Scotia's bright Genius from Edina's tow'rs To the spreading Ocean directed her eye; In silent emotion she numbered the hours As the Royal Squadron she long'd to espy And when the swelling sails she saw furl'd near our shore, In love-breathing accents she sweetly did sing, Sound the joyous trumpet and let the feuds of yore Sleep silent in welcome and peace to our King. With majestic visage I see him hail our land Edina triumphs in the honour she's won, Kind welcome re-echoes around the Royal band, And warm glows the breast of each true Scottish son. The well guarded Thistle that proud tyranny stems, And dread of our foes on our banners we'll bear, And in our blue bonnets in place of gaudy plumes The red blooming heather of Scotland we'll wear. For we're free as the Heather that tops our high hills, The Thistle is fam'd as the badge of the brave, And our bosoms glow pure as our own native rills, A Scotsman is neither a cow'rd nor a slave. Then welcome our King while each loyal subject shews That still thou art dear to his bosom profound, As now among thy friends wert thou amongst thy foes, Still Claymores and tartan would gaurd thee around.
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