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Lament For Culloden

Robert Burns

The lovely lass o' Inverness,
Nae joy nor pleasure can she see;
For e'en and morn she cries, "Alas!"
And ay 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.

Added: 12 Aug 2002 | Last Read: 15 Dec 2018 2:56 AM | Viewed: 4540 times

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URL: http://plagiarist.com/poetry/5929/ | Viewed on 15 December 2018.
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