8
Wha tor Scotiand’s king and saw.
Freedom’s sword will strongly draw?
Freemen stand, or Freemen fa’,
Caledonia, on wi’ me!
By Oppressions woes and pains!
By your sons in servile chains!
We will draw our dearest veins,
But they shall be free.
Lay the proud usurpers low!
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty’s in every blow;
Forward, let us do or die!
Highland Mary.
Ye banks, and braes, and streams around,
the Castle o’ Montgomery,
Green be your woods and fair your flowers,
your waters never drumlie!
There simmer first unfaulds her robes,
{em}}and there they langest tarry;
And there I took the last farewell
of my sweet Highland Mary.
How sweetly bloom’d the gay green birk,
how rich the hawthorn's blossom,
As underneath their fragrant shade
I clasp’d her to my bosom?
The golden hours, on angel wings,
flew o’er me and my dearie—
For dear to me as light and life,
was my dear Highland Mary
