O Rab an' Dave an' rantin' Jim,
The geans were turnin' reid
When Scotland saw yer line grow dim,
Wi' the pipers at its heid;
Noo, i' yon warld we dinna ken,
Like strangers ye maun gang--
_"We've sic a wale[1] o' Angus men_
_That we canna weary lang."_
An' little Wat--my brither Wat--
Man, are ye aye the same?
Or is yon sma' white hoose forgot
Doon by the strath at hame?
An' div' ye mind foo aft we trod
The Isla's banks before?--
--"_My place is wi' the Hosts o' God,_
_But I mind me o' Strathmore._"
It's daith comes skirling through the sky,
Below there's naucht but pain,
We canna see whaur deid men lie
For the drivin' o' the rain;
Ye a' hae passed frae fear an' doot.
Ye're far frae airthly ill--
--"_We're near, we're here, my wee recruit,_
_An' we fecht for Scotland still._"
[1] Choice.