Speed bonnie boat like a bird on the wing,
Onward, the sailors cry.
Carry the lad that’s born to be king
Over the sea to Skye.
Loud the winds howl, loud the waves roar,
Thunderclaps rend the air,
Baffled, our foes stand by the shore,
Follow they will not dare.
Many’s the lad fought on that day,
Well the claymore could wield,
When the night came, silently lay
Dead in Culloden’s field.
Though the waves leap, soft shall ye sleep,
Ocean’s a royal bed.
Rock’d in the deep Flora will keep
Watch o’er your weary head.
Burned are our homes, exile and death,
Scattered the loyal men.
Yet ere the sword cool in the sheath,
Charlie will come again.