The Heart of Freedom and Independence

Address of Beelzebub
To the Right Honorable the Earl of Breadalbane President of the Right Honorable the Highland Society, which met on the 23rd of May last, at the Shakespeare, Covent Garden, to concert ways and means to frustrate the designs of five hundred Highlanders who, as the Society were informed by Mr. M’Kenzie of Applecross, were so audacious as to attempt an escape from their lawful lords and masters whose property they were, by emigrating from the lands of Mr Macdonald of Glengary to the wilds of Canada, in search of that fantastic thing – Liberty. . . .

. . . ‘Tis Liberty’s bold note I swell:
Thy harp, Columbia, let me take!
See gathering thousands, while I sing,
A broken chain, exulting, bring
And dash it in a tyrant’s face,
And dare him to his very beard,
And tell him he no more is fear’d,
No more the despot of Columbia’s race!
A tyrants’s proudest insults brav’d,
They shout a People freed! . . .
Ode for General Washington’s Birthday

***

Hey, Johnnie Cope, are ye wauking yet?
Or are ye sleeping I would wit;
O, haste ye get up, for the drums do beat;
O fye! Cope, rise in the morning.

An ye had been whare I hae been,
Ye wad na been sae cantie, O!
An ye had seen what I hae seen
On the braes o’ Killiecrankie, O!

***

. . . ‘I faught at land, I faught at sea,
At hame I faught my auntie, O;
But I met the Devil and Dundee
On the braes o’ Killiecrankie, O.’

Killiecrankie

***

O, he’s a ranting, roving lad!
He is a brisk an’ a bonie lad!
Betide what may, I will be wed,
And follow the boy wi’ the White Cockade!

My love was born in Aberdeen,
The boniest lad that e’er was seen;
But now he makes our hearts fu’ sad –
He takes the field wi’ his White Cockade.

I’ll sell my rock, my reel, my tow,
My guid gray mare and hawkit cow,
To buy myself a tartan plaid,
To follow the boy wi’ the White Cockade.

The White Cockade

***

An’ Charlie he’s my darling,
My darling, my darling,
Charlie he’s my darling –
The young Chevalier!

***

My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here,
My heart’s in the Highlands a-chasing the deer,
A-chasing the wild deer and following the roe –
My heart’s in the Highlands, wherever I go!

Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North,
The birthplace of valour, the country of worth!
Wherever I wander, wherever I rove,
The hills of the Highlands for ever I love.

Farewell to the mountains high cover’d with snow,
Farewell to the straths and green valleys below,
Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods,
Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods!

***

Go, fetch to me a pint o’ wine,
And fill it in a silver tassie,
That I may drink before I go
A service to my bonie lassie!
The boat rocks at the pier o’ Leith,
Full loud the wind blaws frae the Ferry,
The ship rides by the Berwick-Law,
And I maun leave my bonie Mary.

The trumpets sound, the banners fly,
The glittering spears are ranked ready,
The shouts o’ war are heard afar,
The battle closes deep and bloody.
It’s not the roar o’ sea or shore
Wad make me langer wish to tarry
Nor shouts o’ war that’s heard afar:
It’s leaving thee, my bonie Mary!

The Silver Tassie

***

Scots wha hae wi’ Wallace bled,
Scots, wham Bruce has aften led,
Welcome to your gory bed
Or to victorie!

Now’s the day, and now’s the hour:
See the front o’ battle lour,
See approach proud Edward’s power –
Chains and slaverie!

Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha can fill a coward’s grave?
Wha sae base as be a slave? –
Let him turn, and flee!

Wha for Scotland’s King and Law
Freedom’s sword will strongly draw,
Freeman stand or freeman fa’,
Let him follow me!

By Oppressions’s woes and pains,
By your sons in servile chains,
We will drain our dearest veins
But they shall be free!

Lay the proud usurpers low1
Tyrants fall in every foe!
Liberty’s in every blow!
Let us do, or die!

Bruce’s Address before Bannockburn

***

And for auld lang syne, my jo,
For auld lang syne,
We’ll tak a cup o’ kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And never brought to mind?
Should auld acquaintance be forgot,
And days o’ lang syne?

And surely ye’ll be your pint-stowp!
And surely I’ll be mine!
And we’ll tak a cup of kindness yet,
For auld lang syne.

We twa hae run about the braes
And pu’d the gowans fine:
But we’ve wander’d money a weary foot
Sin auld lang syne.

We two hae paidl’d i’ the burn,
Frae mornin’ sun till dine;
But seas between us braid hae roar’d
Sin auld lang syne.

And there’s a hand, my trusty fiere!
And gie’s a hand o’ thine!
And we’ll tak a right gude-willy waught,
For auld lang syne.