ENGLISH
In the heather 's my bed
'Neath the dew-laden trees,
And though I'm in the green-wood
I deserved not the ropes.
My bed's on the ground
And uncovered's my plaid,
Sleep has not come upon me
Since I murdered Culchairn.
My hope rests in God,
Though Lochiel has gone,
I'll yet see him a colonel
In Inverlochy down here.
Thou wast true to the Prince
And his race, from the first,
Though thou hadst never promised
Thou didst give him true aid.
Not so did MacLeod,
Who is now for King George,
A manifest outcast
'Neath the shade of two cloaks.
O MacDonald thou coward
Thou indeed shelteredst guile,
Though thou swore to be faithful
Thou didst weaken their strength
There's a blemish to thy nose,
For thy life thou are loathed,
No better than a beggar
With his staff in hand.
Not so the warrior brave
From Keppoch of the trees,
Who charged down with his heroes,
Unafraid on the field.
The men hard, well-equipped,
From Spean and Glen Roy,
Charged down 'neath their chieftain
Best of all in the North.
'Twas not clashing of swords
That would break down their ranks,
But the bullets in showers
From the foreigners' fire.
But when comes the young Prince
With the Frenchmen to aid,
Unthanked will be scattered
The camp of King George.
Duke William from the court
On a dunghill will be flung,
And ne'er shall his name be
But that of cur.
And though I'm in a den,
There's a glass in my hand,
And I'll drink, and refuse not,
A health to Prince Charles. |
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GAELIC
Ha mo leabaidh 'san fhraoch
Fo shileadh nan croabh,
'S ged a thà mi 'sa choille
Cha do thoill mi na taoid.
Tha mo leab' air an làr
'S tha mo bhreacan gun sgàil,
'S cha d'fhuair mi lochd cadail
O'n a spad mi Cùl Chàirn.
Tha mo dhùil ann an Dia
Ged a dhìobradh Loch Iall,
'Fhaicinn fhathast 'na chòirneal
An Inbhir Lòchaidh so shìos.
Bha thu dìleas do'n Phrionns'
Us d'a shinnsreadh o thùs,
'S ged nach tug thu dhà t'fhacal
Bha thu ceart air a chùl.
Cha b'ionann 's Mac Leòid
A tha 'n dràsd' aig Righ Deòrs',
'Na fhògarach soilleir
Fo choibhreadh 'n dà chleòc.
A Mhic Dhomhnuill gun sgoinn
'S ann a chomhdaich thu 'n fhoill,
Ged a gheall thu bhith dìleas
'S ann a dhìobair thu 'n groim.
Tha ball-dubh ort 'san t-sròin
Is misd' thù ri d' bheò,
'S cha n-fhearr thù na 'm baigeir
'S a bhata 'na dhòrn.
Cha b'ionann 's an laoch
O Cheapaich nan craobh,
Chaidh e sìos le 'chuid ghaisgeach,
'S nach robh tais air an raon.
Na fir acfhuinneach, chruaidh,
O Spiathain us o Ruaidh
Chaidh sìos fo 'n ceann-feachda
B'fhearr a bh' ac' 'san Taobh Tuath.
'S cha b'è caigneachadh lann
Chuireadh bristeadh 'nan ranc,
Ach frasan nam peileir
Tighinn o theine nan Gall.
Ach 'n uair thig am Prionns' òg
Us na Frangaich 'ga chòir,
Thèid sgapadh gun taing
Ann an campa Rìgh Deòrs'.
Thèid Diùc Uilleam a cùirt
Thèid a thilgeadh air dùn,
'S cha n-èighear gu bràth air
Na's airde na 'n cù.
'S ged tha mis' ann am fròig
Tha am botul am dhòrn,
'S gun òl mi 's cha n-àicheadh
Deoch-slàint' a' Phrionns' òig. |
