Her father lay long in the Embro jail,
Wearing fast to his end,
For his head must be swept clean from his shoulders,
When the warrant the King shall send;
Singing “Woes me!” wi’ the tear in her e’e,
Did Cochrane’s bonny daughter mourn!
She kissed her father’s lyart locks,
Unkempt for many a day,
And she said, “To save my father’s life,
I aiblins ken a way: