Page:Dearest Helen.pdf/7

 Unmatched is our country, unrivall’d our swains, And lovely and true is the nymphs on our plains,
 * Where rises the thistle—the thistle sae green.

Far fam’d are our sires in the battles of yore, And many the cairnies that rise on our shore,
 * O'er the foes that invaded the thistle sae green,

And many a cairnie shall rise on our strand, should the torrent of war ever burst on our land; Let foe come on foe, like wave upon wave, We’ll give them a welcome, we'll give them a grave,
 * Beneath the red heather and thistle sae green!

Oh! dear to our souls are the blessings of Heav’n, the freedom we boast of, the land which we live in,
 * The land of the thistle—the thistle sae green;

O'er that land and that freedom our forefathers bled, And we swear by the blood which our fathers have shed, That no foot of a foe shall e’er tread on their grave; That the thistle shall bloom on the bed of the brave—
 * The thistle of Scotia!—the thistle sae green!