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Suppose, ah, suppose, that some cruel, cruel wound
But I will hope to see him yet in Scotland's bonnie bounds, But I will hope to see him yet in Scotland's bonnie bounds. His native land of liberty shall nurse his glorious wounds, While wide through all our Highland hills his warlike name
This song was written for the collection of Mr. George Thomson after the death of Burns. The subject was the departure for the Continent with his regiment of the Marquis of Huntly in 1799.
WILLIAM GLEN. Air -" Whistle o'er the lave o't."
Sing, a’ye bards, wi' loud acclaim,
Wha conquer'd at Vittoria.
On the mountains o' Vittoria.
Let blust'rin' Suchet crously crack,
He left upon Vittoria ;
He blew them at Vittoria.
Gi'e truth an' honour to the Dane,
Gi'e Britons a Vittoria.
The English Rose was ne'er sae red,
An' smiled upon Vittoria.
Loud was the battle's stormy swell,
At the battle of Vittoria.
Wi' quakin' heart and tremblin' knees
An' wantons on Vittoria.
Whan hearin' o' Vittoria.
Peace to the spirits o' the brave,
Upon thy field, Vittoria !
Wi’ roses on Vittoria.
Ye Caledonian war-pipes, play ;
A prelude to Vittoria.
Barossa an' Vittoria !
ANONYMOUS. About the year 1801. WHEN Abercromby, gallant Scot,
·Made Britain's faes to tack again, To fight by him it was my lot ;
But now I'm safe come back again. The cannons didna Donald fleg,
I'd like to hear them crack again ; My fears were for my bonnie Meg,
Lest I should ne'er come back again. Our leader fell,—so died the brave,
We'll never see his like again ; I was denied a sodger's grave,
For I am safe come back again. It's true they've ta’en frae me a leg ;
But wha for that would mak'a maen! Cheer up your heart, my bonnie Meg,
I've brought a leal heart back again. And though the wound it carried smart,
And twitch'd me sair wi' rackin' pain, Wi' honour's scars I wadna part,
Nor yet my leg take back again.
deck again; Cheer up, my lass, an' dinna fear,
Your Donald's safe come back again. Though mony a rattlin' blast has blawn,
There's plenty in the stack again; My wee lock siller's a'
ain Now sin? I'm safe come back again. Now may the wars for ever cease,
Your heart nae mair to rack again ; And may we live in love and peace,
Sin' Donald's safe come back again. But should my country call me forth
Her freedom to protect again, Claymore in hand I'd leave the North,
If I should ne'er come back again.
CALEDONIA ! thou land of the mountain and rock,
Of the ocean, the mist, and the wind;
Of the roebuck, the hart, and the hind ;
Though bleak thy dun islands appear,
That roam on these mountains so drear.
A foe from abroad, or a tyrant at home,
Could never thy ardour restrain;
Essay'd thy proud spirit in vain !
Of genius unshackled and free,
My loved Caledonia, for thee !
Sweet land of the bay and the wild-winding deeps,
Where loveliness slumbers at even,
A calm little motionless heaven !
Thou land of the valley, the moor, and the hill,
Of the storm and the proud rolling waveYes, thou art the land of fair liberty still,
And the land of my forefathers' grave !
LET them boast of the country gave Patrick his fame,
With the red-blushing roses and shamrock so green :
Where blooms the red heather and thistle so green.
Though rich be the soil where blossoms the rose,
Where blooms the red heather and thistle so green ;
Where rises the thistle, the thistle so green.