OUR NATIVE HILLS AGAIN.
Oh, swiftly bounds our gallant bark
Across the ocean drear,
While manly cheeks are pale wi' grief,
And wet wi' sorrow's tear.
The flowers that spring upon the Clyde
Will bloom for us in vain;
Nae mair wi' lightsome step we 'll climb
Our native hills again.
Amang their glens our fathers sleep,
Where mony a thistle waves;
And roses fair and gowans meek
Bloom owre their lowly graves.
But we maun dree a sadder fate
Far owre the stormy main;
We lang may look, but never see
Our native hills again.
Yet, 'mid the forests o' the west,
When starnies light the sky,
We'll gather round the ingle's side,
And sing o' days gane by;
And sunny blinks o' joy will come
To soothe us when alane,
And aft, in nightly dreams, we'll climb
Our native hills again.
HERE 'S A HEALTH TO SCOTIA'S SHORE.
Music by Alexander Hume.
Sing not to me of sunny shores
Or verdant climes where olives bloom,
Where, still and calm, the river pours
Its flood, 'mid groves of rich perfume;
Give me the land where torrents flash,
Where loud the angry cat'racts roar,
As wildly on their course they dash—
Then here's a health to Scotia's shore.
Sing not to me of sunny isles,
Though there eternal summers reign,
Where many a dark-eyed maiden smiles,
And gaudy flow'rets deck the plain;
Give me the land of mountains steep,
Where wild and free the eagles soar,
The dizzy crags, where tempests sweep—
Then here's a health to Scotia's shore.
Sing not to me of sunny lands,
For there full often tyrants sway
Who climb to power with blood-stain'd hands,
While crouching, trembling slaves obey;
Give me the land unconquer'd still,
Though often tried in days of yore,
Where freedom reigns from plain to hill—
Then here's a health to Scotia's shore.