The Poetry of Robert Burns Edited by William Ernest Henley and Thomas F. Henderson |
 | I. |
|
|
|
|
|
| 2. |
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
|
| III. |
THE BATTLE OF SHERRAMUIR |
| IV. |
|
|
|
 | The Poetry of Robert Burns |  |
THE BATTLE OF SHERRAMUIR
I
‘O, cam ye here the fight to shun,Or herd the sheep wi' me, man?
Or were ye at the Sherra-moor,
Or did the battle see, man?’
‘I saw the battle, sair and teugh,
And reekin-red ran monie a sheugh;
My heart for fear gae sough for sough,
To hear the thuds, and see the cluds
O' clans frae woods in tartan duds,
Wha glaum'd at kingdoms three, man.
74
II
‘The red-coat lads wi' black cockaudsTo meet them were na slaw, man:
They rush'd and push'd and bluid outgush'd,
And monie a bouk did fa', man!
The great Argyle led on his files,
I wat they glanc'd for twenty miles;
They hough'd the clans like nine-pin kyles,
They hack'd and hash'd, while braid-swords clash'd,
And thro' they dash'd, and hew'd and smash'd,
Till fey men died awa, man.
III
‘But had ye seen the philibegsAnd skyrin tartan trews, man,
When in the teeth they daur'd our Whigs
And Covenant truebles, man!
In lines extended lang and large,
When baig'nets o'erpower'd the targe,
And thousands hasten'd to the charge,
Wi' Highland wrath they frae the sheath
Drew blades o' death, till out o' breath
They fled like frighted dows, man!’
IV
‘O, how Deil! Tam, can that be true?The chase gaed frae the north, man!
I saw mysel, they did pursue
The horseman back to Forth, man;
75
They took the brig wi' a' their might,
And straught to Stirling wing'd their flight;
But, cursed lot! the gates were shut,
And monie a huntit poor red-coat,
For fear amaist did swarf, man!’
V
‘My sister Kate cam up the gateWi' crowdie unto me, man:
She swoor she saw some rebels run
To Perth and to Dundee, man!
Their left-hand general had nae skill;
The Angus lads had nae good will
That day their neebors' bluid to spill;
For fear by foes that they should lose
Their cogs o' brose, they scar'd at blows,
And hameward fast did flee, man.
VI
‘They've lost some gallant gentlemen,Amang the Highland clans, man!
I fear my Lord Panmure is slain,
Or in his en'mies' hands, man.
Now wad ye sing this double flight,
Some fell for wrang, and some for right,
But monie bade the world guid-night:
Say, pell and mell, wi' muskets' knell
How Tories fell, and Whigs to Hell
Flew off in frighted bands, man!’
| The Poetry of Robert Burns | |