voices from the old world.
101
And shall they perish thus, whose sires,
Stout warrior-men and stern,
With Wallace battled side by side,
And bled at Bannockburn?
Stout warrior-men and stern,
With Wallace battled side by side,
And bled at Bannockburn?
Where Freedom's new-world realms expand
Where western sunsets glow,
A nation with one mighty Voice
Gives back the answer,—No!
'T is ours, 't is ours, the godlike power
To bid doomed thousands live!
Then let us on the waters cast
The bread of our reprieve.
Give, give!—when Scotia's proud sons beg,
O Heaven, who would not give?
Where western sunsets glow,
A nation with one mighty Voice
Gives back the answer,—No!
'T is ours, 't is ours, the godlike power
To bid doomed thousands live!
Then let us on the waters cast
The bread of our reprieve.
Give, give!—when Scotia's proud sons beg,
O Heaven, who would not give?
And forms of womanhood are there,—
The matron and the maid,—
Strange, haggard, famine-wasted shapes,
In tattered garbs arrayed.
And these are they whose beauties rare
Are famed in song and story!
And these are they whose mothers' names
Are linked with Scotland's glory!
The matron and the maid,—
Strange, haggard, famine-wasted shapes,
In tattered garbs arrayed.
And these are they whose beauties rare
Are famed in song and story!
And these are they whose mothers' names
Are linked with Scotland's glory!
