The Jacobite Lass
MY LOVE stood at the loanin’ side
An’ held me by the hand,
The bonniest lad that e’er did bide
In a’ this waefu’ land—
There’s but ae bonnier to be seen
Frae Pentland to the sea,
And for his sake but yestre’en
I sent my love frae me.
I gi’ed my love the white white rose
That’s at my feyther’s wa’,
It is the bonniest flower that grows
Whaur ilka flower is braw;
There’s but ae bonnier that I ken
Frae Perth unto the main,
An’ that’s the flower o’ Scotland’s men
That’s fechtin’ for his ain.
Gin I had kept whate’er was mine
As I hae gie’d my best,
My he’rt were licht by day, and syne
The nicht wad bring me rest;
There is nae heavier he’rt to find
Frae Forfar toon to Ayr,
As aye I sit me doon to mind
On him I see nae mair.
Lad, gin ye fa’ by Chairlie’s side
To rid this land o’ shame,
There winna be a prooder bride
Than her ye left at hame,
But I will seek ye whaur ye sleep
Frae lawlands to the peat,
An ilka nicht at mirk I’ll creep
To lay me at yer feet.
