Contentions Fierce, Ardent, And Dire, Spring From

A Few Drops Sprinkled On The Torch Of Love Make The Flame Blaze The Brighter.

Where Is The Coward That Would Not Dare To Fight For Such A Land As Scotland?

My Foot Is On My Native Heath, And My Name Is Macgregor.

Land Of My Sires! What Mortal Hand Can E'er Untie The Filial Band That Knits Me To Thy Rugged Strand!

Where, Where Was Roderick Then? One Blast Upon His Bugle Horn Were Worth A Thousand Men.