This page has been validated.
6
But Donald jumpit owre the burn,
An a ware an aith she wadna turn,
Or sure she wad hae cause to mourn;
Then fast away did flee man.
O had you seen that dunt o' death!
we ran until we tint our breath,
Aye looking back for fear of skaith
Wi‘ hopeless shining e‘e man.
But Britian ever may deplore
That day upon Drumossie moor
whar thousands taen war drench'd in gore,
Or hang’d outowr a tree man,
O, Cumberland, what mean'd ye then
To ravage ilka Highland glen?
Our crime was truth an love to ane;
we had nae spite at thee man.
An you or yours may yet be glad
To trust the honest Highland lad;
The bonnet blue an belted plaid
Will stand the last o' three man.
—
