James Hogg

Scotia’s Glens

’MONG Scotia’s glens an’ mountains blue,
Where Gallia’s lilies never grew,
Where Roman eagles never flew,
    Nor Danish lions rallied;
Where skulks the roe in anxious fear,
Where roves the stately, nimble deer,
There live the lads to freedom dear,
    By foreign yoke ne’er galled.

There woods grow wild on every hill;
There freemen wander at their will;
Sure Scotland will be Scotland still
    While hearts so brave defend her.
“Fear not, our Sovereign liege,” they cry,
“We ’ve flourished fair beneath thine eye;
For thee we ’ll fight, for thee we ’ll die,
    Nor aught but life surrender.

“Since thou hast watched our every need,
And taught our navies wide to spread,
The smallest hair from thy gray head
    No foreign foe shall sever.
Thy honored age in peace to save,
The sternest host we ’ll dauntless brave,
Or stem the fiercest Indian wave,
    Nor heart nor hand shall waver.

“Though nations join yon tyrant’s arm,
While Scotia’s noble blood runs warm,
Our good old man we ’ll guard from harm,
    Or fall in heaps around him.
Although the Irish harp were won,
And England’s roses all o’errun,
’Mong Scotia’s glens with sword and gun,
    We ’ll form a bulwark round him.”