March, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale, Why the deil dinna ye march forward in order? March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale, All the Blue Bonnets are bound for the Border. Many a banner spread, Flutters above your head, Many a crest that is famous in story; Mount and make ready then, Sons of the mountain glen, Fight for the Queen and the old Scottish glory! Come from the hills where the hirsels are grazing, Come from the glen of the buck and the roe; Come to the crag where the beacon is blazing, Come with the buckler, the lance, and the bow. Trumpets are sounding, War-steeds are bounding, Stand to your arms then, and march in good order, England shall many a day Tell of the bloody fray, When the Blue Bonnets came over the Border! _Sir Walter Scott._ CXXXIX BONNIE DUNDEE To the Lords of Convention ’twas Claver’se who spoke, Ere the King’s crown shall fall there are crowns to be broke; So let each Cavalier who loves honour and me, Come follow the bonnet of Bonnie Dundee. _Come fill up my cup, come fill up my can, Come saddle your horses, and call up your men; Come open the West Port, and let me gang free, And it’s room for the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee!_ Dundee he is mounted, he rides up the street, The bells are rung backward, the drums they are beat; But the Provost, douce man, said, ‘Just e’en let him be, The Gude Town is weel quit of that Deil of Dundee!’ As he rode down the sanctified bends of the Bow, Ilk carline was flyting and shaking her pow; But the young plants of grace they looked couthie and slee, Thinking, luck to thy bonnet, thou Bonnie Dundee. With sour-featured Whigs the Grassmarket was crammed, As if half the West had set tryst to be hanged; There was spite in each look, there was fear in each e’e, As they watched for the bonnets of Bonnie Dundee. These cowls of Kilmarnock had spits and had spears, And lang-hafted gullies to kill Cavaliers; But they shrunk to close-heads, and the causeway was free, At the toss of the bonnet of Bonnie Dundee. He spurred to the foot of the proud Castle rock, And with the gay Gordon he gallantly spoke; ‘Let Mons Meg and her marrows speak twa words or three For the love of the bonnet of Bonnie Dundee.’ The Gordon demands of him which way he goes: ‘Where’er shall direct me the shade of Montrose! Your Grace in short space shall hear tidings of me, Or that low lies the bonnet of Bonnie Dundee. There are hills beyond Pentland, and lands beyond Forth, If there’s lords in the lowlands, there’s chiefs in the North; There are wild Duniewassals three thousand times three Will cry _Hoigh!_ for the bonnet of Bonnie Dundee.