5
Or is't some words ye've learnt by rote,
Or a lilt o' dool and sorrow?
Ah! no, no, no, the wee bird sang
I've flown sin morning early;
But sic a day o'wind and rain;
Oh! waes me for Prince Charlie.
On hills that are by right his ain
He roams a lonely stranger;
On ilka hand he‘s press'd by want,
On ilka side by danger.
Yestreen I met him in a glen,
My heart near bursted fairly,
For sadly chang'd indeed was he;
Oh! waes me for Prince Charlie.
Dark night came'on the tempest howl'd
Out o'er the hills and valleys;
And where was't that your prince lay down,
Whose hame should been a palace?
He rowed him in a Highland plaid,
Which covered him but sparely,
And slept beneath a bush o'broom:
Oh! waes me for Prince Charlie.
But now the bird saw some red-coats,
