GLEN

A wee bird cam’ to our ha’ door, He warbled sweet an’ clearly, An’ aye the o’ercome o’ his sang, Was ‘Wae’s me for Prince Charlie!’ O! when I heard the bonnie, bonnie bird, The tears cam’ droppin’ rarely; I took my bonnet aff my head, For weel I lo’ed Prince Charlie. Quoth I, ‘My bird, my bonnie, bonnie bird, Is that a sang ye borrow? Are these some words ye’ve learnt by heart, Or a lilt o’ dool an’ sorrow?’ ‘O! no, no, no,’ the wee bird sang, ‘I’ve flown sin’ mornin’ early, But sic a day o’ wind an’ rain— Oh! wae’s me for Prince Charlie! On hills that are by right his ain, He roams a lonely stranger, On ilka hand he’s press’d by want, On ilka side by danger: Yestreen I met him in a glen, My heart maist burstit fairly; For sairly changed indeed was he— O! wae’s me for Prince Charlie!’ Dark night cam’ on, the tempest roar’d Cauld o’er the hills an’ valleys; An’ whaur was’t that your prince lay down, Whase hame should be a palace? He row’d him in a Hieland plaid, Which cover’d him but sparely, An’ slept beneath a bush o’ broom— O! wae’s me for Prince Charlie! But now the bird saw some red-coats, An’ he shook his wings wi’ anger; ‘O! this is no a land for me; I’ll tarry here nae langer.’ A while he hover’d on the wing, Ere he departed fairly, But weel I mind the fareweel strain Was ‘Wae’s me for Prince Charlie!’ William Glen.