Speed bonny 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 waves roar,     Thunderclaps rend the air, Baffled our foes stand on the shore,     Follow they will not dare. Many’s the lad fought on that day     Well the claymore could wield, When the night came, silently lay     Dead on Culloden’s field. Though the waves leap, soft shall you sleep,     Ocean’s a royal bed: Rocked in the deep, Flora will keep     Watch by your weary head. Burned are their homes, exile and death     Scatter the loyal men: Yet ere the sword cool in the sheath,     Charlie will come again!

i, ratis, i, velut ales avis,     porro cient nautae: per mare fer, qui rex iuvenis     spes Caledoniae. saevit hiems, unda stridet,     fulmine flent caeli: hostis haerens litus habet,     pavidus insequi. plurimus vir, Marte sollers,     nisus erat ferro: venerat nox, iacet iners     mortuus in solo. spuma salit, lassus dormit,     cubat in gurgite: una sedet, fida manet     vigil pro capite. igni suos, exilio,     morte sparsos queror: ense tamen non tepido     reveniet victor!