My sister Kate came o'er the hill,
Wi' crowdie unto me, man;
She swore she saw them running still
Frae Perth unto Dundee, man.
The left wing general had nae skill,
The Angus lads had nae gude will
That day their neighbours' blood to spill;
For fear, by foes, that they should lose
Their cogues o' brose, all crying woes—
Yonder them goes, d'ye see, man?
Huh! hey dum dirrum, &c.
I see but few like gentlemen
Amang yon frighted crew, man;
I fear my Lord Panmure be slain.
Or that he's ta'en just now, man.
For though his officers obey,
His cow'rdly commons run away,
For fear the redcoats them should slay.
The sodgers' hail made their hearts fail;
See how they skale, and turn their tail,
And rin to flail and plough, man!
Huh! hey dum dirrum, &c.
But now brave Angus comes again
Into the second fight, man;
They swear they'll either die or gain,
No foes shall them affright, man:
Argyle's best forces they'll withstand,
And boldly fight them sword in hand,
Give them a gen'ral to command,
A man of might, that will but fight,
And take delight to lead them right,
And ne'er desire the flight, man.
Huh! hey dum dirrum, &c.
But Flanderkins they have nae skill
To lead a Scottish force, man,
Their motions do our courage spill,
And put us to a loss, man.
You'll hear of us far better news,
When we attack wi' Highland trews,
To hash, and smash, and slash, and bruise,
Till the field, though braid, be all o'erspread,
But coat or plaid, wi' corpses dead,
In their cauld bed, that's moss, man.
Huh! hey dum dirrum, &c.
Twa gen'rals frae the field did run,
Lords Huntly and Seaforth, man;
They cried and run, grim death to shun,
Those heroes of the north, man.
They're fitter far for book or pen,
Than under Mars to lead on men:
Ere they came there they might weel ken
That female hands could ne'er gain lands;
'Tis Highland brands that countermands
Argathlean bands frae Forth, man.
Huh! hey dum dirrum, &c.
The Camerons scour'd as they were mad,
Lifting their neighbours' cows, man;
M'Kenzie and the Stewart fled
But philabeg or trews, man.
Had they behaved like Donald's corps,
And kill'd all those came them before,
Their king had gone to France no more:
Then each Whig saint wad soon repent,
And straight recant his covenant,
And rent it at the news, man.
Hull! hey dum dirrum, &c.
M'Gregors they far off did stand,
Bad'noch and Athole too, man;
I bear they wantit the command.
For I believe them true, man.
Perth, Fife, and Angus, wi' their horse,
Stood motionless, and some did worse;
For though the redcoats went them cross,
They did conspire for to admire
Clans run and fire, left wings retire,
While rights entire pursue, man.
Huh! hey dum dirrum, &c.
But Scotland has not much to say
For such a fight as this is,
Where baith did fight, baith ran away;
And devil take the miss is,
That ev'ry officer was not slain,
That ran that day, and was not ta'en
Either flying to or from Dunblane:
When Whig and Tory, in their fury,
Strove for glory, to our sorrow,
This sad story hush is.
Huh! hey dum dirrum, &c.
Battle of Sheriff-Muir.
[This is Burns's version of the battle of Sheriff-muir, which he contributed to Johnson's Museum, and which, as will be seen, is founded on the preceding.]
O, cam' ye here the fecht to shun,
Or herd the sheep wi' me, man;
Or was ye at the Shirra-muir,
