152. the Seventy-ninth.
by Thos. Frazer.
air--“Here's to the year that's awa‘.” Come, muster, my bonnie brave Scots,
An’ muster your clans one an‘ a‘,
Nor heed who else lags, so the free Thistle wags,
When Treason drives Right to the wa‘;
For Freedom, for Union, an‘ Law,
We'll do a‘ that true men may dare;
An’ come weal or come scaithe, for these to the death--
The Seventy-ninth will be there!
Come, stir, then, an‘ trim for the work;
Come, Borderer, Lowlander, Celt,
An’ wi‘ firelock in hand, our tartan-clad band
Will soon mak the auld grit be felt.
We'll show how auld Scotland for Truth
Has bluid in her heart yet to spare;
An’ let us but ken when the Truth may want men--
The Seventy-ninth will be there!
Then heeze out the pipes wi‘ a cheer,
An’ up wi‘ some heart-thrillina strain,
To mind us the field is where Scots never yield,
While ae chance to win may remain.
Syne shout, lads, the auld battle-cry--
“Saint Andrew!” --an‘ let them beware
When doure Southron knaves wad mak North-folk their slaves--
The Seventy-ninth will be there!
The Union, the Nation, an‘ Name,
The “Stars and the Stripes,” an‘ the Laws
Oh!
never can hand wave the death-dealing brand
In what could be holier cause!
Then muster, my bonnie brave Scots,
An’ swear by the tartan we wear,
Where'er be the van, one in heart to a man--
The Seventy-ninth will be there!
