The Book of Scottish Song/Wae's me for Prince Charlie

Wae's me for Prince Charlie.

[The author of this sweetly-tender Jacobite strain was William Glen, a native of Glasgow, who died about 1824. He was for some period of his life a manufacturer in his native city, but his latter days were marked by the poet's too frequent lot—poverty and misfortune. He wrote a variety of songs and other poetical pieces, but the present one is perhaps his happiest. It is sung to the old air of "Johnnie Faa, or the Gypsy Laddie."—During the late visit of Her Majesty the Queen to the North, this song received a mark of royal favour which would have sweetened, had he been alive, poor Glen's bitter cup of life. While at Taymouth Castle, the Marquis of Breadalbane had engaged Mr. Wilson, the celebrated vocalist, to sing before her Majesty. A list of the songs Mr. Wilson was in the habit of singing was submitted to the Queen, that she might signify her pleasure as to those which she would wish to hear, when her Majesty immediately fixed upon the following:—"Lochaber no more,"—"The Flowers of the Forest,"—"The Lass o' Gowrie,"—"John Anderson, my jo,"—"Cam' ye by Athol,"—and "The Laird o' Cockpen." The present song was not in Mr. Wilson's list, but her Majesty herself asked if he could sing "Wae's me for Prince Charlie," which fortunately he was able to do. The selection of songs which the Queen made displays eminently her sound taste and good feeling. A better, or one more varied both as regards music and words, taking the number of pieces into account, could not easily be formed.]

A wee bird cam' to our ha' door,
He warbled sweet and clearly,
An' aye the o'ercome o' his sang
Was "Wae's me for Prince Charlie!"
Oh! when I heard the bonnie soun'
The tears cam' happin' rarely,
I took my bannet aff my head,
For weel I lo'ed Prince Charlie.

Quoth I, "My bird, my bonnie bonnie bird,
Is that a sang ye borrow,
Are these some words ye've learnt by heart,
Or a lilt o' dool an' sorrow?"
"Oh! no no no," the wee bird sang,
"I've flown sin' mornin' early,
But sic a day o' wind and rain—
Oh! wae's me for Prince Charlie!

"On hills that are, by right, his ain
He roves a lanely stranger,
On every side he's press'd by want,
On every side is danger;
Yestreen I met him in a glen,
My heart maist burstit fairly,
For sadly chang'd indeed was he—
Oh! wae's me for Prince Charlie!

"Dark night cam' on, the tempest roar'd
Loud o'er the hills an valleys,
An' whare was't that your Prince lay down
Whase hame should been a palace?
Ha row'd him in a Highland plaid,
Which cover'd him but sparely,
An' slept beneath a bush o' broom—
Oh! wae's me for Prince Charlie!"

But now the bird saw some red coats,
An' he sheuk his wings wi' anger,
"Oh! this is no a land for me,
I'll tarry here nae langer."
He hover'd on the wing a while
Ere he departed fairly,
But weel I mind the fareweel strain
Was, "Wae's me for Prince Charlie!"

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