But now the bird saw some red-coats,
An’ he shook his wings wi’ anger;
‘O! this is no a land for me;
I’ll tarry here nae langer.’
A while he hover’d on the wing,
Ere he departed fairly,
But weel I mind the fareweel strain
Was ‘Wae’s me for Prince Charlie!’
William Glen.
BOULTON
CLIX
SKYE BOAT-SONG
Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing,
‘Onward’ the sailors cry;
Carry the lad that’s born to be king
Over the sea to Skye!
Loud the winds howl, loud the waves roar,
Thunder-clouds rend the air;
Baffled, our foes stand by the shore,
Follow they will not dare.
Though the waves leap, soft shall ye sleep;
Ocean’s a royal bed.
Rocked in the deep, Flora will keep
Watch by your weary head.
Many’s the lad fought on that day
Well the claymore could wield,
When the night came silently lay
Dead on Culloden’s field.