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Tune--"_Lass of Inverness._"
[As Burns passed slowly over the moor of Culloden, in one of his
Highland tours, the lament of the Lass of Inverness, it is said, rose
on his fancy: the first four lines are partly old.]
The lovely lass o' Inverness,
Nae joy nor pleasure can she see;
For e'en and morn, she cries, alas!
And ay 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 host made sair,
That ne'er did wrong to thine or thee.
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