Page:Battle o' Vittoria.pdf/4

 I wat, hae gart you change your sang,

The sang of Victory.

Ye little dream'd, that at Moscow

The brave undaunted Kutusow,

Would lay your hard-won honours low,

An’ force you back to flee.

Tu' bauld ye vow’d in that fam'd place,

Ye wad to Sandy dictate peace;

Yet hame-ward sneaking in disgrace.

Upon the road are ye:

To it through seas o’ blude you strade.

Back through the same you now maun wade,

While mony a daring Cossack’s blade,

Like lightning meets your e’e.

I trow ye’ve led the troops o' France,

Aye, an’ yoursel, a bonny dance;

That ye’ll get hame—Man for your chance

Ae plack I wadna gie;

For round your ha’f-starv’d shiv'ring slaves,

The Russian flag triumphant waves;

Your deeds o’ bluid for vengeance craves,

An’ vengeance ye maun dree.

But shou’d ye yet frae ’mang them slide,

Ye’ve met enough to lay your pride;

O’er Europe a’ ye thought to ride

When ye began this plea.