From slumber in thine inmost heart?
No secret voice thy bosom thrill,
For thine own Scotland pleading still?
Oh! wake thee yet—indignant, claim
A nobler fate, a purer fame,
And cast to earth thy fetters riven,
And take thine offer’d crown from heaven.
Wake! in that high majestic lot
May the dark past be all forgot;
And Scotland shall forgive the field