Ho, ro, clansmen!
A long, strong pull together!—
Ho, ro, clansmen!
Wafted by the breeze of morn
We'll quaff the joyous horn together!—
Ho, ro, clansmen!
A long, strong pull together!—
Ho, ro, clansmen!
"We'll beat! we'll beat!" cries the Laird, in great delight. "Give it her, boys! Not one halfpennyworth o' that wind will we lose!"
The bow cleaves the blue water; the foam hisses away from her rudder. It is a race of the North against the South. Then the chorus again—