My Scottish Boy.
My Scottish boy why art thou sad—1
Dull sorrow clouds thy brow,2
As if some evil omen had3
Crept o’er thy spirit now ?4
Do fearful visions fill thy sight,5
And solemnize thine air,6
And hast thou reach’d this world of light7
For nought but grief and care ?8
My Scottish boy, come cheer thee yet,9
Glory hath radiance flung10
O’er plains where Fingal’s sword was wet—11
In halls where Ossian sung ;12
Their deeds of fame rode on the gale13
Thas floats o’er Morven’s hills14
And sire taught son the glorious tale15
Along the mountain rills.16
My Scottish boy, Imperial Rome17
Once tried to waste thy land,18
The cairn shows still the hero’s tomb19
Who fell with spear in hand.20
The conquering eagle proud did wave,21
It over Gaul did flee,22
But Scotland, thou didst point a grave23
While devastating thee.24
My Scottish boy, the evening fire25
Hath blazed more bright and pure—26
When deeds were told of Wallace—ire,27
Which homely mode made sure ;28
My Scottish boy, hast thou not heard,29
How bannered legions came30
To crush the bloom upon our sward,31
And freedom’s holiest flame.32
The covenanter nobly stood33
And view’d power’s gory car :34
Truth stood ’gainst might, and stemmed with blood35
The thunder-bolt of war.36
My Scottish boy, thy cloudy sky—37
Thy wild and daring coast—38
Have daunted many a hero’s eye39
Whose sword was all his boast.40
Let not the glens and ravines deep,41
Where pilgrims love to roam,42
Be owned by men who make us weep,43
And blast the joys of home.44
My Scottish boy, thy native lyre45
Hath sounded in thine ear ;46
When touch’d by Burns, what hallow’d fire,47
Oft brings the heartfeit tear ;48
And gifted minds whose adverse fate49
Ne’er chilled their love of fame,50
They soared above the world’s hate,51
Their musings made it tame.52
My Scottish boy, thy bonnet raise,53
Fame holdeth still her scroll ;54
Thy features speak of virtue’s ways—55
Thine eyes a generous soul.56
What sires have done their sons may do,57
For Liberty they’ve striven,58
The thistle blooms to hearts that’s true,59
The Patriot’s home is heaven.60