Robert Burns (1759–1796)

THE LOVELY lass o’ Inverness

Nae joy nor pleasure can she see;

For, e’en to 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 growin’ 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,

A bluidy man I trow thou be;

For mony a heart thou hast made sair,

That ne’er did wrang to thine or thee!’