Listen to me, as when ye heard our father
Sing long ago, the song of other shores —
Listen to me, and then in chorus gather
All your deep voices, as ye pull your oars:

Fair these broad meads — these hoary woods are grand;
But we are exiles from our fathers’ land.

From the lone shieling of the misty island
Mountains divide us, and the waste of seas —
Yet still the blood is strong, the heart is Highland,
And we in dreams behold the Hebrides:
Fair these broad meads — these hoary woods are grand;
But we are exiles from our fathers’ land.

We ne’er shall tread the fancy-haunted valley,
Where ’tween the dark hills creeps the small clear stream,
In arms around the patriarch banner rally,
Nor see the moon on royal tombstones gleam:
Fair these broad meads — these hoary woods are grand;
But we are exiles from our fathers’ land.

When the bold kindred, in the time long-vanish’d,
Conquer’d the soil and fortified the keep, —
No seer foretold the children would be banish’d,
That a degenerate Lord might boast his sheep:
Fair these broad meads — these hoary woods are grand;
But we are exiles from our fathers’ land.

Come foreign rage — let Discord burst in slaughter!
O then for clansman true, and stern claymore —
The hearts that would have given their blood like water,
Beat heavily beyond the Atlantic roar:
Fair these broad meads — these hoary woods are grand;
But we are exiles from our fathers’ land.^[3]