XIX.
BOAT SONG.
Hail to the Chief who in triumph advances!
Honor’d and bless’d be the ever-green Pine!
Long may the tree, in his banner that glances,
Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line!
Heaven send it happy dew,
Earth lend it sap anew,
Gayly to bourgeon,[124] and broadly to grow,
While every Highland glen
Sends our shout back agen,[125]
“Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu,[126] ho! ieroe!”
Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the fountain,
Blooming at Beltane, in winter to fade;
When the whirlwind has stripp’d every leaf on the mountain,
The more shall Clan-Alpine exult in her shade.
Moor’d in the rifted rock,
Proof to the tempest’s shock,
Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow;
Menteith and Breadalbane,[127] then,
Echo his praise agen,
“Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!”