THE lovely lass o' Inverness, <br /> Nae joy nor pleasure can she see; <br />For e'en and morn she cries, 'Alas!' <br /> And aye the saut tear blin's her e'e: <br />'Drumossie moor, Drumossie day, <br /> A waefu' day it was to me! <br />For there I lost my father dear, <br /> My father dear and brethren three. <br /> <br />'Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay, <br /> Their graves are growing green to see; <br />And by them lies the dearest lad <br /> That ever blest a woman's e'e! <br />Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord, <br /> A bluidy man I trow thou be; <br />For monie a heart thou hast made sair, <br /> That ne'er did wrang to thine or thee.'<br /><br />Robert Burns<br /><br />http://www.poemhunter.com/poem/lament-for-culloden/
