518   Lament for Culloden

THE lovely lass o’ Inverness,
   Nae joy nor pleasure can she see;
For e’en and morn she cries, ‘Alas!’
   And aye the saut tear blin’s her e’e:
‘Drumossie moor, Drumossie day,
   A waefu’ day it was to me!
For there I lost my father dear,
   My father dear and brethren three.

‘Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay,
   Their graves are growing green to see;
And by them lies the dearest lad
   That ever blest a woman’s e’e!
Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord,

519   The Farewell

IT was a’ for our rightfu’ King
   We left fair Scotland’s strand;
It was a’ for our rightfu’ King
   We e’er saw Irish land,
                           My dear—
We e’er saw Irish land.

Now a’ is done that men can do,
   And a’ is done in vain;
My love and native land, farewell,
   For I maun cross the main,
                           My dear—
For I maun cross the main.

He turn’d him right and round about
   Upon the Irish shore;
And gae his bridle-reins a shake,
   With, Adieu for evermore,
                           My dear—
With, Adieu for evermore!

The sodger frae the wars returns,
   The sailor frae the main;
But I hae parted frae my love,
   Never to meet again,
                           My dear—
Never to meet again.

When day is gane, and night is come,
   And a’ folk bound to sleep,
I think on him that’s far awa’,
   The lee-lang night, and weep,
                           My dear—
The lee-lang¹ night, and weep.

520   Hark! the Mavis

CA’ the yowes to the knowes,
Ca’ them where the heather grows,
Ca’ them where the burnie rows,
    My bonnie dearie.

Hark! the mavis’ evening sang
Sounding Clouden’s woods amang,
Then a-faulding let us gang,
   My bonnie dearie.

We’ll gae down by Clouden side,
Through the hazels spreading wide,
O’er the waves that sweetly glide
   To the moon sae clearly.

Yonder Clouden’s silent towers,
Where at moonshine midnight hours
O’er the dewy bending flowers
   Fairies dance sae cheery.

Ghaist nor bogle shalt thou fear;
Thou’rt to Love and Heaven sae dear,
Nocht of ill may come thee near,
   My bonnie dearie.

Fair and lovely as thou art,
Thou hast stown my very heart;
I can die—but canna part,
   My bonnie dearie.

While waters wimple to the sea;
While day blinks in the lift¹ sae hie;
Till clay-cauld death shall blin’ my e’e,
   Ye shall be my dearie.

Ca’ the yowes to the knowes...