| HAME, hame, hame, O hame fain wad I be— | | | O hame, hame, hame, to my ain countree! | | | | | When the flower is i’ the bud and the leaf is on the tree, | | | The larks shall sing me hame in my ain countree; | | | Hame, hame, hame, O hame fain wad I be— | 5 | | O hame, hame, hame, to my ain countree! | | | | | The green leaf o’ loyaltie’s beginning for to fa’, | | | The bonnie White Rose it is withering an’ a’; | | | But I’ll water ’t wi’ the blude of usurping tyrannie, | | | An’ green it will graw in my ain countree. | 10 | | | | O, there’s nocht now frae ruin my country can save, | | | But the keys o’ kind heaven, to open the grave; | | | That a’ the noble martyrs wha died for loyaltie | | | May rise again an’ fight for their ain countree. | | | | | The great now are gane, a’ wha ventured to save, | 15 | | The new grass is springing on the tap o’ their grave; | | | But the sun through the mirk blinks blythe in my e’e, | | | ‘I’ll shine on ye yet in your ain countree.’ | | | | | Hame, hame, hame, O hame fain wad I be— | | | O hame, hame, hame, to my ain countree! | 20 |
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