Speed, bonnie 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.

Though the waves leap, soft shall ye sleep,
Ocean's a royal bed.
Rocked in the deep, Flora shall keep
Watch by your weary head.

Many's the lad, fought on that day,
Well the claymore could wield
When the night came, silently lay
Dead on Culloden's field.

Burned are their homes, exile and death
Scatter the loyal men
Yet ere the sword cool in the sheath,
Charlie will come again.