canto n. A KEPPOCH SONG. 43
To arms therefore we must resort,
And God the cause of right support.
The petticoat come let us hoise,
And in its cause let us rejoice."
My own dear blood to me do haste,
And soon I'm join'd by all the rest;
Amounting to twelve thousand strong,
Our hearts elated with the throng.
With sword and shield, Lochaber axe,
Wherewith in fight our foes to vex.
The mountains soon we leave behind,
Our march is by no foe confin'd.
The pipes do play in merry strains,
With martial airs resound the plains.
The Lowlanders before us ffy,
With trembling heart and wailing eye.
Terror in ev'ry face is seen ;
The fugitives reach Aberdeen;
Where they the terror quickly spread,
Dismay on every brow is read.
Say what's the matter? they exclaim —
" He's come" — " who's come? what is his name?"
Donald o' th' Isles, and a' his men !
" Lord help us,"*cry they out again.