For the Tweedale Volunteers
The Scots Magazine, LXVI (March 1804), pp. 217-218
See, my countrie's banners fly!
Furie burns in evrie eye!
Why, my Jeanie, why that sigh?
Shall I shrink when danger's near?
Tho' I tear me frae thy arms,
I'm na dead to beautie's charms;
'Tis to shield frae war's alarms,
A' that to my soul is dear!
Come now, Jock, gie me your hand,
If I fa' on Scotia's strand,
Mind a father's last command,
An' a father's blessin' claim;
When thy arm the sword can wield,
Stand thy king an' countrie's shield,
Never Scotland's glory yield,
Never stain thy father's fame!
You, my Peggie, blushin' flower,
Smilin' in the vernal hour!
Can I in a villain's power
Thy unrifled blossom see?
If the tyrant o'er the waves,
Dare conduct his host o' slaves,
Scotia's sons shall on their graves,
Plant the tree o' Libertie!
If, in adverse battle tost,
I behold my countrie lost,
Then I'll on th' extremest coast,
Stand my dearest fame to save!
There, my blood-stain'd sword I'll draw!
There, on Scotland's name I'll ca'!
There, wi' Libertie, I'll fa'!
An' there we beath shall fill ea grave!