the lad I lo'e best,
The laddie that's dear to my bairnie and me.
His father he frown'd on the love of his boyhood,
And oh! his proud mother look'd cold upon me;
But he follow'd me aye to my hame in the shealing,
And the hills of Breadalbane rang wild wi' our glee.
A' the lang sunoimer day, 'mid the heather and bracken,
I joy'd in the light o' his bonnie blue e'e;
I little then thought that the wide western ocean
Would be rolling the day 'tween my laddie and me.
When we plighted our faith by the cairn on the mountain,
The deer and the roe stood bride-maidens to me;
And my bride's tyring glass was the clear crystal fountain,
What then was the warld to my laddie and me?
So I look to the west, when I gae to my rest,
That happy my dreams and my slumbers may be;
For far in the west is the lad I lo'e best,
He's seeking a hame for my bairnie and me.
Caledonians, brave and bold.
[Written by Geo. Macfarren.—Set to music by T. Cooke.]
Caledonians, brave and bold,
Heroes, never bought or sold,
Sons of sires, who died of old
To gild a martial story!
Beauty claims the warrior's shield,
In her cause the death sword yield
Draw and join the battle field,
On to death or glory!
