Sound the fife, and cry the slogan -- Let the pibroch shake the air With its wild triumphal music, Worthy of the freight we bear. Let the ancient hills of Scotland Hear once more the battle-song Swell within their glens and valleys As the clansmen march along! Never from the field of combat, Never from the deadly fray, Was a nobler trophy carried Than we bring with us to-day; Never, since the valiant Douglas On his dauntless bosom bore Good King Robert's heart -- the priceless -- To our dear Redeemer's shore! Lo! we bring with us the hero -- Lo! we bring the conquering Græme, Crowned as best beseems a victor From the altar of his fame; Fresh and bleeding from the battle Whence his spirit took its flight, Midst the crashing charge of squadrons, And the thunder of the fight! Strike, I say, the notes of triumph, As we march o'er moor and lea! Is there any here will venture To bewail our dead Dundee? Let the widows of the traitors Weep until their eyes are dim! Wail ye may full well for Scotland -- Let none dare to mourn for him! See! above his glorious body Lies the royal banner's fold -- See! his valiant blood is mingled With its crimson and its gold. See! how calm he looks and stately, Like a warrior on his shield, Waiting till the flush of morning Breaks along the battle-field! See -- Oh never more, my comrades! Shall we see that falcon eye Redden with its inward lightning, As the hour of fight drew nigh; Never shall we hear the voice that, Clearer than the trumpet's call, Bade us strike for King and Country, Bade us win the field or fall! On the heights of Killiecrankie Yester-morn our army lay: Slowly rose the mist in columns From the river's broken way; Hoarsely roared the swollen torrent, And the pass was wrapped in gloom, When the clansmen rose together From their lair amidst the broom. Then we belted on our tartans, And our bonnets down we drew, And we felt our broadswords' edges, And we proved them to be true; And we prayed the prayer of soldiers, And we cried the gathering-cry, And we clasped the hands of kinsmen, And we swore to do or die! Then our leader rode before us On his war-horse black as night -- Well the Cameronian rebels Knew that charger in the fight! -- And a cry of exultation From the bearded warriors rose; For we loved the house of Claver'se, And we thought of good Montrose. But he raised his hand for silence -- 'Soldiers! I have sworn a vow: Ere the evening-star shall glisten On Schehallion's lofty brow, Either we shall rest in triumph, Or another of the Graemes Shall have died in battle-harness For his Country and King James! Think upon the Royal Martyr -- Think of what his race endure -- Think on him whom butchers murder'd On the field of Magus Muir: -- By his sacred blood I charge ye, By the ruin'd hearth and shrine -- By the blighted hopes of Scotland, By your injuries and mine -- Strike this day as if the anvil Lay beneath your blows the while, Be they Covenanting traitors, Or the brood of false Argyle! Strike! and drive the trembling rebels Backwards o'er the stormy Forth; Let them tell their pale Convention How they fared within the North. Let them tell that Highland honour Is not to be bought nor sold, That we scorn their Prince's anger, As we loathe his foreign gold. Strike! and when the fight is over, If ye look in vain for me, Where the dead are lying thickest, Search for him that was Dundee!' Loudly then the hills re-echoed With our answer to his call, But a deeper echo sounded In the bosoms of us all. For the lands of wide Breadalbane, Not a man who heard him speak Would that day have left the battle. Burning eye and flushing cheek Told the clansmen's fierce emotion, And they harder drew their breath; For their souls were strong within them, Stronger than the grasp of death. Soon we heard a challenge-trumpet Sounding in the pass below, And the distant tramp of horses, And the voices of the foe: Down we crouched amid the bracken, Till the Lowland ranks drew near, Panting like the hounds in summer, When they scent the stately deer. From the dark defile emerging, Next we saw the squadrons come, Leslie's foot and Leven's troopers Marching to the tuck of drum; Through the scattered wood of birches, O'er the broken ground and heath, Wound the long battalion slowly, Till they gained the field beneath; Then we bounded from our covert. -- Judge how looked the Saxons then, When they saw the rugged mountain Start to life with armèd men! Like a tempest down the ridges, Swept the hurricane of steel, Rose the slogan of Macdonald -- Flashed the broadsword of Locheill! Vainly sped the withering volley 'Mongst the foremost of our band -- On we poured until we met them, Foot to foot, and hand to hand. Horse and man went down like drift-wood When the floods are black at Yule, And their carcasses are whirling In the Garry's deepest pool. Horse and man went down before us -- Living foe there tarried none On the field of Killiecrankie, When that stubborn fight was done! And the evening-star was shining On Schehallion's distant head, When we wiped our bloody broadswords, And returned to count the dead. There we found him, gashed and gory, Stretch'd upon the cumbered plain, As he told us where to seek him, In the thickest of the slain. And a smile was on his visage, For within his dying ear Pealed the joyful note of triumph, And the clansmen's clamorous cheer: So, amidst the battle's thunder, Shot, and steel, and scorching flame, In the glory of his manhood Passed the spirit of the Græme! Open wide the vaults of Athol, Where the bones of heroes rest -- Open wide the hallowed portals To receive another guest! Last of Scots, and last of freemen -- Last of all that dauntless race Who would rather die unsullied Than outlive the land's disgrace! O thou lion-hearted warrior! Reck not of the after-time: Honour may be deemed dishonour, Loyalty be called a crime. Sleep in peace with kindred ashes Of the noble and the true, Hands that never failed their country, Hearts that never baseness knew. Sleep! -- and till the latest trumpet Wakes the dead from earth and sea, Scotland shall not boast a braver Chieftain than our own Dundee!
About the headline (FAQ)First published in Blackwood's Magazine, April 1843.
- by William Edmondstoune Aytoun (1813 - 1865), "The Burial March of Dundee" [author's text checked 1 time against a primary source]
Musical settings (art songs, Lieder, mélodies, (etc.), choral pieces, and other vocal works set to this text), listed by composer (not necessarily exhaustive):
- by James Anderson Moonie (1853 - ?), "Killiecrankie", published  [tenor, chorus, and orchestra], London: Novello; cantata [text not verified]
- by Charles Wood (1866 - 1926), "The Ballad of Dundee", published 1904 [bass, mixed chorus, and orchestra], cantata ; Leipzig: Breitkopf & Härtel ; with a German translation by L. Kirschbaum [text not verified]
Researcher for this text: Emily Ezust [Administrator]
This text was added to the website: 2010-04-21
Line count: 188
Word count: 1093