大象传媒

The luvely 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 e'e.
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 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 bludy man I trow thou be;
For mony a heart thou has made sair,
That ne'er did wrang to thine or thee!