As he plunged among the German lines
To do his part what'er betide?
Did ye watch the tartans pouring down
From hill, and trench, and sweep
The cruel Teuton from the field,
Like herds of driven sheep?
Did ye hear the shot that echoed,
Till it reached a woodland lone?
Did ye see the mother's auld grey plaid,
Wrapped round her mourning head?—Ochone!