Scotland was in it, and the days of old
When, to the well-remembered pibrochs of their sires,
They danced the exultant reel on hillsides cold,
Or warmed their hearts with patriotic fires.
The startled enemy, in sudden dread,
Staggered and paused, then, pale with terror, fled;
The clansmen followed—hurling shout on shout—
In martial madness on the hopeless rout.
’Twas but five minutes from the set of sun,
And ere it sank the victory was won!