HAIL TO THE CHIEF WHO IN TRIUMPH ADVANCES![78]
Hail to the chief who in triumph advances!
Honour'd and bless'd be the ever-green pine!
Long may the tree, in his banner that glances,
Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line!
Heaven send it happy dew,
Earth lend it sap anew,
Gaily to bourgeon, and broadly to grow,
While every Highland glen
Sends our shout back agen,
Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!
Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the fountain,
Blooming at Beltane, in winter to fade;
When the whirlwind has stripp'd every leaf on the mountain,
The more shall Clan-Alpine exult in her shade;
Moor'd in the rifted rock
Proof to the tempest shock,
Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow;
Menteith and Breadalbane, then,
Echo his praise agen,
Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!
Proudly our pibroch has thrill'd in Glen Fruin,
And Bannochar's groans to our slogan replied;
Glen Luss and Ross-dhu, they are smoking in ruin,
And the best of Loch Lomond lie dead on her side.
Widow and Saxon maid
Long shall lament our raid,
Think of Clan-Alpine with fear and with woe;
Lennox and Leven-Glen
Shake when they hear agen,
Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!
Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the Highlands!
Stretch to your oars for the ever-green pine!
Oh, that the rosebud 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!
THE HEATH THIS NIGHT MUST BE MY BED.[79]
The heath this night must be my bed,
The bracken curtains for my head,
My lullaby the warder's tread,
Far, far from love and thee, Mary.
To-morrow eve, more stilly laid,
My couch may be the bloody plaid,
My vesper song, thy wail, sweet maid!
It will not waken me, Mary!