Those visions o’er my thought have pass’d;
Where mountain vapours darkly roll,
That spirit hath possess’d my soul;
And shadowy forms have met mine eye.
The beings of futurity;
And a deep voice of years to be
Hath told that Scotland shall be free!
He comes! exult, thou Sire of Kings!
From thee the chief, th’ avenger springs!
Far o’er the land he comes to save,