The red beacon flashes o'er hill and o'er heath
And streams on the sky in its fiery wreath.
Tis the herald of Carnage, of bloody affray -
Tis the light that shall guide us to cush on our prey.
Do ye mark yonder banner expanded on high;
When the morning shall glimmer on earth it shall lie
And the foeman who rear'd it, deep-dyed in his gore
Shall wake to the pibroch's loud piping no more.
Do ye hear the night gale thro' the dim forest moan -
There is woe in its music and death in its tone
But death cannot pall the proud souls of the brave -
For glory shall lighten the gloom of the grave.
Dawn - Dawn - thou slow morning! oh hasten thee on -
That the squadrons may muster - the battle be won -
And victory shine on the warrior's plume,
Or honour prepare for his relics a tomb.
Like the rain from the cloud shall the red torrent pour -
And stain the bright hue of the gleaming clamore -
But the cloud passes onward and heaven is gay -
So glory survives the dark battle's array.