8 And there I had three score q' ewes, Ochon, ochon, ochrie! Skipping on yon bonnie knowes, And casting woo to me.
I was the happiest of a’ the clan, Sair, sair may I repine, For Donald was the bravest man, And Donald he was mine.
Till Charlie Stewart cam at last Sae far to set us free; My Donald’s arm was wanted then, For Scotland and for me.
Their waefa’ fate what need I tell— Right to the wrang did yield; My Donald and his country fell Upon Culloden field!
I hae nocht left me ava, Ochon, ochon, ochrie! But bonnie orphan lad-weans twa, To seek their bread wi’ me.
I hae yet a tocher hand, Ochon, ochon, ochrie My winsome Donald's durk an’ bran’, Into their hands to gie:
There’s only ae blink o’ hope left, To lighten my auld ee, To see my bairns gie bluidie crowns, To them gart Donald die!
