Classic Poem

The heath-cock craw'd o'er muir an' dale,
Red raise the sun, the sky was cloudy,
While must'ring far, wi' distant yell,
The north'ren bands march'd stern an' steady.

Chorus .—O! Duncan, Donald's ready!
O! Duncan, Donald's ready!
Wi' sword an' targe he seeks the charge,
An' frae his shouther flings the plaidy!

Nae mair we chase the fleet-foot roe,
O'er down an' dale, o'er mountain flyin';
But rush like tempests on the foe,
Thro' mingled groans the war-note cryin',
O! Duncan, Donald's ready, &c.

A prince is come to claim his ain,
A stem o' Stewart, frien'less Charlie;
What Highlan' han' its blade wou'd hain,
What Highlan' heart behint wou'd tarry?
O! Duncan, Donald's ready, &c.

I see our hardy clans appear,
The sun back frae their blades is beamin';
The south'ren trump falls on my ear,
Their banner'd lions proudly streamin'.
Now, Donald, Duncan's ready!
Now, Donald, Duncan's ready!
Within his hand he grasps his brand;
Fierce is the fray, the field is bluidy!

But lang shall Scotlan' rue the day,
She saw her flag sae fiercely flyin';
Culloden's hills were hills o' wae;
Her honour lost, her warriors dyin'.
Duncan now nae mair is ready!
Duncan now nae mair is ready!
The brand is fa'en frae out his han',
His bonnet blue lies stain'd and bluidy!

Fair Flora's gane her love to seek;
Lang may she wait for his returnin';
The midnight dews fa' on her cheek;
What han' shall dry her tears o' mournin'?
Duncan now nae mair is ready, &c.