8
Though born on rough seas to a far bloody shore,
May be to return to Lochaber no more.
Tho' hurricane rise, and rise every wind,
They'll ne'er make a tempest like that in my mind,
Tho' loudest of thunder on louder waves roar,
That's naething like leaving my love on the shore.
To leave thee behind me my heart is sair pain'd;
By ease that's inglorious no fame can be gain'd;
And beauty and love's the reward of the brave,
And I maun deserve it before I can crave.
Then glory, my Jeany maun plead my excuse,
Since honour commands me how can I refuse
Without it I ne'er can have merit for thee;
And without thy favour I'd better not be:
I gae then, my lass to win honour and fame,
And if I hae luck to come gloriously hame,
A heart I will bring thee with love running o'er.
And then I'll leave thee and Lochaber no more.
FINIS.
