Brandished th’ unconquered Caledonian spear:
The dreadful falchion of the hills she wore, }
Sung to the harp in many a tale of yore, }
That oft her rivers dyed with hostile gore. }
Blue was her rocky shield; her piercing eye
Flashed like the meteors of her native sky;
Her crest, high-plumed, was rough with many a scar,
And o’er her helmet gleamed the northern star.
The warrior youth appeared of noble frame,
The hardy offspring of some rustic dame: