FLORA'S LAMENT FOR CHARLY.
Sweet is the rose that's budding on yon thorn,
Down in yon valley so cheery;
But sweeter is the flower does my bosom adorn,
That springs from the breast of my dearie.
The lav'rock may whistle and sing o'er the lea,
Wi' a' its strains sae rarely;
But when will it bring such music to me,
As the voice o' my ain handsome Charlie.
The tears steal gently down frae my een,
Nae dangers on earth then could fear me:
My heart throbbing beat and I heav'd up a sigh,
When the lad that I lov'd was near me.
Fu' trig wi’ his bonny bonnet sae blue,
And his tartan dress sae rarely;
A heart that was leal and to me ever true,
Was aye in the breast of my Charlie.
His lang quartered shoon, and his buckles sae clear,
On his shoulder was knotted the plaidie;
Naething on earth was to me half sae dear,
As a sight of my ain Highland laddie.
Red was his cheeks and flaxen his hair,
Hanging down on his shoulders sae rarely;
A blink o' his ee wi' a smile banish'd care,
Sae handsome then was my Charlie.
My laddie, ohon was the flower o' them a',
For the loss of my mate I am eerie;
For when that the pibroch began for to blaw,
'Twas then that I lost my dearie.
But waes me alas, wi' their slaughter and war,
'Twas then that he gaed awa fairly;
And broad is the sea now that parts me afar,
Frae the love o' my ain handsome Charlie.
Ance my hours wi' pleasure was blest,
But now they are dull and eerie;
And when on slumber's soft billows I rest,
I behold the sweet shade of my dearie.
But as long as I live. and as long as I breath,
I will sing to his memory rarely,
Till love is united by the arrows of death,
O Flora shall mourn for her Charlie.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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