Will you leave the hills of Scotland?
Your childhood’s happy home,
To brave the dangers of the deep,
In foreign lands to roam—
Say, Mary, will you, for my sake
Leave yonder joyous cot—
Your youthful friends and scenes so dear,
To share a soldier’s lot?
The battle’s din, my Mary,
Has never met thine ear,
The woodlands’ songsters melody
Is all that thou dost hear.
The vivid flash of musketry—
The cannon’s thundering roar
Must meet thine eye, burst on thine ear
Sounds never heard before.
And now, fond one, I’ve told you all.
And I can say no more—
“Will you go to the Indies, my Mary,
And leave old Scotia’s shore?”