_Anne Macivar Grant._ BURNS CXXXI MY HEARTS IN THE HIGHLANDS _My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here, My heart’s in the Highlands a-chasing the deer, A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe-- My heart’s in the Highlands, wherever I go!_ Farewell to the Highlands, farewell to the North, The birth-place of valour, the country of worth! Wherever I wander, wherever I rove, The hills of the Highlands for ever I love. Farewell to the mountains high cover’d with snow; Farewell to the straths and green valleys below, Farewell to the forests and wild-hanging woods, Farewell to the torrents and loud-pouring floods! _My heart’s in the Highlands, my heart is not here, My heart’s in the Highlands a-chasing the deer, A-chasing the wild deer, and following the roe-- My heart’s in the Highlands, wherever I go!_ _Robert Burns._ CXXXII BRUCE TO HIS MEN AT BANNOCKBURN Scots, wha hae wi’ Wallace bled, Scots, wham Bruce has aften led, Welcome to your gory bed Or to victorie! Now’s the day, and now’s the hour: See the front o’ battle lour, See approach proud Edward’s power-- Chains and slaverie! Wha will be a traitor knave? Wha can fill a coward’s grave? Wha sae base as be a slave?-- Let him turn, and flee! Wha for Scotland’s King and Law Freedom’s sword will strongly draw, Freeman stand or freeman fa’, Let him follow me! By Oppression’s woes and pains, By your sons in servile chains, We will drain our dearest veins But they shall be free! Lay the proud usurpers low! Tyrants fall in every foe! Liberty’s in every blow! Let us do, or die! _Robert Burns._ CXXXIII THE DUMFRIES VOLUNTEERS Does haughty Gaul invasion threat? Then let the loons beware, Sir, There’s wooden walls upon our seas, And volunteers on shore, Sir! The Nith shall run to Corsincon, And Criffel sink in Solway, Ere we permit a foreign foe On British ground to rally! O let us not, like snarling tykes, In wrangling be divided, Till, slap! come in an unco loun, And wi’ a rung decide it! Be Britain still to Britain true, Amang oursels united! For never but by British hands Maun British wrangs be righted! The kettle o’ the Kirk and State, Perhaps a clout may fail in’t; But Deil a foreign tinkler loon Shall ever ca’ a nail in’t! Our fathers’ blude the kettle bought, And wha wad dare to spoil it, By Heav’ns! the sacrilegious dog Shall fuel be to boil it! The wretch that wad a tyrant own, And the wretch, his true-sworn brother, Who would set the mob above the throne, May they be damned together! Who will not sing ‘God save the King,’ Shall hang as high’s the steeple; But while we sing ‘God Save the King,’ We’ll ne’er forget the People! _Robert Burns._