ON THE BATTLE OF SHERIFFMUIR
BETWEEN THE DUKE OF ARGYLE AND THE EARL OF MAR
‘O cam ye here the fight to shun,
Or herd the sheep wi’ me, man?
Or were you at the Sherra-muir,
And did the battle see, man?’
I saw the battle, sair and teugh,
And reeking-red ran mony a sheugh;
My heart, for fear, gae sough for sough,
To hear the thuds, and see the cluds
O’ clans frae woods, in tartan duds,
Wha glaum’d at kingdoms three, man.
The red-coat lads, wi’ black cockades,
To meet them were na slaw, man;
They rush’d and push’d, and blude out-gush’d,
And mony a bouk did fa’, man:
The great Argyle led on his files,
I wat they glancèd twenty miles:
They hough’d the clans like nine-pin kyles,
They hack’d and hash’d, while broadswords clash’d,
And thro’ they dash’d, and hew’d and smash’d,
Till fey men died awa, man.
But had you seen the philibegs,
And skyrin tartan trews, man,
When in the teeth they dar’d our whigs,
And covenant true blues, man;
In lines extended lang and large,
When baig’nets overpower’d the targe,
And thousands hasten’d to the charge,
Wi’ Highland wrath they frae the sheath
Drew blades o’ death, till, out of breath,
They fled like frighted doos, man.
‘O how deil, Tam, can that be true?
The chase gaed frae the north, man:
I saw mysel, they did pursue
The horsemen back to Forth, man;
And at Dumblane, in my ain sight,
They took the brig wi’ a’ their might,
And straught to Stirling wing’d their flight;
But, cursèd lot! the gates were shut,
And mony a huntit, poor red-coat,
For fear amaist did swarf, man.’
My sister Kate cam up the gate
Wi’ crowdie unto me, man;
She swore she saw some rebels run
Frae Perth unto Dundee, man:
Their left-hand general had nae skill,
The Angus lads had nae guid-will,
That day their neibors’ blood to spill;
For fear, by foes, that they should lose
Their cogs o’ brose, they scared at blows,
And hameward fast did flee, man.
They’ve lost some gallant gentlemen
Amang the Highland clans, man;
I fear my lord Panmure is slain,
Or fallen in whiggish hands, man:
Now wad ye sing this double fight,
Some fell for wrang, and some for right;
But mony bade the world guid-night;
Then ye may tell, how pell and mell,
By red claymores, and muskets’ knell,
Wi’ dying yell, the tories fell,
And whigs to hell did flee, man.