There liv'd a lass in Inverness,
She was the pride of a' the town,
Blythe as the lark on gowan-tap,
Whan frae the nest but newly flown.
At kirk she wan the auld folks' luve,
At dance she wan the young men's een;
She was the blythest ay o' the blythe,
At wooster-trystes or Halloween.

As I came in by Inverness,
The simmer-sun was sinking down,
O there I saw the weel-faur'd lass,
And she was greeting through the town.
The gray-haired men were a' i' the streets,
And auld dames crying, (sad to see!)
"The flower o' the lads of Inverness
Lie dead upon Culloden-lee!"

She tore her haffet-links of gowd,
And dighted ay her comely ee;
"My father's head's on Carlisle wall,
At Preston sleep my brethren three!
I thought my heart could haud nae mair,
Mae tears could ever blin' my ee;
But the fa' o' ane has burst my heart,
A dearer ane there couldna be!

"He trysted me o' love yestreen,
Of love-tokens he gave me three;
But he's faulded i' the arms o' weir,
O ne'er again to think o' me!
The forest-flowers shall be my bed,
My food shall be the wild-berrie,
The fa' o' the leaf shall co'er me cauld,
And wauken'd again I winna be."

O weep, O weep, ye Scottish dames,
Weep till ye blin' a mither's ee;
Nae reeking ha' in fifty miles,
But naked corses sad to see.
O spring is blythesome to the year,
Trees sprout, flowers spring, and birds sing hie;
But oh! what spring can raise them up,
That lie on dread Culloden-lee?

The hand o' God hung heavy here.
And lightly touched foul tyrannie!
It struck the righteous to the ground,
And lifted the destroyer hie.
"But there 's a day," quo' my God in prayer,
"When righteousness shall bear the gree;
I'll rake the wicked low i' the dust,
And wauken, in bliss, the gude man's ee!"