Classic Poem

GLENMORISTON

We're lost on the hills amo' heather an' deer;
Our cave's in a glen where the water rins clear;
We trust to our shanks an' our dirks without fear,
An' wile the puir HANOVER red-coats awa.

We wile them ow'r mosses an' pine covered braes —
We cheat them by nicht and watch them by days,
Till wan'ert we hae them where deil kens the ways,
Syne hame owr a linn we maun bid them awa.

But what the deil gars them come that way at a' —
Wi' their red coats an' guns an' cockit hats braw —
Do they think we're like sheep to be shot at a wa'?
An nae like the deer the win' blaws awa.

But the sasunnach loon has his e'en fu' o' fat:
He 's thick in the middle an' no' like a cat —
An' when he comes here what would he be at?
Sae oot owr a linn gar him loup an' awa.

Och! here's to the PRINCE they would take or would kill —
The days on the mountains we 've baffled them still
A fig for their care! and in spite o' their skill
We 'll yet win to FRANCE wi' LOCHIEL an' awa.