The grim Geneva ministers With anxious scowl drew near, As you have seen the ravens flock Around the dying deer. He would not deign them word nor sign, But alone he bent the knee; And veiled his face for Christ's dear grace Beneath the gallows-tree. Then, radiant and serene, he rose, And cast his cloak away; For he had ta'en his latest look Of earth and sun and day.
A beam of light fell o'er him, Like a glory round the shriven, And he climbed the lofty ladder As it were the path to heaven. Then came a flash from out the cloud, And a stunning thunder-roll; And no man dared to look aloft,-- Fear was on every soul. There was another heavy sound, A hush, and then a groan; And darkness swept across the sky,-- The work of death was done!
March, march, Ettrick and Teviotdale! Why the de'il dinna ye march forward in order? March, march, Eskdale and Liddesdale! All the Blue Bonnets are over 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 our old Scottish glory.
Come from the hills where your 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, and march in good order, England shall many a day Tell of the bloody fray, When the Blue Bonnets came over the Border.
Oh! why left I my hame? Why did I cross the deep? Oh! why left I the land Where my forefathers sleep? I sigh for Scotia's shore, And I gaze across the sea, But I canna get a blink O' my ain countrie.
The palm-tree waveth high, And fair the myrtle springs; And, to the Indian maid, The bulbul sweetly sings. But I dinna see the broom Wi' its tassels on the lee, Nor hear the lintie's sang O' my ain countrie.
Oh! here no Sabbath bell Awakes the Sabbath morn, Nor song of reapers heard Among the yellow corn: For the tyrant's voice is here, And the wail of slaverie; But the sun of freedom shines In my ain countrie.
There's a hope for every woe, And a balm for every pain, But the first joys o' our heart Come never back again. There's a track upon the deep, And a path across the sea: But the weary ne'er return To their ain countrie.