Come through the heather, around him gather,
Come Ronald, come Donald, come a’ thegither,
And claim your rightfu’, lawfu’ King,
For wha’ll be King but Charlie?
Lady Nairn.
GLEN
CLVIII
WAE’S ME FOR PRINCE CHARLIE
A wee bird cam’ to our ha’ door,
He warbled sweet an’ clearly,
An’ aye the o’ercome o’ his sang,
Was ‘Wae’s me for Prince Charlie!’
O! when I heard the bonnie, bonnie bird,
The tears cam’ droppin’ rarely;
I took my bonnet aff my head,
For weel I lo’ed Prince Charlie.
Quoth I, ‘My bird, my bonnie, bonnie bird,
Is that a sang ye borrow?
Are these some words ye’ve learnt by heart,
Or a lilt o’ dool an’ sorrow?’
‘O! no, no, no,’ the wee bird sang,
‘I’ve flown sin’ mornin’ early,
But sic a day o’ wind an’ rain—
Oh! wae’s 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 maist burstit fairly;
For sairly changed indeed was he—
O! wae’s me for Prince Charlie!’
Dark night cam’ on, the tempest roar’d
Cauld o’er the hills an’ valleys;
An’ whaur was’t that your prince lay down,
Whase hame should be a palace?
He row’d him in a Hieland plaid,
Which cover’d him but sparely,
An’ slept beneath a bush o’ broom—
O! wae’s me for Prince Charlie!