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And many a carnie 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 leather 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,
For that land and that freedom our fathers have 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:
But the thistle shall bloom on the bed of the brave—
The thistle of Scotia!—the thistle sae green!
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 leather 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,
For that land and that freedom our fathers have 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:
But the thistle shall bloom on the bed of the brave—
The thistle of Scotia!—the thistle sae green!
The Wood-Pecker.
I knew by the smoke that so gracefully swell'd
Above the green elms that a cottage was near,
Above the green elms that a cottage was near,
