Page:Lament of Flora M'Donald.pdf/2

THE LAMENT OF FLORA M'DONALD.

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Far over the hills of the heather so green,
 And down by the Correi that sings to the sea,
The bonny young Flora sat weeping her one,
 The dew on her plaid, an' the tear in her ee,
She look'd at a boat with the breezes that swung,
 Away on the wave, like a bird of the main;
And aye as it lessen'd she sigh'd an' she sung,
 "Fareweel to the lad I shall ne'er see again;
Fareweel to my hero, the gallant and young,
 Fareweel to the lad I shall ne'er see again.

The muircock that craws on the brows o' Ben-Connal,
 He kens o' his bed in a sweet mossy hame,
The eagle that soars o'er the cliffs o' Clan-Ronald,
 Unawed and unhaunted his eiry can claim;
The Solan can sleep on the shelve of the shore,
 The Cormorant roost on his rock of the sea;
But oh! there is ane whose hard fate I deplore,
 Nor house, ha', nor hame, in his country has he;
The conflict is past, and our name is no more,
 There's nought left but sorrow for Scotland an' me.

The target is torn from the arms of the just,
 The helmet is cleft on the brow of the brave,
The claymore for ever in darkness must rust,
 But red is the sword of the stranger and stave.