Shall brightly live from age to age,
Thy country’s proudest heritage!
Midst her green vales thy fame is dwelling,
Thy deeds her mountain winds are telling,
Thy memory speaks in torrent-wave,
Thy step hath hallow’d rock and cave,
And cold the wanderer’s heart must be
That holds no converse there with thee!
Yet, Scotland! to thy champion’s shade
Still are thy grateful rites delay’d;