Hail to the Chief who in triumph advances! 
     Honored and blessed be the ever-green Pine! 
Long may the tree, in his banner that glances,
     Flourish, the shelter and grace of our line! 
          Heaven send it happy dew,
          Earth lend it sap anew,
     Gayly to bourgeon and broadly to grow,
          While every Highland glen
          Sends our shout back again,
     ‘Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!’

Ours is no sapling, chance-sown by the fountain,

     Blooming at Beltane, in winter to fade;
When the whirlwind has stripped every leaf on the mountain,
     The more shall Clan-Alpine exult in her shade. 
          Moored in the rifted rock,
          Proof to the tempest’s shock,
     Firmer he roots him the ruder it blow;
          Menteith and Breadalbane, then,
          Echo his praise again,
     ‘Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!’

XX.

Proudly our pibroch has thrilled in Glen Fruin,
     And Bannochar’s groans to our slogan replied;
Glen Luss and Ross-dhu, they are smoking in ruin,
     And the best of Loch Lomond lie dead on her side. 
          Widow and Saxon maid
          Long shall lament our raid,
     Think of Clan-Alpine with fear and with woe;
          Lennox and Leven-glen
          Shake when they hear again,
‘Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!’

Row, vassals, row, for the pride of the Highlands! 
     Stretch to your oars for the ever-green Pine! 
O that the rosebud that graces yon islands
     Were wreathed in a garland around him to twine! 
          O that some seedling gem,
          Worthy such noble stem,
     Honored and blessed in their shadow might grow! 
          Loud should Clan-Alpine then
          Ring from her deepmost glen,
     Roderigh Vich Alpine dhu, ho! ieroe!’

XXI.

With all her joyful female band
Had Lady Margaret sought the strand. 
Loose on the breeze their tresses flew,
And high their snowy arms they threw,
As echoing back with shrill acclaim,
And chorus wild, the Chieftain’s name;
While, prompt to please, with mother’s art
The darling passion of his heart,
The Dame called Ellen to the strand,
To greet her kinsman ere he land: 
 ’Come, loiterer, come! a Douglas thou,
And shun to wreathe a victor’s brow?’
Reluctantly and slow, the maid
The unwelcome summoning obeyed,
And when a distant bugle rung,
In the mid-path aside she sprung:—­
’List, Allan-bane!  From mainland cast
I hear my father’s signal blast. 
Be ours,’ she cried, ’the skiff to guide,
And waft him from the mountain-side.’ 
Then, like a sunbeam, swift and bright,
She darted to her shallop light,
And, eagerly while Roderick scanned,
For her dear form, his mother’s band,
The islet far behind her lay,
And she had landed in the bay.