The Book of Scottish Song/The lovely lass of Inverness 2

The lovely lass of Inverness.

[Written by Allan Cunningham, and first published in Cromek's Remains of Nithsdale and Galloway Song.]

There liv'd a lass in Inverness,
⁠She was the pride of a' the town,
She was blythe as a lark on the flower-tap,
⁠Whan frae the nest it's newly flown.
At kirk she wan the auld folks luve,
⁠At dance she wan the ladses' een;
She was the blythest aye o' the blythe,
⁠At wooster-trystes or Halloween.

As I came in by Inverness,
⁠The simmer-sun was sinking down,
O there I saw the weel-faur'd lass,
⁠And she was greeting through the town.
The gray-hair'd men were a' i' the streets,
⁠And auld dames crying, (sad to see!)
"The flower o' the lads o' Inverness,
⁠Lie bluidie on Culloden-lee!"

She tore her haffet-links of gowd,
⁠And dighted aye her comely e'e;
"My father lies at bluidie Carlisle,
⁠At Preston sleep my brethren three!
I thought my heart could haud nae mair,
⁠Mae tears could never blin' my e'e;
But the fa' o' ane has burst my heart,
⁠A dearer ane there ne'er could be!

"He trysted me o' luve yestreen,
⁠Of love-tokens he gave me three;
But he's faulded i' the arms o' gory wier,
⁠O ne'er again to think o' me!
The forest-flowers shall be my bed,
⁠My food shall be the wild-berrie,
The fa' o' the leaf shall co'er me cauld,
⁠And wauken'd again I winna be.

O weep, O weep, ye Scottish dames,
⁠Weep till ye blin' a mither's ee;
Nae reeking ha' in fifty miles,
⁠But naked corses sad to see.
O spring is blythesome to the year,
⁠Trees sprout, flowers spring, and birds sing hie,
But oh! what spring can raise them up,
⁠Whose bluidie weir has seal'd the e'e?

The hand o' God hung heavie here,
⁠And lightly touch'd foul tyrannie!
It strake the righteous to the ground,
⁠And lifted the destroyer hie.
But there's a day, quo' my God in prayer,
⁠Whan righteousness shall bear the gree,
I'll rake the wicked low i' the dust,
⁠And wauken, in bliss, the gude man's e'e!

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