Culloden Muir.
[John Anderson.—Air, "The Highland Watch."]
Culloden muir, Culloden field,
Long wilt thou be remember'd:
On thee the hero nobly fell,
And with the dead was number'd;
On thee the dearest blood was shed,
By numbers doubled fairly;
On thee the clans of Scotland bled
For their dear royal Charlie.
Thy broad brown sward that day was dyed,
The howes were clotted o'er;
From gaping wounds incessant flow'd
The red, red-reeking gore:
Thou drank'st the precious blood of those
Who fought that day fu' sairly,
A glorious day for Scotland's foes,
Eventful for prince Charlie!
Oh! Charlie, noble, gallant youth,
Thy memory Scots revere;
They loved thee with the warmest truth,
Their hearts were all sincere:
But traitor knaves, with brib'ry base,
Made death's darts fly fu' rarely,
And Scotland lang will mind the place
She lost her royal Charlie.