Classic Poem

When I sat in the service o' foreign commanders,
Selling my sword for a beggar-man's fee,
Learning the trade o' the warrior who wanders,
To mak' ilka stranger a sworn enemie;
There was ae thought that nerved me, and brawly it served me
With pith to the claymore wherever I won,
'Twas the auld sodger's story, that, gallows or glory,
The Hielan's, the Hielan's were crying me on!

I tossed upon swinging seas, splashed to my kilted knees,
Ocean or ditch it was ever the same;
In leaguer or sally, tattoo or revally,
The message on every pibroch that came,
Was “Cruachan, Cruachan, O son remember us,
Think o' your fathers and never be slack!”
Blade and buckler together, though far off the heather,
The Hielan's, the Hielan's were all at my back!

The ram to the gate-way, the torch to the tower,—
We rifled the kist, and the cattle we maimed;
Our dirks stabbed at guess through the leaves o' the bower,
And crimes we committed that needna be named:
Moonlight or dawning grey, Lammas or Lady-day,
Donald maun dabble his plaid in the gore;
He maun hough and maun harry, or should he miscarry,
The Hielan's, the Hielan's will own him no more!

A Sergeant o' Pikes, I have pushed and have parried O,
My heart still at tether in bonny Glenshee;
Weary the marches made, sad the towns harried O,
But the bonny green heather was aye at my knee:—
The hill-berry mellowing, stag-o'-ten bellowing,
The song o' the fold and the tale by the hearth,
Bairns at the crying and auld wives a-dying—
The Hielan's sent wi' me to fight round the earth!