And we felt our broadswords' edges, And we proved them to be true; And we prayed the prayer of soldiers, And we cried the gathering-cry, And we clasped the hands of kinsmen, And we swore to do or die! Then our leader rode before us On his war-horse black as night-- Well the Cameronian rebels Knew that charger in the fight!-- And a cry of exultation From the bearded warriors rose; For we loved the house of Claver'se, And we thought of good Montrose. But he raised his hand for silence-- "Soldiers! I have sworn a vow: Ere the evening-star shall glisten On Schehallion's lofty brow, Either we shall rest in triumph, Or another of the Graemes Shall have died in battle-harness For his Country and King James! Think upon the Royal Martyr-- Think of what his race endure-- Think on him whom butchers murder'd On the field of Magus Muir:-- By his sacred blood I charge ye, By the ruin'd hearth and shrine-- By the blighted hopes of Scotland, By your injuries and mine-- Strike this day as if the anvil Lay beneath your blows the while, Be they Covenanting traitors, Or the brood of false Argyle! Strike! and drive the trembling rebels Backwards o'er the stormy Forth; Let them tell their pale Convention How they fared within the North. Let them tell that Highland honour Is not to be bought nor sold, That we scorn their Prince's anger, As we loathe his foreign gold. Strike! and when the fight is over, If ye look in vain for me, Where the dead are lying thickest, Search for him that was Dundee!"