[Intro] [Highland bagpipes over distant war drums] [Verse 1] They came through the glen at the break of day, Bootheels crushing the barley and clay. Doors split wide, and the smoke climbed high; Mothers held children and swallowed their cries. From the blackened croft, one son stood tall, A torn tartan wrapped like a vow through it all. He swore by the names the redcoats had slain: No more would his home be taken in chains. [Pre-Chorus] He called from the ridge, and the scattered drew near, With pikes from the byre and old swords brought clear. [Chorus] Rise, son of the Highlands, answer the cry! Stand where the heather meets iron and sky! For every burned home, for every life torn, Hold fast till the last red dawn! Rise, though the numberless rifles reply— A free heart does not kneel to die! [Verse 2] They struck at the pass where the cold rivers run, Stone walls for shelter, no road left to run. The pipes cut the fog with a furious tune, And the clans drove forward beneath a pale moon. He fought at the front as the ranks closed tight, His blade flashed once in the smoke and the light. But powder and steel made the hillside run red; Still he called them on though the brave fell dead. [Pre-Chorus] When his shield was split and his strength nearly gone, He raised up the standard and carried it on. [Chorus] Rise, son of the Highlands, answer the cry! Stand where the heather meets iron and sky! For every burned home, for every life torn, Hold fast till the last red dawn! Rise, though the numberless rifles reply— A free heart does not kneel to die! [Bridge] At last, on the slope, he fell to one knee, The pipes still cried out for the ones left free. They bound his hands beneath a storm-dark sky; He faced his captors and would not deny The names of the lost, the land, or the fight— Then silence took hold of the Highland night. [Final Chorus] Rise, son of the Highlands, answer the cry! Stand where the heather meets iron and sky! Though he fell in the dawn and his breath was no more, His defiant name crossed the valley floor. Rise, every voice that remembers the slain— No tyrant can bury a people’s refrain! [Outro] [Bagpipes carry the lament over fading drums] The glen keeps his name. The glen keeps his name.
