4
It's no its loud roar on the wintry wind swelling;
It's no the cauld blest brings the tear to my e'e;
For O gin I saw my bonny Scotch callan,
The dark days o' winter were simmer to me.
THE HIGHLAND WIDOW.
Oh! I am come to the low country,
Ochon, ochon, ochrie!
Without a penny in my purse,
To buy a meal to me.
It wasna sae in the Highland hills,
Ochon, ochon, ochrie!
Nae woman in the country wide
Sae happy was as me.
For then I had a score o' kye,
Ochon, ochon, ochrie!
Feeding on yon hill sae high,
And bringing milk to me.
And there I had threescore o' ewes,
Ochon, ochon ochrie!
Skipping on yon bonny knowes,
And casting woo to me.
I was the happiest o' the clan,
Sair, sair, nay I repine,
For Donald was the bravest man,
And Donald he was mine.
Till Charlie be came ower at last,
Sae far to set us free;
My Donald's arm was wanted then
For Scotland and for me.
