The poem
THE LOVELY lass o’ Inverness, Nae joy nor pleasure can she see; For, e’en to morn she cries, alas! And aye the saut tear blin’s her e’e.
“Drumossie moor, Drumossie day— A waefu’ day it was to me! For there I lost my father dear, My father dear, and brethren three.
“Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay, Their graves are growin’ green to see; And by them lies the dearest lad That ever blest a woman’s e’e!
“Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord, A bluidy man I trow thou be; For mony a heart thou has made sair, That ne’er did wrang to thine or thee!”