THE news frae Moidart cam yestreen,
Will soon gar mony ferlie;
For ships o' war hae just come in,
And landit Royal Charlie.
Come thro' the heather, around him
gather,
Ye're a' the welcomer early;
Around him cling wi' a' your kin;
For wha'll be king but Charlie?
Come thro' the heather, around him
gather,
Come Ronald, come Donald, come a' thegither,
And crown your rightfu', lawfu' king!
For wha'll be king but Charlie?
The Hieland clans, wi' sword in hand.
Frae John o' Groat's to Airlie,
Hae to a man declared to stand
Or fa' wi' Royal Charlie.
The Lowlands a' baith great an' sma',
Wi' mony a lord and laird; hae
Declar'd for Scotia's king an' law,
An' spier ye wha but Charlie.
There's ne'er a lass in a' the
Ian',
But vows baith late an' early,
She'll ne'er to man gie heart nor han'
Wha wadna fecht for Charlie.
Then here's a health to Charlie's cause,
And be't complete an' early;
His very name our heart's blood warms;
To arms for Royal Charlie !
Come thro' the heather, around him gather,
Ye're a' the welcomer early;
Around him cling wi' a' your kin ;
For wha'll be king but Charlie?
Come thro' the heather, around him
gather,
Come Ronald, come Donald, come a' thegither,
And crown your rightfu', lawfu' king!
For wha'll be king but Charlie?
