As o'er the Highland hills I hied,
The Camerons in array I spied,
Lochiel's proud standard waving wide,
In all its ancient glory.
The martial pipe loud pierc'd the sky,
The song arose, resounding high
Their valour, faith, and loyalty,
That shine in Scottish story.
No more the trumpet calls to arms,
Awaking battle's fierce alarms,
But every hero's bosom warms
With songs of exultation;
While brave Lochiel at length regains,
Through toils of war, his native plains,
And, won by glorious wounds, attains
His high paternal station.
Let now the voice of joy prevail,
And echo wide from hill to vale.
Ye warlike clans, arise, and hail
Your laurell'd chiefs returning.
O'er every mountain, every isle,
Let peace in all her lustre smile,
And discord ne'er her day defile
With sullen shades of mourning.
Macleod, Macdonald, join the strain;
Macpherson, Fraser, and Maclean;
Through all your bounds let gladness reign,
Both prince and patriot praising,
Whose generous bounty richly pours
The streams of plenty round your shores,
To Scotia's hills their pride restores,
Her faded honours raising.
Let all the joyous banquet share,
Nor e'er let Gothic grandeur dare
With a scowling brow to overbear,
A vassal's rights invading.
Let Freedom's conscious sons disdain
To crowd his fawning timid train,
Nor even own his haughty reign,
Their dignity degrading.
Ye northern chiefs, whose rage, unbroke,
Has still repell'd the tyrant's shock;
Who ne'er have bow'd beneath her yoke
With servile base prostration;
Let each now train his trusty band
'Gainst foreign foes alone to stand
With undivided heart and hand,
For Freedom, King, and Nation.