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.
Though the waves leap, soft shall ye sleep,
Ocean's a royal bed, Rocked in the deep,
Flora will keep, Watch by your weary head.
Many's the lad fought on that day,
Well the Claymore could wield,
When the night came, silently lay,
Dead in Culloden's field.
Burned are their homes, exile and death,
Scatter the loyal men,
Yet ere the sword cool in the sheath,
Charlie will come again.

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