(untitled) 
     
     AlR — “Sair, sair was my heart” 
     
    
   
   
    
     We’ve met around the flowing bowl, beyond the whitening wave, 
     
     Where stern Britannia’s thunders roll — the pastime of the brave! 
     
     To bind our ties ’neath other skies — frae Scotia far awa‘, 
     
    

    
     The leal and canty sons of Caledonia! 
     
    
   
   
    
     Tho‘ doomed to rove where Winter drives her car upon the main, 
     
     Tho’ nature charm, or Summer fling around her flow’ry chain, 
     
    

    
     Our bosoms burn and hameward turn to scenes that ding them a‘ — 
     
     The glens and “wood-notes wild” of Caledonia! 
     
    
   
   
    
     Then oh! my friends, lets ne’er forget, as round the world we reel, 
     
    
   
   
    
     The parting charge of Scotia dear — St. Andrew, prize him weel! 
     
     Nor e’er forgoe where oceans row, or thistle down may bla’, 
     
     The pride of honest worth! — nor Caledonia! 
     
    
   
   
    
     Or wand’rin’ through misfortune’s gloom, on lonely distant shore, 
     
     Whene’er you meet a Brither Scot), throw wide your welcome door, 
     
     Wi‘ friendly shake his hankring break —- and cheer his ills awa‘, 
     
     For the gowden days 0‘ yore in Caledonia! 
     
    
   
   
    
     When loud resounds in festive hall, some wild but native strain, 
     
     Then crousely fill a flowing cog — and what will grude to drain 
     
     Or nobly quaff twa wallie-waughts, to pledge your chosen twa — 
     
     Your saint, the first — the next, to Caledonia!” 
     
    
   
   
    
       
     
    
   
   
    
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