Monaltri.
ANON.
There’s a sound on the hill,
Not of joy but of ailing;
Dark-hair’d women mourn—
Beat their hands, with loud wailing.
They cry out, Ochon!
For the young Monaltri,
Who went to the hill;
But home came not he.
Without snood, without plaid
Katrina’s gone roaming.
O Katrina, my dear!
Homeward be coming.
Och! hear, on the castle
Yon pretty bird singing,
“Snoodless and plaidless,
Her hands she is ringing.”
An Coineachan—A Highland Lullaby.
Hó-bhan, hó-bhan, Goiridh òg O,
Goiridh òg O, Goiridh òg O;
Hó-bhan, hó-bhan, Goiridh òg O,
I’ve lost my darling baby O!
I left my darling lying here,
A-lying here, a-lying here;
I left my darling lying here,
To go and gather blaeberries.
I’ve found the wee brown otter’s track,
The otter’s track, the otter’s track;
I’ve found the wee brown otter’s track,
But ne’er a trace of baby O!