Maclaine

Banners are waving o'er Morven's dark heath,

Claymores are flashing from many a sheath;

Hark! 'tis the gathering. On, onward! they cry;

Far flies the signal to conquer or die.

Then follow thee, follow a boat to the sea,

Thy Prince in Glen Moidart is waiting for thee,

Where war-pipes are sounding and banners are free,

Maclaine and his clansmen the foremost you'll see.

Wildly the war-cry has startled yon stag,

And waken'd the echoes of Gillian's lone crag;

Up hill and down glen each brave mountaineer

Has belted his plaid and has mounted his spear.

Then follow thee, &c.

The signal is heard from mountain to shore,

They rush like the flood o'er dark Corry-vohr,

The war-note is sounding, loud, wildly, and high,

Louder they shout, On, to conquer or die!

Then follow thee, &c.

The heath-bell at morn so proudly ye trod,

Son of the mountain! now covers thy sod;

Wrapt in your plaid, 'mid the bravest ye lie,

The words as ye fell still conquer or die.

Then follow thee, &c.