Poetry of Burns
Robert Burns
born 1759, died 1796 |
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The Lovely Lass Of Inverness
The lovely lass o' Inverness
Nae joy nor pleasure can she see;
For e'en and 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 growing green to see:
And by them lies the dearest lad
That 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 hast made sair
That ne'er did wrang to thine or thee.
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