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,
  A bluidy man I trow thou be;
For monie a heart thou hast made sair,
  That ne’er did wrang to thine or thee.'
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