To Horse! To Horse! the Standard flies! The Bugles sound the call, The Gallic Navy stems the Seas, The Voice of Battle's on the breeze, Arouze ye one and all, Arouze ye one and all. From high Edina's Towers we come, A band of Brothers true, Our Casques with loyal Tartan bound With Scotland's hardy Thistle crown'd We boast the red and blue, We boast the red and blue. * Tho tamely crouch to Gallia's frown, Dull Hollands tardy train, Their ravish'd toys tho Romans mourn, Tho gallant Switzers vainly spurn, And foaming gnaw the chain, And foaming gnaw the chain: (O had they mark'd the avenging call Their Brethern's murder gave, + Disunion ne'er their ranks had mown Nor Patriot valour desperate grown Sought freedom in the grave, Sought freedom in the grave.) Shall we too bend the stubborn head, In freedom's temple bore, Dress our pale cheek in timid smile To hail a Master in our Isle, Or brook a Victors scorn, Or brook a Victors scorn? No! - Tho Destruction o'er the land Come pouring as a flood, The Sun that sees our falling day, Shall mark our Sabres deadly sway, And set that night in blood, And set that night in blood. For gold let Gallia's legions fight, Or plunders bloody gain, Unbribed, Unbought our Swords we draw, To guard our King, to fence our Law, Nor shall their edge be vain, Nor shall their edge be vain. If ever breath of British gale, Shall fan the Tricolor, Or footstep of Invader rude, With rapine foul, and red with blood, Pollute our happy shore, Pollute our happy shore: Then farewell home, and farewell friends, Adieu each tender tie, Resolved we mingle in the tide, Where charging squadrons furious ride, To conquer or to die, To conquer or to die. To Horse! To Horse! the Sabres gleam; High sounds our Bugle call, Combined by honours sacred tie, Our word is, Laws and Liberty; March forward one and all, March forward one and all.
* The Royal Colours
+ Massacre of the Swiss Guards, 10th. Augt. 1794.
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