Come from Newbattle's ancient spires,
Bauld Lothian, with your knights and squires,
And match the metal of your sires,
Carle, n now the King's come!
You're welcome hame, my Montague!
Bring in your hand the young Buccleuch ;-
I'm missing some that I may rue,
Carle, now the King's come!
Come, Haddington, the kind and gay,
You've graced my causeway mony a day ;
I'll weep the cause if you should stay,
Carle, now the King's come!
Come premier duke, and carry doun,
Frae yonder craig, his ancient croun;
It's had a lang sleep and a soun'-
But, Carle, now the King's come!
Come, Athole, from the hill and wood,
Bring down your clansmen like a cloud;-
Come, Morton, show the Douglas' blood;
Carle, now the King's come!
Come, Tweeddale, true as sword to sheath;
Come, Hopetoun, fear'd on fields of death;
Come, Clerk, and give yon bugle breath;
Carle, now the King's come!
Come, Wemyss, who modest merit aids;
Come, Roseberry, from Dalmeny shades;
Breadalbane, bring your belted plaids;
Carle, now the King's come!
Come, stately Niddrie, auld and true,
Girt with the sword that Minden knew ;
We have ower few such lairds as you-
Carle, now the King's come!
King Arthur's grown a common crier,
He's heard in Fife and far Cantyre,
Fie, lads, behold my crest of fire!
Carle, now the King's come!
Saint Abb roars out, I see him pass
Between Tantallon and the Bass!-
Calton, get out your keeking-glass,
Carle, now the King's come!
The Carline stopp'd; and, sure I am,
For very glee had ta'en a dwam,
But Oman help'd her to a dram-
Carle, now the King's come!
My name it is Donald Macdonald,
I live in the Highlands so grand;
I've follow'd our banner, an' will do,
Wherever my Maker has land.
When ranked amang the blue bonnets,
Nae danger can fear me ava;
I ken that my brethren around me
Are either to conquer or fa'.
Brogues an' brochen an' a',
Brochen an' brogues an' a';
An' is na the laddie weel aff,
Wha has brogues an' brochen an' a'?
Short syne we were wonderfu' cantie
Our friends an' our country to see;
But since the proud consul's grown vauntie,
We'll meet him by land or by sea.
Wherever a clan is disloyal,
Wherever our king has a foe,
He'll quickly see Donald Macdonald,
Wi' his highlanders a' in a row.
Guns an' pistols an' a',
Pistols an' guns an' a';
He'll quickly see Donald Macdonald,
Wi' guns an' pistols an' a'.
What though we befriendit young Charlie ?
To tell it I dinna think shame ;
Poor lad! he cam' to us but barely,
And reckon'd our mountains his hame.
"Tis true that our reason forbade us,
But tenderness carried the day:
Had Geordie come friendless amang us,
Wi' him we had a' gane away.
Sword an' buckler an' a',
Buckler an' sword an' a,
For George we'll encounter the devil,
Wi' sword an' buckler an' a'.
An Oh! I wad eagerly press him
The keys o' the East to retain,
For should he gie up the possession,
We'll soon hae to force them again :
Than yield up an inch wi' dishonour,
Though it were my finishin' blow,
He aye may depend on Macdonald,
Wi's highlandmen all in a row.
Knees an' elbows an' a',
Elbows an' knees an' a':
Depend upon Donald Macdonald,
His knees an' elbows an' a'.
If Bonaparte land at Fort-William,
Auld Europe nae langer shall grane;
I laugh when I think how we'll gall him
Wi' bullet, wi' steel, an' wi' stane :
Wi' rocks o' the Nevis an' Gairy
We'll rattle him aff frae the shore,
Or lull him asleep in a cairney,
And sing him Lochaber no more!
Stanes an' bullets an' a',
Bullets an' stanes an' a';
We'll finish the Corsican callan'
Wi' stanes an' bullets an' a'.
The Gordon is gude in a hurry,
An' Campbell is steel to the bane,
An' Grant, an' Mackenzie, an' Murray,
An' Cameron will hurkle to nane.
The Stuart is sturdy and wannel,
An' sae is Macleod an' Mackay;
An' I their gude-brither Macdonald
Sall never be last in the fray.
Brogues an' brochen an a',
Brochen an' brogues an' a';
An' up wi' the bonny blue bonnet,
The kilt an' the feather an' a'.
THE THISTLE'S GROWN ABOON THE
Full white the Bourbon lily blows,
And fairer haughty England's rose;
Nor shall unsung the symbol smile,
Green Ireland, of thy lovely isle.
In Scotland grows a warlike flower,
Too rough to bloom in lady's bower;
His crest, when high the soldier bears,
And spurs his courser on the spears,
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