The “Forty-Second” never dies—
It hath a regimental soul;
Fond Scotia, weeping, filled the blanks
Which Quatre Bras left in its roll.
At Alma, at Sevastopol,
At Lucknow, waved its bonnets blue!
Its dark green tartan, who but knows?
What heart but warms to “Forty-Two?”
But while we glory in the corps,
We’ll mind their martial brethren too;