The Book of Scottish Song/Lament of Flora M'Donald

Lament of Flora M'Donald.

[Words by James Hogg. Music arranged by Neil Gow, Jun.]

Far over the hills of the heather so green,
⁠And down by the Corrie that sings to the sea,
The bonny young Flora sat weeping her lane,
⁠The dew on her plaid and the tear in her e'e.
She look'd at a boat with the breezes that swung,
⁠Away on the wave like a bird on the main;
And aye as it lessen'd she sigh'd and she sung,
⁠"Farewell to the lad I shall ne'er see again;
Farewell to my hero, the gallant and young,
⁠Farewell to the lad I shall ne'er see again.

"The moorcock that craws on the brows o' Ben-Connal,
⁠He kens o' his bed in a sweet mossy hame;
The eagle that soars o'er the cliff's of Clan-Ronald,
⁠Unawed and unhunted his eriy can claim;
The solan can sleep on his shelve on the shore;
⁠The cormorant roost on his rock of the sea;
But oh! there is ane whose hard fate I deplore,
⁠Nor house, ha', nor hame, in his country has he;
The conflict is past, and our name is no more,
⁠There's nought left but sorrow for Scotland an' me.

"The target is torn from the arms of the just,
⁠The helmet is cleft on the brow of the brave,
The claymore for ever in darkness must rust;
⁠But red is the sword of the stranger and slave;
The hoof of the horse, an' the foot of the proud,
⁠Have trod o'er the plumes on the bonnet o' blue:
Why slept the red bolt in the breast of the cloud,
⁠When tyranny revelled in the blood of the true?
Farewell, my young hero, the gallant and good!
⁠The crown of thy father is torn from thy brow."

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