Must I the lord of all those hills,
A weary, exiled wanderer, roam,
And quietly view thy ruined walls,
My own, my loved ancestral home.
The red-coats burned thy lofty dome,
Home by a thousand ties made dear,
How glad from war or chase I've come,
In thee my heart to rest and cheer.
When peace did her white banner rear,
And loving vassal and his lord
Went forth to hunt the roe and deer,
And turned to grace the festal board.
The blood-red wine in plenty poured,
And pibrochs told of battles won,
Whilst " Senachie " would with pride record
The mighty deeds our sires had done.
Till martial fire in sire and son
Would burst into one glowing flame,
Whilst vows were breathed by every one,
He'd ne'er disgrace the Cameron name.
When time to raise our banner came,
And fiery cross had fleetly sped
To call the brave to fields of fame,
'Twas aye to victory we led.
The Southron foe our name did dread,
Though now Culloden's palm they bear,
They in their own pale blood might tread,
Had all our gallant clans been there.
Come, shade of Bruce, my vigil share,
Come o'er ungrateful Scotland, mourn,
She hath disowned thy rightful heir,
Indignant fire, my heart doth burn.
To wear a foreign yoke I'd spurn,
Nor 'gainst my lawful king rebel,
That crown and sceptre's from him torn,
For mercy's cause, they're fain to tell.
In Dutch or Guelph doth mercy dwell,
Ye gallant heroes of Glencoe,
Arise in gory shrouds, and tell
Your mournful tale of dool and woe.
And rise, ye brave, whose blood did flow
On dark Culloden's dreary moor,
And tell how when ye were laid low,
That " Butcher's " hand did stab ye o'er.
Oh, hush! my heart, and grieve no more,
This is no time to sit and rest,
I'll hie me to a foreign shore,
And long to get thy wrongs redressed.
Sweet home, within thee every breast
Did glow with love and purity,
And round thy hearth the stranger guest
Met kindest hospitality.
And though I roam beyond the sea,
I'll ne'er forget the golden hours
When I had ruled — a chieftain free,
'Mong Achnacarry's fairy bowers.
'Tis gore bedews the drooping flowers,
That now bedecks each dappled dell
Around thy ruined ancient towers,
Home of my heart, farewell, farewell!
Now Luna's lamp lights up the glen,
And I must hide from watchful foes,
I'll hie to where my prince has lain
In " balmy sleep " to drown his woes.
A weary, exiled wanderer, roam,
And quietly view thy ruined walls,
My own, my loved ancestral home.
The red-coats burned thy lofty dome,
Home by a thousand ties made dear,
How glad from war or chase I've come,
In thee my heart to rest and cheer.
When peace did her white banner rear,
And loving vassal and his lord
Went forth to hunt the roe and deer,
And turned to grace the festal board.
The blood-red wine in plenty poured,
And pibrochs told of battles won,
Whilst " Senachie " would with pride record
The mighty deeds our sires had done.
Till martial fire in sire and son
Would burst into one glowing flame,
Whilst vows were breathed by every one,
He'd ne'er disgrace the Cameron name.
When time to raise our banner came,
And fiery cross had fleetly sped
To call the brave to fields of fame,
'Twas aye to victory we led.
The Southron foe our name did dread,
Though now Culloden's palm they bear,
They in their own pale blood might tread,
Had all our gallant clans been there.
Come, shade of Bruce, my vigil share,
Come o'er ungrateful Scotland, mourn,
She hath disowned thy rightful heir,
Indignant fire, my heart doth burn.
To wear a foreign yoke I'd spurn,
Nor 'gainst my lawful king rebel,
That crown and sceptre's from him torn,
For mercy's cause, they're fain to tell.
In Dutch or Guelph doth mercy dwell,
Ye gallant heroes of Glencoe,
Arise in gory shrouds, and tell
Your mournful tale of dool and woe.
And rise, ye brave, whose blood did flow
On dark Culloden's dreary moor,
And tell how when ye were laid low,
That " Butcher's " hand did stab ye o'er.
Oh, hush! my heart, and grieve no more,
This is no time to sit and rest,
I'll hie me to a foreign shore,
And long to get thy wrongs redressed.
Sweet home, within thee every breast
Did glow with love and purity,
And round thy hearth the stranger guest
Met kindest hospitality.
And though I roam beyond the sea,
I'll ne'er forget the golden hours
When I had ruled — a chieftain free,
'Mong Achnacarry's fairy bowers.
'Tis gore bedews the drooping flowers,
That now bedecks each dappled dell
Around thy ruined ancient towers,
Home of my heart, farewell, farewell!
Now Luna's lamp lights up the glen,
And I must hide from watchful foes,
I'll hie to where my prince has lain
In " balmy sleep " to drown his woes.