Page:Corn laws, a new song.pdf/8

8 Far famed are our sires in the battles of yore,

And many a cairney does rise on our shore,

O'er the foes that invaded the thistle so green;

And many a cairney shall rise o'er our strand,

Should the torrent of war ever pour o'er our land

For let foe come on foe, like wave wave,

We'll gi'e them a welcome, we'll gie them a grave

Beneath the red heather

And thistle so green.

Oh! dear to our souls are these blessings of heaven,

The land which we boast off,—that land we live in,

The land of the thistle,—the thistle so green;

For that land, and that freedom, our bled,

And we swear by the blood that our fathers shed,

That no foot of a foe shall e'er tread on the grave,

But the thistle shall bloom o'er the bed of brave,

The thistle of Scotland,

The Thistle so green.