Six Popular Songs (4)/Scotland Yet
SCOTLAND YET.
Gae bring my gude auld harp ance Mair, Gae bring it free and fast,For I maun sing anither sang Ere a' my glee be past;An' trow ye as I sing my lads, The burden o't shall be—Auld Scotland's howes, and Scotland's knowes, And Scotland's hills for me;I'll drink a cup to Scotland yet, Wi' a' the honours three.
The heath waves wild upon her hills, And foaming frae the fells,Her fountains sing of freedom still, As they dash down the dells;For weel I lo'e the land, my lads, That's girded by the sea—Then Scotland's vales, and Scotland's dales, And Scotland's hills for me; I'll drink a cup to Scotland yet, Wi' a' the honours three.
The thistle wags upon the fields Whare Wallace bare his blade,They gave her foemen's dearest blude To dye her auld grey plaid;And looking to the lift, my lads, He sang this doughty glee:—Auld Scotland's richt, and Scotland's micht, And Scotland's hills for me;I'll drink a cup to Scotland yet, Wi' a' the honours three.
They tell o' lan's wi' brichter skies, Whare freedom's voice ne'er rang;Gi'e me the land whare Ossian dwelt, And Coila's minstrel sang—For I've nae skill o' lan's, my lays, That kenna to be free—Then Scotland's richt, and Scotland's micht, And Scotland's hills for me;I'll drink a cup to Scotland yet, Wi' a' the honours three.