Page:Songs of bonnie Scotland.pdf/14

 14 And trow ye, as I sing, my lads, The burden o't shall be Auld Scotland's howes, and Scotland's knowes, And Scotland's hills for me; I'll drink a cup to Scotland yet, Wi' a' the honours three ! The heath waves wild upon her hills; And foaming through the fells, Her fountains sing of freedom still, As they dash down the dells ! And weel I lo'e the land, my lads, That's girded by the sea- Then Scotland's vales, and Scotland's dales, And Scotlands hills for me; I'll drink a cup to Scotland yet, Wi' a' the honours three ! The thistle wags upon the fields Where Wallace bare his blade, That gave her foeman's dearest blood, To dye her auld grey plaid ; And looking to the lift, my lads, He sang this doughty glee- Auld Scotland's right, and Scotland's might, And Scotlands hills for me; I'll drink a cup to Scotland yet, Wi' a' the honours three ! They tell o' lan's wi' brichter skies, Where freedom's voice ne'er rang; Gie me the lan' where Ossian dwelt, And Coila's minstrel sang- For I've nae skill o'lan's, my lads, That ken na to be free-