Skye Boat

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 wave s roar,

Thunderclaps rend the air.

Baffled our foes stand by the shore.

Follow they will not dare

Many's the lad, fought in that day

Well the claymore did wield;

When the night came, silently lain

Dead on Culloden's field.