Page:Bon-Accord Sangster.pdf/5

 Fraternity, too, we are leagued to advance,

With those who our artizans kick out of France,

Such brotherly love, sure, the Irishman tried,

Who placed reciprocity all on one side.

The men who their country's fair character blot,

And basely degrade the proud name of a Scot,

The red rampant Lion would tear from our flag,

And over them flutter the tricolour rag.

But shame to the man that would cover his eyes,

Nor blessings of Plenty and Liberty prize;

Nor grateful acknowledge the Peace we enjoy,

Nor his head nor his hand to defend them employ.

The blast o' war, on Brass o' Mar,

Arous'd rebellion's stour, man;

The bagpipes clear, the clans did cheer,

To fecht at Sherra-moor, man:

Then foreign field saw sword an' shield,

Baith Dons an' Munsies claw, man:

The pibroch gay, that cleared the way,

Was Up and waur them a', man.

But bowden bags, an' drones wi' flags

Gaed out as Peace cam' in, man;

An' saurless gypes preserv'd the pipes,

That only gya the win', man;

A light they scratch, and haud the match

Where they tobacco stuff in;

Then raise a smoke wad smore a brock,

While aff they scour puff-pullin'!