Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing
Onward, the sailors cry!
Carry the lad that's born to be King
Over the sea to Skye

Loud the winds cry, loud the waves roar
Thunderclaps rend the air
Baffled our foes stand by the shore
Follow they will not dare

Many's the lad fought on that day
Well the claymore could wield
When the night came silently lay
Dead on Culloden's field

Burned are our homes, exile and death
Scatter the loyal men
Yet ere the sword cool in the sheath
Scotland will rise again!