The minstrel-boy to the war is gone,
In the ranks of death you’ll find him;
His father’s sword he has girded on,
And his wild harp slung behind him.
“Land of song!” cried the warrior-bard,
“Though all the world betrays thee,
One sword, at least, thy rights shall guard,
One faithful heart shall praise thee.”
_BRITAIN_:
Scotland, what is thy message?
_SCOTLAND_ (_stepping forward and saluting_):
From Scotia’s Isles and storm-tossed shore,
From fortress-rock and peaceful glen,
Come ranks of lion-hearted men--
Come clansmen true as knights of old,
Meet warriors for achievement bold,
Loving their home, but Freedom more!
(_Continues, peering and pointing as if seeing a far-off vision_):
I see their plaids and tartans wave,
I know them, bravest of the brave!
I see their eyes with purpose fired;
I know their hearts with right inspired;
I know their purpose--all mine own--
That Freedom shall resume her throne!
Hear! hear their slogan stern and old--
Meet slogan for my warriors bold!