Lament for Culloden
THE lovely lass o Inverness,
Nae joy nor pleasure can she see;
For een to morn she cries, Alas!
And aye the saut tear blins her ee:
Drumossie moorDrumossie day
A waefu day it was for me!
For there I lost my father dear,
My father dear, and brethren three.
Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay,
Their graves are growin green to see;
And by them lies the dearest lad
That ever blest a womans ee!
Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord,
A bluidy man I trow thou be;
For mony a heart thou has made sair
That neer did wrang to thine or thee!