At The Laying Of The Foundation Stone Of The Wallace Monument At Stirling, 1861

Auld Scotlan's hert an' baith her lugs war dirlin',
Whan thun'erin' waves o' soun' gade rowin', swirlin'
Aroun' the Abbey Craig o' auld grey Stirling,
Frae hunner music ban's and bag-pipes skirlin'.
Oh! blithe was she tae see her buirdly callans
In tens o' thousands pourin' frae their dwallin's,
Baith Dukes and Lords, an' mony trades an' callin's-
Oh! prood was she, an' big her fu' hert swallin's.
Wi' cheers the verra lift amaist was riven,
Frae mornin's drumlie broo the clouds war driven;
The sun cam' lauchin' oot-sair had he striven
Tae see us frae the twal-oors hight o' heaven.
An' sic a sicht his e'e o' fire ne'er saw,
Cam' Kirk, cam' State, cam' 'Army, Physic, Law;'
Leddies an' lassies, bonny burdies a',
An mony gawsy wives, baith braid an' braw.
The lowe o' freedom burns sae het an' clear
In Scotlan's hert this mony hunner year,
That, spite o' traitor Scot or Southern jeer,
Tae Wallace name this tower o' strength she'll rear.
An' by his treacherous doom, whilk aye she'll murne,
An' by the Bruce, an' by red Bannockburn-
Tae your immortal memories she will turn
For ever-Wallace, Bruce, an' Bannockburn.