THE JACOBITE LASS

My love stood at the loanin’ side

An’ held me by the hand,

The bonniest lad that e'er did bide

In a’ this waefu’ land —

There's but ae bonnier to be seen

Frae Pentland to the sea,

And for his sake but yestre'en

I sent my love frae me.

I gi'ed my love the white white rose

That's at my feyther's wa’,

It is the bonniest flower that grows

Whaur ilka flower is braw;

There's but ae bonnier that I ken

Frae Perth unto the main,

An’ that's the flower o’ Scotland's men

That's fechtin’ for his ain.

Gin I had kept whate'er was mine

As I hae gie'd my best,

My he'rt were licht by day, and syne

The nicht wad bring me rest;

There is nae heavier he'rt to find

Frae Forfar toon to Ayr,

As aye I sit me doon to mind

On him I see nae mair.

Lad, gin ye fa’ by Chairlie's side

To rid this land o’ shame,

There winna be a prooder bride

Than her ye left at hame,

But I will seek ye whaur ye sleep

Frae lawlands to the peat,

An ilka nicht at mirk I'll creep

To lay me at yer feet.