The Flowers of the Forest, that fought aye the foremost,
The prime of our land, are cauld in the clay. 20
We’ll hear nae mair lilting at the ewe-milking;
Women and bairns are heartless and wae;
Sighing and moaning on ilka green loaning—
The Flowers of the Forest are a’ wede away.
Jane Elliott.
CXLIII
WAE’S ME FOR PRINCE CHARLIE.
A wee bird came to our ha’ door;
He warbled sweet and clearly;