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 blins her ee:
‘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 ee!
Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord,
A bluidy man I trow thou be;
For mony a heart thou hast made sair,
That ne’er did wrang to thine or thee.’