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

 THE LAMENT OF FLORA M'DONALD.

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.