BOULTON
Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing,‘Onward’ the sailors cry;Carry the lad that’s born to be kingOver the sea to Skye!Loud the winds howl, loud the waves roar,Thunder-clouds 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 keepWatch by your weary head.Many’s the lad fought on that dayWell the claymore could wield,When the night came silently layDead on Culloden’s field.Burned are our homes, exile and deathScatter the loyal men;Yet ere the sword cool in the sheathCharlie will come again.Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing,‘Onward’ the sailors cry;Carry the lad that’s born to be kingOver the sea to Skye!Harold Boulton.
Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing,‘Onward’ the sailors cry;Carry the lad that’s born to be kingOver the sea to Skye!Loud the winds howl, loud the waves roar,Thunder-clouds 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 keepWatch by your weary head.Many’s the lad fought on that dayWell the claymore could wield,When the night came silently layDead on Culloden’s field.Burned are our homes, exile and deathScatter the loyal men;Yet ere the sword cool in the sheathCharlie will come again.Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing,‘Onward’ the sailors cry;Carry the lad that’s born to be kingOver the sea to Skye!Harold Boulton.
Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing,‘Onward’ the sailors cry;Carry the lad that’s born to be kingOver the sea to Skye!
Loud the winds howl, loud the waves roar,Thunder-clouds 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 keepWatch by your weary head.
Many’s the lad fought on that dayWell the claymore could wield,When the night came silently layDead on Culloden’s field.
Burned are our homes, exile and deathScatter the loyal men;Yet ere the sword cool in the sheathCharlie will come again.
Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing,‘Onward’ the sailors cry;Carry the lad that’s born to be kingOver the sea to Skye!
Harold Boulton.