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Rh Then go blazon their numbers, their names, and their worth: All the broad swords, &c.

The highest in splendour, the humblest in place; united in honour, as kindred in race, the Private is brother in blood to His Grace; Oh! the broad swords, &c.

Huntly will joy that one bumper hath flow’d, himself and the meanest e’er crimson’d the sod, When he drew by his side, for his king and his God, The deadly broad sword, &c.

Then sacred to each, and to all let it be, Here’s a health to the heroes whose swords kept us free, Right descendants of Wallace, Montrose, and Dundee; Oh! the broad swords, &c.

low’rs the night o’er the wide stormy main, mild rosy morning rise cheerful again: morn returns to revisit the — Connel returns to his Flora no more:

see on yon mountain, the dark cloud of death Connel’s lone cottage lies low on the heath; bloody and pale, on a far distant shore; lies, to return to his Flora no more.

light fleeting spirits that glide o’er the steep, would you but waft me across the wild deep! fearless I’d mix in the battle’s loud roar— die with my Connel, and leave him so more.