OLD Scotia, wake thy mountain strain In all its wildest splendours, And welcome back the lads again, Your honour's dear defenders! Be every harp and viol strung Till all the woodlands quaver: Of many a band your bards have sung, But never hailed a braver! Then raise the pibroch, Donald Bane, We're all in a key! And let it be a martial strain, That warriors bold may hear it! Ye lovely maids pitch high your notes, As virgin voice can sound them; Sing of your brave, your noble Scots, For glory kindles round them. Small is the remnant you will see Lamented be the others! But such a stem of such a tree, Take to your arms like brothers. Raise high the pibroch Donald Bane; Strike all our glen with wonder; Let the chaunter yell, and the drone-note swell. Till music speaks in thunder. What storm can rend your mountain rock? What wave your headlands shiver? Long have they stood the tempest's shock,— Thou know'st they will for ever. Sooner your eye these cliffs shall view, Split by the wind and weather, Than foemen eye the bonnet blue, Behind the nodding feather. O! raise the pibroch, Donald Bane, Our caps to the sky we'll send'em them; Scotland, thy honour who can stain? Thy laurels who can rend them? | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE PHANTOM HORSEWOMAN by THOMAS HARDY CASABIANCA by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS ENGLAND'S DEAD by FELICIA DOROTHEA HEMANS THE WANDER-LOVERS by RICHARD HOVEY THE BLUE-FLAG IN THE BOG by EDNA ST. VINCENT MILLAY A BROADWAY PAGEANT by WALT WHITMAN HYMN TO FIRE by KONSTANTIN DMITRIYEVICH BALMONT |