There’s an old world air at Achnacarry, Achnacarry,
And a memory of the Highlands at the door,
Where kindly faces meet you,
And welcoming hands greet you
With the greeting that they gave the Prince of yore.
And the Scottish hills are there at Achnacarry, Achnacarry,
Where the darkling forest lifts its branches high.
You can almost see the heather,
In the happy summer weather,
Out yonder where the western mountains lie.
Old dreams come back again at Achnacarry, Achnacarry,
Of Culloden and Prince Charlie and Lochiel;
You can hear the targes clashing,
And see the claymores flashing,
While the heart stirs at the glinting of the steel;
Old dreams of vanished years at another Achnacarry,
Of loyalty and love beyond the wave.
Here, the loyalty still meets you,
And the loving-kindness greets you,
As faithful as the old world ever gave.
There’s an old world charm at Achnacarry, Achnacarry,
And a peace and joy the old world never knew.
Should you come to Achnacarry,
Where all comers love to tarry,
Nothing happier can ever come to you.