Chorus: Teribus ye Teri-Odin,
Sons of heroes slain at Flodden,
Imitating Border bowmen,
Aye defend your rights and Common.

'Twas then Drumlanrig, gen'rous donor,
Gave (immortal be his honour),
What might sooth Hawick's dire disaster,
Land for tillage, peats and pasture.

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Sacred was the widow's portion,
Sacred long from all extortion;
Frugal temperance urged no cesses,
Birthday rates, nor baillies' messes.

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After Flodden was decided,
Surrey had his troops divided,
When he turned them loose to plunder,
O, heaven just! Why slept thy thunder?

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At the word each fiend advances,
Flodden's blood yet dimmed their lances;
Entering hamlet, town or village,
Marked their way with blood and pillage.

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Far they spread this dire disorder,
O'er fair Scotia's Alpine border,
O'er the vales of Tweed and Teviot,
'Tween Moffat hills and lofty Cheviot.

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Hawick they left in ruins lying,
Nought was heard but widows crying:
Labour of all kinds neglected;
Orphans wandering unprotected.

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All were sunk in deep dejection,
Non to flee to for protection;
Till some youths who stayed from Flodden,
Rallied up by Teriodin.

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Armed with sword, with bow and quiver,
Shouting, "Vengence now or never"
Off they marched in martial order
Down by Teviot's flowery border.

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Nigh where Teviot falls sonorous
Into Hornshole dashing furious,
Lay their foes with spoil encumbered;
All was still each sentry slumbered.

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Hawick destroyed, their slaughtered sires -
Scotia's wrongs each bosom fires -
On they rush to be victorious,
Or to fall in battle glorious.

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Down they threw their bows and arrows,
Drew their swords like veteran heroes,
Charged the foe with native valour,
Routed them and took their colour.

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Numbers more our heroes aiding,
Soon they checked all base marauding;
English bands, in wild disorder,
Fled for safety o'er the border!

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High the trump of fame did raise them,
Poets of those times did praise them -
Sung their feats in muirland ballants;
Scotia's boast was, "Hawick's Callants."

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Scarce a native glen or mountain -
Rugged rock or running fountain,
But have seen those youths with bravery,
Fight the tools of southern slavery.

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Thus we boast a Muir and colour
Won by deeds of hardy valor -
Won in fields where victory swithered -
Won when Scotia's laurels withered.

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Annual since our flag's been carried
Round our Muir by men unmarried,
Emblem grand of those who on it -
Matrimonial hands would stain it.

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Magistrates! Be faithful trustees,
Equal poise the scales of justice,
See our common rightly guidit,
quirky lairds nae mair divide it.

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"Hawick shall triumph 'mid destruction,"
Was a Druid's dark prediction;
Strange the issues that unrolled it
Centuries after he'd foretold it.

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Back to fable-shaded eras,
We can trace a race of heroes,
Hardy, brave, inured to perils,
Foreign wars and feudal quarrels.

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Spite of levelling conflagration,
Spite of swelling inundation,
Spite of frequent lawless pillage,
Hawick arose by trade and tillage.

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Imitating Rome and Sparta,
Practised patriotic virtue,
Wisely taught each art and science,
Bravely bade her foes defiance.

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Peace be thy portion, Hawick for ever!
Thine arts, thy commerce, flourish ever!
Down to latest ages send it -
HAWICK WAS EVER INDEPENDENT!

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