Bonaparte O gu sunndoch mi air m'astar Falbh gu siubhlach le bheag airtneul Dol a chomhrag ri Bonaparte, 'S e bha bagairt air Righ Deors'. .'Illean chridheil, bitheamaid sunndach, Seasaibh onoir ar duthcha, Fhad's a mhaireas luaidh is fudar, De rud chuireadh curam oirnn? Chan eil faillinn ann ra chunntas Anns na h-armainn nach diultadh, Chan eil gealtachd nan gnuis-san, Cha toir iad grunnd do luchd a'bhosd Luchd nan osan gearr's nam feileadh, Cota sgarlaid orr' mar eideadh Gum bu ghasd' iad an am eirigh 'S iad nach geilleadh an deidh an leon. Ann am Bruxelles a chaidh innse Gun robh Frangaich tigh'nn nam miltean: 'S cha bhreug bhhuam gur h-i an fhirinn, 'S iomadh fear bhois sint'gun deo. Nam biodh againn, mar bu dual dhuinn Lann Chuinn-Ilich air ar gualainn, Sgoilteamaid an cinn gu'n cluasan, Gam bualadh le smuais nan dorn. (Translation) I'm happy on my journey Traveling swiftly without flagging Heading off to do battle with Bonaparte He it was who threatened King George Brave lads, let's be merry Stand for the honor of your country As long as lead and powder last What could worry us? There is no weakness to be descibed In the young heroes who never retreat Cowardice is not in their countenance They will never give ground to the boasters Men of the short hose and the kilts With their uniforms of scarlet coats; Splendid they were in attack The would never yield though wounded. In Brussels it was told That the French were coming in their thousands I tell no lie but the truth Many a man will be stretched out without breath of life If only we had, as was hereditary to us The great broadsword with Islay-wrought hilt on our shoulders We'll split their heads to their ears, Pounding them with the smashing of our fists. CC apr96
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