There’s ae drop o’ blood atween my breasts,
And twa in my links o’ hair sae yellow;
The tane I’ll ne’er wash, and the tither ne’er kame,
But I’ll sit and pray aneath the willow.
Wae, wae, upon that cruel heart,
Wae, wae, upon that hand sae bloodie,
Which feasts on our richest Scottish blood,
And makes sae mony a dolefu’ widow!”
Hogg, however, is of opinion that this may be indebted for much of its beauty to the genius of Allan Cunningham.
Of “Cumberland and Murray’s descent into Hell,” which appears to be but little known, Hogg justly says, that “of all the songs that ever were written since the world began this is the first; it is both so horrible and so irresistibly ludicrous.” It is a pity that the author of a poem so full of fire, and hate, and lurid wit is totally unknown; the heartiness of the hate displayed in it, as well as the wealth of unearthly fancy, ought to have recommended it to the approval of Dr. Johnson, had he known of it. Of course Cumberland is the hero of Culloden; Murray is Secretary Murray, who turned king’s evidence against his comrades in the trials after the rebellion, and thus earned for himself the bitterest hate of all Jacobites.