Donald MacDonald

 
My name it is Donald MacDonald,
I leeve in the Highlands sae grand;
I ha’e follow’d our banner, and will do,
Wherever my master* has land.
When rankit amang the blue bonnetd,
Nae danger can fear me ava’;
I ken that my brethren around me
Are either to conquer or fa’;
Brogues an’brochin an’a’;
Brochin an’ brogues an’ a’;
An’ is nae her very well aff,
Wi’ her brogues and brochin an’ a’?

What though we befriendit young Charlie?
To tell it I dinna think shame;
Poor lad! He cam’ to us but barely,
An reckoned our mountains his hame.

‘Twas true that our reason forbade us,
But tenderness carried the day;
As Geordie came friendless amang us,
Wi’ him we had a’ gane away,

Sword an’ buckler an’ a’;
Buckler an’ sword an’ a’;
Now for George we’ll encounter the devil,
Wi’ sword an’ buckler an’ a’;

An’ O, I wad eagerly press him
The keys o’ the East to retain;
For should he gi’e up the possession,
We’ll soon ha’e to force them again;

Than yield up an inch wi’ dishonour,
Though it were my finishing blow,
He aye may depend on MacDonald,
Wi’ his Hielanders a’ in a row:

Knees an’ elbows an’ a’;
Elbows an’ knees an’ a’;
Depend upon Donald MacDonald
His knees an’ elbows an’ a’.

Wad Bonaparte land at Fort William,
Auld Europe nae langer should grane;
I laugh when I think how we’d gall him,
Wi’bullet, wi’ steel, an’ wi’ stane;
Wi’ rocks o’ the Nevis and Garny
We’d rattle him off frae our shore
Or lull him asleep in a cairny,
an’ sing him - “Lochaber no more!”

An’ sing him - “Lochaber no more!”
Stanes an’ bullets an’ a’;
Bullets an’ stanes an’ a;
We’ll finsish the Corsican callan,
Wi’ stanes an’ bullets an’ a’.

JAMES HOGG