Poem by Allan Cunningham

The Lovely Lass of Inverness

THERE lived a lass in Inverness,
  She was the pride of a’ the town;
Blythe as the lark on gowan-tap,
  When frae the nest but newly flown.
At kirk she wan the auld folks’ love,
  At dance she wan the young men’s een;
She was the blythest aye o’ the blythe,
  At wooster-trystes or Hallowe’en.

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-haired men were a’ i’ the streets,
  And auld dames crying, (sad to see!)
“The flower o’ the lads of Inverness
  Lie dead upon Culloden-lee!”

She tore her haffet-links of gowd,
  And dighted aye her comely ee;
“My father’s head ’s on Carlisle wall,
  At Preston sleep my brethren three!
I thought my heart could haud nae mair,
  Nae tears could ever blin’ my ee;
But the fa’ o’ ane has burst my heart,
  A dearer ane there couldna be!

“He trysted me o’ love yestreen,
  Of love-tokens he gave me three;
But he ’s faulded i’ the arms o’ weir,
  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 cover me cauld,
  And waukened 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, O, what spring can raise them up,
  That lie on dread Culloden-lee?

The hand o’ God hung heavy here,
  And lightly touched foul tyrannie;
It struck the righteous to the ground,
  And lifted the destroyer hie.
“But there ’s a day,” quo’ my God in prayer,
  “When righteousness shall bear the gree;
I ’ll rake the wicked low i’ the dust,
  And wauken, in bliss, the gude man’s ee!”

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