Lament of Flora McDonald.

Far over the hills o' the heather sae green,
And down by the Corrie that sings to the sea,
The bonny young Flora sat sighing her lane,
The dew on her plaid and the tear in her e'e.
She look'd at a boat with the breezes that swung,
Away on the wave like a bird on the main;
And aye as it lessen'd she sigh'd and she sung,
"Fareweel to the lad I shall ne'er see again.
Fareweel to my hero, the gallant and young,
Fareweel to the lad I shall ne'er see again.
"The muircock that craws on the brows of Ben-Connal,
He kens o' his bed in a sweet mossy hame;
The eagle that soars o'er the cliffs of Clan. Ronald,
Unawed and unhunted his eiry can claim;
The solan can sleep on his shelve on the shore
The cormorant roost on his rock of the sea;
But oh! there is ane whose hard fate I deplore,
Nor house, ha', nor hame, in his country has he;
The conflict is past, and our name is no more;
There's nocht left but sorrow for Scotland an' me.