I hear the river roaring down
Towards the wintry sea.
There's shouting on the mountain side;
There's war within the blast;
Old faces look upon me,
Old forms go riding past.
I hear the pibrock wailing
Amidst the din of fight,
And my dim spirit wakes again
Upon the verge of night.

'Twas I, that led the Highland host
Through wild Lochaber's snows,
What time the plaided clans came down
To battle with Montrose.
I've told thee how the South'rons fell
Beneath his broad claymore,
And how he smote the Campbell clan
By Inverlocky's shore.
I've told thee how we swept Dundee
And tamed the Lindsay's pride;
But never have I told thee yet
How the great Marquis died.

A traitor sold him to his foes:
Oh, deed of deathless shame!
I charge thee, boy, if e'er thou meet
With one of Assynt's name,
Be it upon the mountain side,
Or yet within the glen,