us pledge ilk hardy chiel,
Wha's hand is sure, wha's heart is leal,
Wha's glory 's on a brave bonspiel--
The roarin' rink for me, boys.

In ancient days--fame tells the fact--
That Scotland's heroes werena slack
The heads o' stubborn foes to crack,
And mak' the feckless flee, boys.
Wi' brave hearts, beating true and warm,
They aften tried the curlin' charm
To cheer the heart and nerve the arm--
The roarin' rink for me, boys.

May love and friendship crown our cheer
Wi' a' the joys to curlers dear;
We hae this nicht some heroes here,
We aye are blythe to see, boys.
A' brithers brave are they, I ween,
May fickle Fortune, slippery queen,
Aye keep their ice baith clear and clean--
The roarin' rink for me, boys.

May health an' strength their toils reward,
And should misfortune's gales blow hard,
Our task will be to plant a guard
Or guide them to the tee, boys.
Here 's three times three for curlin' scenes,
Here 's three times three for curlin' freen's,
Here 's three times three for beef an' greens--
The roarin' rink for me, boys.

A' ye that love auld Scotland's name,
A' ye that love auld Scotland's fame,
A' ye that love auld Scotland's game,
A glorious sicht to see, boys--
Up, brothers, up, drive care awa';
Up, brothers, up, ne'er think o' thaw;
Up, brothers, up, and sing hurrah--
The roarin' rink for me, boys.

THE AULD MEAL MILL.

The auld meal mill--oh, the auld meal mill,
Like a dream o' my schule-days, it haunts me still;
Like the sun's simmer blink on the face o' a hill,
Stands the love o' my boyhood, the auld meal mill.

The stream frae the mountain, rock-ribbit and brown,
Like a peal o' loud laughter, comes rattlin' down;
Tak' my word for 't, my friend, 'tis na puny rill
That ca's the big wheel o' the auld meal mill.

When flashin' and dashin' the paddles flee round,
The miller's blythe whistle aye blends wi' the sound;
The spray, like the bricht draps whilk rainbows distil,
Fa' in showers o' red gowd round the auld meal mill.

The wild Hielan' heather grows thick on its thack,
The ivy and apple-tree creep up its back;
The lightning-wing'd swallow, wi' Nature's ain skill,
Builds its nest 'neath the eaves o' the auld meal mill.

Keep your e'e on the watch-dog,