The Moon's on the Lake; or The Macgregor's Gathering.

The moon's on the lake, and the mist's on the brae,
And the clan has a name that is nameless by day;
Our signals for fight, which from monarchs we drew,
Must be heard but by night in our vengeful haloo;
Then haloo haloo, haloo, Gregalach.


If they rob us of name, and pursue us with beagles,
Give their roofs to the flame, and their flesh to the eagles;
Then gather, gather, gather, gather, gather, gather,
While there's leaves in the forest and foam on the river,
Macgregor, despite them, shall flouish forever.

Glenorchy's proud mountain, Colchurn and her towers,
Glen Strae and Glenlyon, no longer are ours;
We're landless, landless, landless, Gregalach
landless, landless, landless.

Through the depths of Loch Katrine, the steed shall career,
O'er the peak of Benlomond the galley shall steer,
And the rocks of Craig Royston like icicles melt,
Ere our wrongs be forgot, or our vengeance unfelt;
Then haloo, haloo, haloo, Gregalach,
If they rob us of name, &c.