To the music “To Daunton Me”
O I have scarce to lay me on,
Of kingly fields were ance my ain;
Wi’ the Moorcock on the mountain-bree,
But hardship ne’er can daunton me.
Up came the gallant chief Lochiel,
An’ drew his glaive o’ nut-brown-steel,
Says “Charlie set your fit to me,
An’ shaw me wha will daunton thee!”
To daunton me an’ me sae young,
An’ gude King James’s auldest son!
O that’s the thing that ne’er can be,
For the man’s unborn that will daunton me!
O set me ance on Scottish land,
An’ gie me my braid-sword in my hand,
Wi’ my blue bonnet a boon my bree,
An’ shaw me the man that will daunton me.
It’s nae the battle’s deadlie stoure,
Nor frields pruived fause that’ll gar me cower;
But the reckless hand o’ povertie,
O! That alane can daunton me.
High was I born to kingly gear,
But a cuif came in my cap to wear
But wi’ my braid sword I’ll let him see
He’s nae the man will daunton me.