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Thrice frae aff the ground he ſtarted, Thrice to ſtand he ſtrave in vain, Thrice, as fainting ſtrength departed, Sighed—-and ſani 'mid heaps of ſlain.

Erskine, wha ne’er ſlighted merit, Marked him 'mid the bloody fray; Save that gallant daring ſpirit, Twice he ſaved my life the day.

Battle faſt on battle raging, Wed our ſtalwart youths awa; Day by day new ſaes engaging, Forced the weary back to fa.

Driven at laſt frae poſt to pillar, Left by friends wha ne'er proved true, Tricked by knaves wha pouched cur ſiller, What could worn out valour do?

Myriads dark, Like gathering thunder, Burſting, spread owre land and ſea; Left alane, alas! nae wonder Britain's ſons were forced to flee.

Croſs the Ware and Yssel frozen, Deep through bogs and drifted ſnaw, Wounded, weak, and ſpent, our choſen Gallant men now faint and fa.

On a cart wi comrades bluiding, Stiff wi gore, and cauld as clay, Without cover, bed, or bedding, Five lang nights Will Gairlace lay.