Poems, on sacred and other subjects and songs, humorous and sentimental: By the late William Watt. Third edition of the songs only--with additional songs |
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THE REBEL'S LAMENT. |
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 | Poems, on sacred and other subjects |  |
THE REBEL'S LAMENT.
When I look to the Highlan's, the tear fills my e'e,
For there I was ance independent and free;
But now I maun wander the wide Lowlan's o'er,
And solicit cauld charity frae door to door;
And the cause o' my wanderin', thus hameless and poor,
Was my followin' the Prince on Culloden's sad moor.
For there I was ance independent and free;
But now I maun wander the wide Lowlan's o'er,
And solicit cauld charity frae door to door;
And the cause o' my wanderin', thus hameless and poor,
Was my followin' the Prince on Culloden's sad moor.
Ah, waeworth the fatally ruinous day,
When the foe cross'd the fords o' the clear rollin' Spey!
When the forces o' Cumberlan' seal'd my sad lot,
And my twa gallant sons fell by ae cannon shot!
Then adversity's cloud on our cause dark did lower,
When our front-rank was broke on Culloden's sad moor.
When the foe cross'd the fords o' the clear rollin' Spey!
When the forces o' Cumberlan' seal'd my sad lot,
And my twa gallant sons fell by ae cannon shot!
Then adversity's cloud on our cause dark did lower,
When our front-rank was broke on Culloden's sad moor.
Our clans fought like lions, true hearted ilk man,
Contending, like rivals, wha wad lead the van;
But, our shot being spent, wi' despair's wildest roar,
We faced the foe's fire wi' the naked claymore:
Nae tigers, defendin' their young, fought mair dour,
Than ilk clansman, that day, on Culloden's sad moor.
Contending, like rivals, wha wad lead the van;
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We faced the foe's fire wi' the naked claymore:
Nae tigers, defendin' their young, fought mair dour,
Than ilk clansman, that day, on Culloden's sad moor.
But, routed and ruin'd, I durst na gae hame;
My lands were attainted, my house set on flame;
My braw sons baith slain, my dear wife died o' grief—
Och, I thocht the could grave wad to me been relief!
Lang, lang ha'e I wandered now, hameless and poor,
And I'll mourn till I die for Culloden's sad moor.
My lands were attainted, my house set on flame;
My braw sons baith slain, my dear wife died o' grief—
Och, I thocht the could grave wad to me been relief!
Lang, lang ha'e I wandered now, hameless and poor,
And I'll mourn till I die for Culloden's sad moor.
| Poems, on sacred and other subjects | |