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!"