The Ruthwell Volunteers

Hark! the martial drums resound,
Valiant brothers, welcome all,
Crowd the royal standard round,
'Tis your injured country's call.
See, see, the robbers come,
Ruin seize the ruthless foe;
For your altars, for your homes,
Heroes lay the tyrants low!

He whom dastard fears abash,
He was born to be a slave--
Let him feel the despot's lash,
And sink inglorious to the grave.
See, see, &c.

He who spurns a coward's life,
He whose bosom freedom warms,
Let him share the glorious strife,
We 'll take the hero to our arms.
See, see, &c.

Spirits of the valiant dead,
Who fought and bled at Freedom's call,
In the path you dared to tread,
We, your sons, will stand or fall.
See, see, &c.

Bending from your airy halls,
Turn on us a guardian eye--
Lead where Fame or Honour calls,
And teach to conquer or to die!
See, see, &c.