His banners in their glory wave,
And Albyn’s thousand harps awake
On hill and heath, by stream and lake,
To swell the strains that far around
Bid the proud name of Bruce resound!
And I—but wherefore now recall
The whisper’d omens of my fall?
They come not in mysterious gloom—
There is no bondage in the tomb!
O’er the soul’s world no tyrant reigns,