17
Erskine, wha ne'er slighted merit,
Marked him 'mid the bloody fray;
Save that gallant daring spirit,
Twice he saved my life the day.
Battle fast on battle raging,
Wed our stalwart youths awa,
Day by day new faes engaging,
Forced the weary back to fa'.
Driven at last frae post to pillar,
Left by friends wha ne'er proved true,
Tricked by knaves wha pouched our siller,
What could worn-out valour do?
Myriads dark, like gathering thunder,
Bursting, spread owre land and sea;
Left alane, ala! nae wonder
Britain's sons were forced to flee.
Cross the Ware and Yssel frozen,
Deep through bogs and drifted snaw,
Wounded, weak, and spent, our chosen
Gallant men now faint and fa.
On a cart wi' comrades bluiding,
Stiff wi' gore, and cauld as clay,
Without cover, bed, or bedding,
Five lang nights Will Gairlace lay.
In a sick-house, damp and narrow,
(Left behind, wi' hundred mair,)
See Will neist, in pain and sorrow,
Wasting on a bed of care.
