Corn laws, a new song/The Land of the Thistle

THE LAND OF THE THISTLE.

Tune.—Black Jock.

YOU may talk of the land that gave Patrick his fame,
The land of the Ocean and Anglean Name,
With the red blushing roses and shamrock so green,
Far dearer to me are the hills of the north,
The land of blue mountains, the birth-place of worth,
Those bleak hills where freedom has placed her abode,
And those wide spreading glens where no slave ever trode,
Where grows the red heather
And Thistle so green.

Though rich be the soil where blossoms the rose,
And bleak are our mountains, and covered with snows,
Where grows the red heather and Thistle so green;
Yet, for friendship sincere, and for loyalty true,
And for courage so bold, that ne'er foe could subdue,
Unmatched is our country, unrivalled our swains,
And lovely and true are the Nymphs on our plains,
Where grows the red heather
And Thistle so green.

Far famed are our sires in the battles of yore,
And many a cairney does rise on our shore,
O'er the foes that invaded the thistle so green;
And many a cairney shall rise o'er our strand,
Should the torrent of war ever pour o'er our land
For let foe come on foe, like wave ⟨upon⟩ wave,
We'll gi'e them a welcome, we'll gie them a grave
Beneath the red heather
And thistle so green.

Oh! dear to our souls are these blessings of heaven,
The land which we boast off,—that land ⟨which⟩ we live in,
The land of the thistle,—the thistle so green;
For that land, and that freedom, our ⟨forefathers⟩ bled,
And we swear by the blood that our fathers ⟨have⟩ shed,
That no foot of a foe shall e'er tread on the grave,
But the thistle shall bloom o'er the bed of ⟨the⟩ brave,
The thistle of Scotland,
The Thistle so green.

D. Mackenzie, Printer.

FINIS.