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 Or is't some words ye've learnt by rote, Or a lilt o' dool and sorrow? Ah! no, no, no, the wee bird sang I've flown sin morning early; But sic a day o'wind and rain; Oh! waes me for Prince Charlie.

On hills that are by right his ain He roams a lonely stranger; On ilka hand he‘s press'd by want, On ilka side by danger. Yestreen I met him in a glen, My heart near bursted fairly, For sadly chang'd indeed was he; Oh! waes me for Prince Charlie.

Dark night came'on the tempest howl'd Out o'er the hills and valleys; And where was't that your prince lay down, Whose hame should been a palace? He rowed him in a Highland plaid, Which covered him but sparely, And slept beneath a bush o'broom: Oh! waes me for Prince Charlie.

But now the bird saw some red-coats, And he shook his wings wi' anger;