The Galloway shepherds/The royal highlanders farewel

The Royal Highlander’s Farewel.

Tune.—Lochaber no more.

Farewel to Great Britain, since we leave the shore,
Perhaps we shall see thee dear Island no more;
O then it must grieve us and trouble our mind,
To leave our relations and friends all behind:
Our fathers and mothers, and sisters to mourn,
And brothers all doubtful if e’er we return;
Yet tho’ this must grieve us, it troubles us more,
To leave these dear charmers whom we do adore.

⁠In Glasgow fair city, how did we delight,
What pleasure enjoy’d by day and by night,
In summer sweet season, when first we came here,
What crowds did surround us, they lov’d us so dear,
How sweet was our music that play’d on the green,
When hundreds of sweet girls were there to be seen;
But now it’s all over, we’ll play there no more,
We’ll hear no sweet music, but cannons that roar.

⁠When summner is coming the meadows look gay,
And flowers shall be clothed in their swcet array.
The hawthorn shall blossom, the daisies shall spring,
The lark and the linnet, so sweetly shall sing;
In the groves that cover she banks of the clyde,
Where often we’ve walked with joy on each side,
But short was our pleasure, unconstant like dreams,
For now we must leave thee and thy purling streams.

⁠Well, since 'tis our orders, why should we repine,
For glory and honour is all our design:
With gun & with broad sword we’ll face all our foe,
And deal their destruction by our mighty blows.
We’ll light like brave heroes of fame and renown,
To defend our country, and support the crown,
And like our ancestors, as we have been told,
We'll rush to the battle like lions so bold.

⁠Our country requires it, our king he commands,
To conquer our foes and to take all their lands;
And when we’ve subdu’d them we'll share all the spoil,
As fruits of our labour, our hardships and toil,
Our country shail praise us, our king will reward,
Our valour and courage, with love and regard,
So then we’ll come to you with riches full store,
And never shall leave you nor the British shore.

⁠But as there are dangers attending on war,
May heaven preserve us, poor souls that we are;
When the guns they shall rattle, the cannons shall roar
And hundreds are lying in their blood and gore;
When the shrieks of the wounded shall mount to the skies,
And numbers are falling that never shall rise,
Let your prayers dear charmers be sent upon high,
To save us from danger, when, the bullets do fly.

⁠But if ’tis our fortune to fall on the field,
Our courage unspotted we never shall yield:
If we are but victors tho’ purchas’d by death,
We’ll resign up our life, and with our last breath,
We’ll bless the glad moment that e’er brough us here,
To die for our country and near shed a tear,
Our names shall be ranked, 'mong them who were great.
And ages to come yet shall read of our fate.