Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the Highlands,
Stretch to your oars for the ever-green Pine!
O that the rose-bud that graces yon islands
Were wreathed in a garland around him to twine!
O that some seedling gem,
Worthy such noble stem,
Honour’d and bless’d in their shadow might grow!
Loud should Clan-Alpine then
Ring from the deepmost glen,
“Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!”