Old Scotia, wake thy mountain strain
 In all its wildest splendours!
 And welcome back the lads again,
 Your honour's dear defenders!
 Be every harp and viol strung',
 Till all the woodlands quaver:
 Of many a band your Bards have sung,
 But never hail'd a braver.

Refrain
 Then raise the pibroch, Donald Bane,
 We're all in key to cheer it;
 And let it be a martial strain,
 That warriors bold may hear it.

 Ye lovely maids, pitch high your notes
 As virgin voice can sound them,
 Sing of your brave, your noble Scots,
 For glory kindles round them.
 Small is the remnant you will see,
 Lamented be the others!
 But such a stem of such a tree,
 Take to your arms like brothers.

Refrain:
 Raise high the pibroch, Donald Bane,
 Strike all our glen with wonder;
 Let the chanter yell, and the drone notes swell,
 Till music speaks in thunder.

 What storm can rend your mountain rock,
 What wave your headlands shiver?
 Long have they stood the tempest's shock,
 Thou knowst they will for ever.
 Sooner your eye these cliffs shall view
 Split by the wind and weather,
 Than foeman's eye the bonnet blue
 Behind the nodding feather.

Refrain:
 O raise the pibroch, Donald Bane,
 Our caps to the sky we'll send them.
 Scotland, thy honours who can stain,
 Thy laurels who can rend them!