ON the heights of Killiecrankie | |
| Yester-morn our army lay: | |
| Slowly rose the mist in columns | |
| From the river’s broken way; | |
| Hoarsely roared the swollen torrent, | 5 |
| And the pass was wrapped in gloom, | |
| When the clansmen rose together | |
| From their lair amidst the broom. | |
| Then we belted on our tartans, | |
| And our bonnets down we drew, | 10 |
| And we felt our broadswords’ edges, | |
| And we proved them to be true; | |
| And we prayed the prayer of soldiers, | |
| And we cried the gathering-cry, | |
| And we clasped the hands of kinsmen, | 15 |
| And we swore to do or die! | |
| Then our leader rode before us | |
| On his war-horse black as night— | |
| Well the Cameronian rebels | |
| Knew that charger in the fight!— | 20 |
| And a cry of exultation | |
| From the bearded warriors rose; | |
| For we loved the house of Claver’se, | |
| And we thought of good Montrose. | |
| But he raised his hand for silence— | 25 |
| “Soldiers! I have sworn a vow: | |
| Ere the evening-star shall glisten | |
| On Schehallion’s lofty brow, | |
| Either we shall rest in triumph, | |
| Or another of the Græmes | 30 |
| Shall have died in battle-harness | |
| For his Country and King James! | |
| Think upon the Royal Martyr— | |
| Think of what his race endure— | |
| Think on him whom butchers murder’d | 35 |
| On the field of Magus Muir:— | |
| By his sacred blood I charge ye, | |
| By the ruin’d hearth and shrine— | |
| By the blighted hopes of Scotland, | |
| By your injuries and mine— | 40 |
| Strike this day as if the anvil | |
| Lay beneath your blows the while, | |
| Be they Covenanting traitors, | |
| Or the brood of false Argyle! | |
| Strike! and drive the trembling rebels | 45 |
| Backwards o’er the stormy Forth; | |
| Let them tell their pale Convention | |
| How they fared within the North. | |
| Let them tell that Highland honour | |
| Is not to be bought nor sold, | 50 |
| That we scorn their Prince’s anger, | |
| As we loathe his foreign gold. | |
| Strike! and when the fight is over, | |
| If ye look in vain for me, | |
| Where the dead are lying thickest, | 55 |
| Search for him that was Dundee!” * * * * * | |
| And the evening-star was shining | |
| On Schehallion’s distant head, | |
| When we wiped our bloody broadswords, | |
| And returned to count the dead. | 60 |
| There we found him, gashed and gory, | |
| Stretch’d upon the cumbered plain, | |
| As he told us where to seek him, | |
| In the thickest of the slain. | |
| And a smile was on his visage, | 65 |
| For within his dying ear | |
| Pealed the joyful note of triumph, | |
| And the clansmen’s clamorous cheer: | |
| So, amidst the battle’s thunder, | |
| Shot, and steel, and scorching flame, | 70 |
| In the glory of his manhood | |
| Passed the spirit of the Græme! | |
| Open wide the vaults of Athol, | |
| Where the bones of heroes rest— | |
| Open wide the hallowed portals | 75 |
| To receive another guest! | |
| Last of Scots, and last of freemen— | |
| Last of all that dauntless race | |
| Who would rather die unsullied | |
| Than outlive the land’s disgrace! | 80 |
| O thou lion-hearted warrior! | |
| Reck not of the after-time: | |
| Honour may be deemed dishonour, | |
| Loyalty be called a crime. | |
| Sleep in peace with kindred ashes | 85 |
| Of the noble and the true, | |
| Hands that never failed their country, | |
| Hearts that never baseness knew. | |
| Sleep!—and till the latest trumpet | |
| Wakes the dead from earth and sea, | 90 |
| Scotland shall not boast a braver | |
| Chieftain than our own Dundee! | |
| |
