THE mountains glitter in the snow
A thousand leagues asunder;
Yet here, amid the banquetâs glow,
I hear their voice of thunder;
Each giantâs ice-bound goblet clinks;
A flowing stream is summoned;
Wachusett to Ben Nevis drinks;
Monadnock to Ben Lomond!
Though years have clipped the eagleâs plume
That crowned the chieftainâs bonnet,
The sun still sees the heather bloom,
The silver mists lie on it;
With tartan kilt and philibeg,
What stride was ever bolder
Than his who showed the naked leg
Beneath the plaided shoulder?
The echoes sleep on Cheviotâs hills,
That heard the bugles blowing
When down their sides the crimson rills
With mingled blood were flowing;
The hunts where gallant hearts were game,
The slashing on the border,
The raid that swooped with sword and flame,
Give place to âlaw and order.â
Not while the rocking steeples reel
With midnight tocsins ringing,
Not while the crashing war-notes peal,
God sets his poets singing;
The bird is silent in the night,
Or shrieks a cry of warning
While fluttering round the beacon-light,âÂ
But hear him greet the morning!
The lark of Scotiaâs morning sky!
Whose voice may sing his praises?
With Heavenâs own sunlight in his eye,
He walked among the daisies,
Till through the cloud of fortuneâs wrong
He soared to fields of glory;
But left his land her sweetest song
And earth her saddest story.
âT is not the forts the builder piles
That chain the earth together;
The wedded crowns, the sister isles,
Would laugh at such a tether;
The kindling thought, the throbbing words,
That set the pulses beating,
Are stronger than the myriad swords
Of mighty armies meeting.
Thus while within the banquet glows,
Without, the wild winds whistle,
We drink a triple health,âÂthe Rose,
The Shamrock, and the Thistle
Their blended hues shall never fade
Till War has hushed his cannon,âÂ
Close-twined as ocean-currents braid
The Thames, the Clyde, the Shannon!
