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Robert Burns - Lament For Culloden
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The lovely lass o` Inverness,
Nae joy nor pleasure can she see;
For e`en and morn she cries, "Alas!"
And ay the saut tear blins her ee:
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 growing green to see:
And by them lies the dearest lad
That ever blest a woman`s ee!
Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord,
A bluidy man I trow thou be;
For mony a heart thou hast made sair
That ne`er did wrang to thine or thee.
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