CHI MINGS OF THE HEATHER BELLS. 



Is Your War-Pipe Asleep ? 



Wilt thou shrink from the doom thou canst shun not, 

 McCrimman? 



Wilt thou shrink from the doom thou canst shun not? 



If thy course must be brief, let the proud Saxon know 



That the soul of McCrimman ne'er quailed when a 

 foe 



Bared his blade in the land he had won not. 



Where the light-footed roe leaves the wild breeze be- 

 hind, 



And the red heather bloom gives its sweets to the wind, 



There our broad pennon flies, and the keen steeds are 

 prancing, 



'Mid the startling war cries and the war weapons 

 glancing. 



There raise your wild slogan cry on to the foray ! 



Sons of the heather hill, pinewood and glen ; 



Shout for M'Pherson, M'Leod and the Moray, 



Till the Lomonds re-echo the challenge again. 



George Allan. 



The Jacobite singers, in their appeals to the 

 clans to come to the succor of Prince Charlie, loved to 

 mingle the Heather in their slogan: 



The Yellow Locks o' Charlie 



While banners wave aboon the brave. 



Our foemen vainly gather, 

 And swear to claim, by deeds o' fame, 



Our hills and glens o' heather. 



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