Chapter XIII

No! not yet, thou high Dunedin,
Shalt thou totter to thy fall;
Though thy bravest and thy strongest
Are not there to man the wall.
No, not yet! the ancient spirit
Of our fathers hath not gone:
Take it to thee as a buckler
Better far than steel or stone.
O remember those who perished
For thy birth-right at the time,
When to be a Scot was treason,
And to side with Wallace, crime!
Have they not a voice among us,
Whilst their hallowed dust is here?
Hear ye not a summons sounding
From each buried warrior’s bier?
Up!—they say—and keep the freedom,
Which we won you long ago:
Up! and keep our graves unsullied,
From the insults of the foe!
Up! and if ye cannot save them,
Come to us in blood and fire:
Midst the crash of falling turrets,
Let the last of Scots expire!