Scots, wha hae wi’ Wallace bled,
Scots wham Bruce has often led,
Welcome tae your gory bed,
Or tae Victorie!
Now’s the day, and now’s the hour;
See the front o’ battle lour,
See approach proud Edward’s pow’r —
Chains and slaverie!
Wha will be a traitor knave?
Wha can fill a coward’s grave?
Wha sae base as be a slave?
Let him turn and flee!
Wha for Scotia’s King and law
Freedom’s sword will strongly draw?
Freeman stand, or freeman fa’?
Let him follow me!
By oppression’s woes and pains!
By your sons in servile chains!
We will drain our dearest veins,
But they shall be free!
Lay the proud usurper low!
Tyrants fall in ev’ry foe!
Liberty’s in ev’ry blow!
Let us do or dee!
Scots Wha Hae has often been considered a de facto Scottish national anthem instead of the official English God Save the Queen — which included the line “...rebellious Scots to crush” until the late 1980s. Scots Wha Hae at first appears to be Burns’ version of Robert the Bruce’s rallying address to his troops before defeating English invaders at Bannockburn in 1314. 
However Burns also wrote it as a Jacobite song in disguise, relating the outlawed Bonnie Prince Charles’ cause to the legendary Bruce and his cause. Originally published anonymously, Burns claimed inspiration came from the “accidental recollection of that glorious struggle... associated with the glowing ideas of some struggles of the same nature, not quite so ancient”. Scots Wha Hae is also the poem with which the Society won a prize for a unique performance of in the OUSA 2000 International Students’ Talent Quest.
O Flower of Scotland,
When will we see your like again
That fought and died for
Your wee bit hill and glen.
And stood against him,
Proud Edward’s army,
And sent him homeward
Tae think again.
The hills are bare now,
And autumn leaves lie thick and still
O’er land that is lost now,
Which those so dearly held
That stood against him,
Proud Edward’s army
And sent him homeward
Tae think again.
Those days are past now
And in the past they must remain
But we can still rise now
And be the nation again!
That stood against him
Proud Edward’s army
And sent him homeward
Tae think again.
O Flower of Scotland,
When will we see your like again
That fought and died for
Your wee bit hill and glen.
And stood against him,
Proud Edward’s army,
And sent him homeward
Tae think again.
Well, Jimmy played harmonica in the pub where I was born;
He played it from the night time to the peaceful early morn;
He soothed the souls of psychos and the men who had the horn,
And they all looked very happy in the morning.
Now Jimmy didn’t like his place in this world of ours,
Where the elephant man broke strong men’s necks when he’d had too many Powers;
So, sad to see the grieving of the people that he’s leaving,
He took the road for God knows in the morning.
We walked him to the station in the rain;The years passed by, the times had changed, I grew to be a man;
We kissed him as we put him on the train;
And we sang him a song of times long gone,
Though we knew that we’d be seeing him again.
(Far away) sad to say, I must be on my way,
So buy me beer and whiskey, ’cause I’m going far away. (far away)
I’d like to think of me returning when I can
To the greatest little boozer and to Sally MacLennane.
I played the pump and took the hump and watered whiskey down,
I talked of whores and horses to the men who drank the brown.
I heard them say that Jimmy’s making money far away,
And some people left for heaven without warning.
We walked him to the station in the rain;
We kissed him as we put him on the train;
And we sang him a song of times long gone,
Though we knew that we’d be seeing him again.
(Far away) sad to say, I must be on my way,
So buy me beer and whiskey, ’cause I’m going far away. (far away)
I’d like to think of me returning when I can
To the greatest little boozer and to Sally MacLennane.
When Jimmy came back home, he was surprised that they were gone.
He asked me all the details of the train that they went on.
Some people they are scared to croak, but Jimmy drank until he choked,
And he took the road for heaven in the morning.
We walked him to the station in the rain;
We kissed him as we put him on the train;
And we sang him a song of times long gone,
Though we knew that we’d be seeing him again.
(Far away) sad to say, I must be on my way,
So buy me beer and whiskey, ’cause I’m going far away. (far away)
I’d like to think of me returning when I can
To the greatest little boozer and to Sally MacLennane.
Fareweel to a’ our Scottish fame,
Fareweel our ancient glory;
Fareweel to e’en our Scottish name
Sae fam’d in sang and story.
Now Sark rins tae th’ Solway sands,
An’ Tweed runs t’ th’ ocean..
Tae mark whaur England’s Province stands:
Sic a parcel of rogues in a nation!
What force or guile could not subdue
Thro’ many warlike ages,
Is wrought now by a coward few
For hireling traitor’s wages.
The English steel we could disdain,
Secure in valour’s station.
But English gold has been our bane:
Sic a parcel of rogues in a nation!
Oh, would or had I seen the day
That treason thus could sell us!
My auld grey head had lien in clay,
Wi’ Bruce and loyal Wallace!
But, pith and power, till my last hour,
I’ll make this declaration:
We were bought and sold for English gold!
Sic a parcel of rogues in a nation!
| Togaibh i, togaibh i, cànain ar dùthcha, | Raise it, raise it, our country’s language, |
| Togaibh a suas i gu h-inbhe ro-chliùitich. | Raise it up to a status of high renown. |
| Togaibh gu daingeann i ’s bithibh rithe bàigheil, | Raise it steadfastly and be partial towards it, |
|
Hi ho-ro, togaibh i; suas leis a’ Ghàidhlig! |
Hi ho-ro, raise it; up with the Gaelic! |
| ’S i cànain na h-òige, ’s i cànain na h-aois, | It is the language of youth, it is the language of age, |
| B’ i cànain ar sinnsir, b’ i cànain an gaoil; | It was the language of our ancestors, it was the language of love; |
| Ged tha i nis aosd, tha i reachdmhor is treun, | Although it is now ancient, it is robust and strong, |
|
Cha do chaill i a’ clith, ’s cha do strìochd i fo bheum. |
It has not lost its vigour, and it has not bowed to a blow. |
|
Togaibh i, togaibh i, cànain ar dùthcha... |
Raise it, raise it, our country’s language... |
| Tha mòr-shruth na Beurla a’ bagradh gu cruaidh | The deluge of English is harshly threatening |
| Ar cànain ’s ar dùthchas a shlugadh a suas; | To devour up our language and our country; |
| Ach seasaibh gu dileas ri cànain ur gaoil, | But stand loyally for the language of your love, |
|
’S chan fhaigh i am bàs gu ruig deireadh an t-saogh’l. |
And it will not get death until the world reaches its end. |
|
Togaibh i, togaibh i, cànain ar dùthcha... |
Raise it, raise it, our country’s language... |
| A dh’aindeoin gach ionnsuigh a thugadh le nàmh | Despite every attempt that would be taken by the enemy |
| A chòirichean prìseil a spùinneadh o’n Ghaidheal, | To rob the Gael of his precious rights, |
| Cha lasaich e chaoidh gus am faigh e a’ bhuaidh | He shall never give up until he gets victory |
|
Thar gach mìorun is eucoir a dh’fhaodas a ruaig. |
Over every hate and wrong that might have defeated him. |
|
Togaibh i, togaibh i, cànain ar dùthcha... |
Raise it, raise it, our country’s language... |
| O togaibh ur guth as leth cànain nam beann, | O lift up your voices on behalf of the language of the mountains, |
| Is cluinnteadh a fuaim air feadh mhonadh is gleann; | And let its sound be heard all over moor and valley; |
| Ard-sheinnibh a cliù ann am bàrdachd ’s an ceòl, | Sing highly its praises in poetry and music, |
|
’S na leigibh le coimhich a masladh r’ ar beò. |
And do not allow the foreigner to bring discredit on our life. |
|
Togaibh i, togaibh i, cànain ar dùthcha... |
Raise it, raise it, our country’s language... |
| A chlanna nan Gaidheal! bithibh seasmhach is dlùth | Children of the Gael! be persevering and close |
| Ri guaillibh a cheile, a’ cosnadh gach cliù; | To one another’s shoulders, earning every praise; |
| O seasaibh gu gaisgeil ri cànain ur gràidh, | O stand bravely for the language of your affection |
|
’S na tréigibh le Ghàidhlig a-nis no gu bràth. |
And do not renounce the Gaelic, now or ever. |
|
Togaibh i, togaibh i, cànain ar dùthcha... |
Raise it, raise it, our country’s language... |
| O togaibh a bratach gu h-àrd anns an tìr, | O lift its banner highly in the land, |
| ’S biodh litrichean maireannach sgrìobht’ air gach crìdhe: | And let there be eternal letters written on every heart: |
| Cha tréig sinn a’ Ghàidhlig, ’s cha chaill i an deò; | We will not renounce the Gaelic, and it will not lose its breath; |
|
Cànain mhùirneach ar dùthcha cha tréig sinn r’ ar beò. |
The dear language of our country we will not renounce on our life. |
| Togaibh i, togaibh i, cànain ar dùthcha... | Raise it, raise it, our country’s language... |
Nae mair will oor bonnie gallants
Mairch tae war when oor braggarts croosely craw,
Nor wee weans frae pit-heid and clachan
Mourn the ships sailin’ doon the Broomielaw.
Broken faim’lies in lands we’ve harried
Will curse Scotland the Brave nae mair, nae mair;
Black and white, ane til th’ ither married,
Mak’ the vile barracks o’ their maisters bare.
Sae come a’ ye at hame wi’ freedom,
Niver heed whit the hoodies croak for doom;
In your hoose a’ the bairns o’ Aidam
Can find breid, barley-bree and paintit room.
When MacLean meets wi’s frien’s in Springburn
A’ the roses and geans will turn tae bloom,
And the black boys frae yont Nyanga
Ding the fell gallows o’ the burghers doon.
Roch the wind in the clear day’s dawin’
Blaws the cloods heelster-gowdie o’er the bay,
But there’s mair nor a roch wind blawin’
Thro’ the Great Glen o’ the warld the day.
roch: rough | dawin’: dawning | heelster-gowdie: upside down | mair nor: more than | Great Glen: the fault valley that roughly separates Highlands from Lowlands; symbol of division, inequality, prejudice | gar: make, compel | rottans: rodents, vermin | gallus: bold | loanin’s: pastures | braggarts: boastful ones; jingoists and imperialists | croosely: arrogantly | wee weans: little children | pit-heid: mining town | clachan: rural village (Gaelic) | the Broomielaw: the dockside street in Glasgow | harried: plundered | ane til th’ ither: to each other | hoodies: hoodie-crows, carrion birds; metaphorically, those who profit by war | bairns o’ Aidam: children of Adam; human beings | barley-bree: whisky | paintit room: hospitality | MacLean: John MacLean; Glasgow schoolteacher and leader of the Red Clydesiders, died in 1923 after serving five jail sentences for sedition | Springburn: working-class district in Glasgow | geans: cherry-blossoms | Nyanga: black township in South Africa; centre of black resistance in the 1960s, rallying point for the ANC | ding: knock, smash | burghers: bourgeois
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