The Book of Scottish Song/Scotland yet

Scotland yet.

[Written by the Rev. H. S. Riddel. Set music by Peter Macleod.]

Gae bring my gude auld harp ance mair,
Gae bring it firm and fast—
For I maun sing anither sang,
Ere a' my glee be past.
And 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 o' freedom still,
As they dance down the dells;
And weel I lo'e the land, my lads,
That's girded by the sea;
Then Scotland's dales, and Scotland's vales,
And Scotland's hills for me!
I'll drink a cup to Scotland yet,
Wi' a' the honours three.

Her thistle wags upon the fields
Where Wallace bore his blade,
That gave her foemen's dearest bluid
To dye her auld grey plaid;
And looking to the lift, my lads,
He sang this doughty glee,
Auld Scotland's right, and Scotland's might,
And Scotland's hills for me!
Then drink a cup to Scotland yet,
Wi' a' the honours three.

They tell o' lands wi' brighter skies,
Where freedom's voice ne'er rang—
Gi'e me the hills where Ossian dwelt,
And Coila's Minstrel sang;
For I've nae skill o' lands, my lads,
That ken na to be free,
Then Scotland's right, and Scotland's might,
And Scotland's hills for me!
We'll drink a cup to Scotland yet,
Wi' a' the honours three.

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