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Robert Burns

Lament for Culloden

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 for 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 has made sair
    That ne’er did wrang to thine or thee!”