MY MERRY HEARTS OF GOLD.
Tune-Whistle o'er the lave o't
To you my merry hearts of gold,
British valour must be told,
Victorious Britain ever bold,
Again we must review, man.
The rebel-tyrant and his train,
Again assembled on the plain,
He thought to make those fields his ain,
The plains of Waterloo, man.
Invincibles, a mighty throng,
Form'd in columns great and strong,
With crouded thousands lin'd along,
I was daring like to view, man.
No doubt he thought himself secure,
From all attacks of every power,
And that he'd conquer o'er and o'er,
The plains of Waterloo, man.
But our hero, whom he never saw,
Defensive lines did quickly draw,
With hardy veterans, heroes a',
And every one a true man.
Then the lofty colours fly,
Thousands wounded, thousands die,
They made him rue that he came nigh
The plains of Waterloo man.
Brave Wellington, with sword in hand.
His gallant heroes did command,
They soon did beat the rebel band,
And made their hero run, man:
In battle where his noble grace,
Did shew his dauntless warlike face,
Then Boney did commence his race,
And fled from Waterioo, man.
Many a race he's run indeed,
This seems to be his only creed,
Ay by his heels to save his head,
Ye ken that's naething new, man.
From Egypt's land he ran awa',
And from Moscow amang the snaw,
From Leipsic too; what he could claw,
And now from Waterloo, man.
New where's the crowns that he did wear;
And where the sceptre and the spear;
Ah, where are a' his friends so dear;
I think they are but few, man.
The bloody car he drew in vain
Across yon bonný verdant plain:
But he will never try again
The plains of Waterloo, man.