Who sings of Scotland's glories
  Can sing in no new strain.
The oft repeated stories
  Can but be told again.
We know its hills are rugged,
  Its valleys fair and green,
With nodding copes and verdant slopes,
  And the "Silver Tay" between.

We know it's the land of beauty,
  For, in its hapless queen,
It gave us the fairest woman
  The world has ever seen.
Its daughters are like its valleys,
  So fresh and blooming fair,
While its sons are like its mountains,
  That rise in their grandeur there.

We know it's the land of genius,
  That it fathered minds of worth,
And fed, by its wild, romantic scenes,
  The master brains of earth;
It gave us the songs of Ossian,
  Of Campbell, Burns and Scott,
And the veins of England's greatest bard
  With Scottish blood were fraught.

We know it's the land of heroes,
  Of sturdy warriors bold:
The brave and glorious Wallace,
  Pendragon, famed of old,
Douglass, and Bruce, and Malcolm,
  All heroes grand and strong,
Whose deeds are told in story,
  And sung in the poet's song.

We know how its noisy bagpipe,
  With its clamor wild and shrill,
Has played alone on the battle field,
  When horns and drums were still.
How once, on the shores of India,
  And again at Quebec, its blast
Roused up the troops disheartened,
  And saved the day at last.

We know its creed is simple,
  Its faith a living joy,
Alike to the holy man at kirk
  And to the shepherd boy.
And better than gorgeous temples,
  Than mass and organ blast
Is the faith they learn at the fireside
  And keep in their hearts to the last.

And so, in creed and in beauty,
  In romance, glory, worth,
In song and martial music,
  Old Scotland leads the earth.

Who sings of Scotland's glories
  Can sing of nothing new--
Can but re-tell the stories
  The whole world knows are true,
And, though its sons may wander
  To many a distant shore,
A Scot's a Scot forever,
  And but loves his land the more.

Maurine by Ella Wheeler
Milwaukee: Cramer, Aikens & Cramer, 1876.

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