A sailing o'er the tide,

Who notified the nations

Of where I wouldt reside!

Mortality is fatal-

Gentility is fine,

Rascality, heroic,

Insolvency, sublime!

Our Fathers being weary,

Laid down on Bunker Hill;

And tho' ful many a morning,

Yet they are sleeping still,-

The trumpet, sir, shall wake them, 

In dreams I see them rise,

Each with a solemn musket

A marching to the skies!

A Coward will remain, Sir,

Until the figh is done;

But an immortal hero

Will take his hat, and run!

Good bye, Sir, I am gong;

My country calleth me;

Allow me, Sir, at parting,

To wipe my weeping e'e.

In token of our friendship 

Accept this "Bonnie Doon",

And when the hand that plucked it

Hath passed beyond the moon,

The memory of my ashes

Will consolation be;

Then, farewell, Tuscarora,

And farewell, Sir, to thee!