The lovely lass o’ Inverness,Nae joy nor pleasure can she see;For, e’en to morn she cries, alas!And aye the saut tear blin’s her e’e.
“Drumossie moor, Drumossie day—A waefu’ day it was to me!For there I lost my father dear,My father dear, and brethren three.
“Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay,Their graves are growin’ green to see;And by them lies the dearest ladThat ever blest a woman’s e’e!
“Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord,A bluidy man I trow thou be;For mony a heart thou has made sair,That ne’er did wrang to thine or thee!”