Old Scotland.
[George Allan. Set to Music by Peter Macleod in his "Original Melodies of Scotland."]
The breeze blows fresh, my gallant mates,
Our vessel cleaves her way,
Down ocean's depths, o'er heaven's heights,
Through darkness and through spray.
No loving moon shines out for us,
No star our course to tell—
And must we leave old Scotland thus?
My native land, farewell!
Then fast spread out the flowing sheet
Give welcome to the wind!
Is there a gale we'd shrink to meet,
When treachery's behind?
The foaming deep our couch will be,
The storm our vesper bell,
The low'ring heaven our canopy,
My native land, farewell!
Away, away across the main,
We'll seek some happier clime,
Where daring is not deem'd a stain,
Nor loyalty a crime.
Our hearts are wrung, our minds are toss'd,
Wild as the ocean's swell;
A kingdom and a birthright lost!
Old Scotland, fare thee well!