Robert Burns Poems

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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 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 has made sair,
That ne’er did wrang to thine or thee!”

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