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Though his voice it was broken and trembelled fu‘ sore,
He sung Caledonia's battles of yore;
Her mountains sae wild and her sweet simling plains,
And the graces and loves of her nymphs and her swains.
He brushed the wire wi‘ muckle glee;
He lilted his notes rght merily,
As if nae dolour he might dree.
He sung Caledonia's battles of yore;
Her mountains sae wild and her sweet simling plains,
And the graces and loves of her nymphs and her swains.
He brushed the wire wi‘ muckle glee;
He lilted his notes rght merily,
As if nae dolour he might dree.
The Lady of Dun she rang her bell—
What noise is this, pray quickly tell;
What means this lilting and derrey?
A bonny-like rippet this, by my fay.
What noise is this, pray quickly tell;
What means this lilting and derrey?
A bonny-like rippet this, by my fay.
A Minstrel, madam, aged and poor,
Quoth the damsel, is harping at the door;
And oh, my Lady, I'm wae to see him,
And wish I had only something to gi'e him.
For his doublet is ragged, his hewit is bare,
And the wind whistles through his thin white hair;
Albeit his lays be blythesome and sweet,
He hasna a bachel to cover his feet.
Quoth the damsel, is harping at the door;
And oh, my Lady, I'm wae to see him,
And wish I had only something to gi'e him.
For his doublet is ragged, his hewit is bare,
And the wind whistles through his thin white hair;
Albeit his lays be blythesome and sweet,
He hasna a bachel to cover his feet.
"Harping at this time of the morn,
Upon my life it canna be borne;
Ye manseless woman, gae tell my men
To fling the catyff o'er the den,
And let him perish in the deep,
For raising the lady o' Dun frae her sleep."
Upon my life it canna be borne;
Ye manseless woman, gae tell my men
To fling the catyff o'er the den,
And let him perish in the deep,
For raising the lady o' Dun frae her sleep."
