Ocean to ocean the welcome is ringing,
Fair Indian summer, with blush and with smile,
O'er forests her right royal vesture is flinging
To welcome the bride and heir of Argyle.
Princess of Lorne, we rise to receive her,
First royal lady our country has seen,
To this, the wide land of the maple and beaver,
We welcome thee Princess, child of our Queen.
Gather, oh gather, &c.
We had regret we sought not to smother--
Kind Earl, dear Countess were called to depart;
But thoughtfully, kindly, the fair Queen our mother,
Sends the son of her choice, the child of her heart.
There is a stir, a bustle, a humming,
The tartans are waving, plumes floating free,
While trumpet and drum sound, "The Campbells are coming"
We are all Campbells in welcoming thee.
Gather, oh gather, &c.
Son of Argyle, so near to the sceptre,
And Princess Louise fair child of a throne,
We welcome to stand for our Queen in this empire,
Rule us, and love us, and make us your own
Blow, wild pibroch, that welcomes no other!
Shout million-voiced _failte_, wave banners the while;
She's worthy, fair child of so royal a mother,
He's worthy the name and fame of Argyle.
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