Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing,‘Onward,’ the sailors cry.Carry the lad that’s born to be kingOver the sea to Skye.
Burned are our homes, exile and death,Scattered the loyal men.Yet ere the sword cool in the sheath,Charlie will come again.
When Adam and Eve were dispossessedOf the garden hard by Heaven,They planted another one down in the west,’Twas Devon, glorious Devon!