I.
Sons of the Fair Isle! forget not the time
Ere spoilers had breathed the free air of your clime;
All that its eagles behold in their flight
Was yours, from the deep to each storm-mantled height.
Though from your race that proud birthright be torn,
Unquench’d is the spirit for monarchy born.
CHORUS.
Darkly though clouds may hang o’er us awhile,
The crown shall not pass from the Beautiful Isle.