AULD Scotlan's hert an' baith her lugs war dirlin', Whan thun'erin' waves o' soun' gaed rowin', swirlin' Aroun' the Abbey Craig o' auld grey Stirling, Frae hunner music ban's and bag-pipes skirlin.' Oh! blithe was she to see her buirdly callans In tens o' thousands pourin' frae their dwallin's, Baith Dukes and Lords, an' mony trades an' callin's— Oh! prood was she, an' big her fu' hert swallin's. Wi' cheers the verra lift amaist was riven, Frae mornin's drumlie broo the clouds war driven; The sun cam' lauchin' oot—sair had he striven To see us frae the twal-oors' hight o' heaven. An' sic a sicht his e'e o' fire ne'er saw, Cam' Kirk, cam' State, cam' "Army, Physic, Law;" Leddies an' lassies, bonny burdies a', An' mony gawsy wives, baith braid an' braw. The lowe o' freedom burns sae het an' clear In Scotlan's hert this mony hunner year, That spite o' traitor Scot or Southern jeer, To Wallace' name this tower o' strength she'll rear. An' by his treacherous doom, whilk aye she'll murne, An' by the Bruce, an' by red Bannockburn— To your immortal memories she will turn For ever—Wallace, Bruce, an' Bannockburn. | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...THE ANGEL, FR. SONGS OF EXPERIENCE by WILLIAM BLAKE EARLY DEATH AND FAME by MATTHEW ARNOLD A STREET SKETCH by JOSEPH ASHBY-STERRY FAMILIARITY by EDMUND CHARLES BLUNDEN THE CONSOLATION OF PHILOSOPHY: BOOK 3 by ANICIUS MANLIUS SEVERINUS BOETHIUS |