The War-Cry of Clan Grant

A BONNY bird frae France has flown,
A breeze blawn o’er the sea;
The White Rose yet shall hae its throne
Beside the Fleur de Lys.
In whispers low gaes on the word
To bid us do or dee;
The cry fu’ mony a field has heard,
“Stand fast, Craig Ellachie!”

He comes, auld Scotia’s rightfu’ king,
Who twice has come in vain ;
He proves the sooth, “ The third time wins,”
King Charles shall o’er us reign.
For Falkirk’s flight and Preston’s rout
Once taught King George what we
Can do when peals Clan Grant’s wild shout,
“ Stand fast, Craig Ellachie ! ”

The oak that hid a royal Charles
A royal Charles maun see ;
For brows o’ Hanoverian carles
Nae leaf grows on that tree.
An’ rantin’ Rob, wha buys and sells,
To “ Herring-House ” will flee
When our victorious war-cry swells,
“ Stand fast, Craig Ellachie! ”

There’s no’ an exile’s heart that bleeds
Beside the banks o’ Seine,
There’s no’ a wife wears widow’s weeds
And weeps Culloden’s slain,
But now shall cast their care aside
And change their dool to glee,
When echoes wide o’er Teviot’s tide,
“ Stand fast, Craig Ellachie ! ”

They wha the ancient faith maintain
To the old line are true ;
They ’ll gie the king his own again,
And Holy Kirk her due.
Then, Claymores, out and send the shout
Frae Berwick-law to Dee,
Till Windsor’s towers aince mair are ours,
“ Stand fast, Craig Ellachie ! ”

’T will bid Dundee’s brave wraith look down
On Killiecrankie’s Pass,
When Holyrood shall see the crown,
St. Giles’s Kirk the mass.
Mons Meg shall speak to Arthur’s Seat
And Calton Hill, when we
With loyal cry our monarch greet,
“ Stand fast, Craig Ellachie ! ”