Thy ravaged country bids thee hail!
Rejoice!—while yet exulting cries
From England’s conquering host arise,
And strains of choral triumph tell
Her Royal Slave hath fought too well!
Oh, dark the clouds of woe that rest
Brooding o’er Scotland’s mountain-crest!
Her shield is cleft, her banner torn,
O’er martyr’d chiefs her daughters mourn,
And not a breeze but wafts the sound