C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
William Nicholson
The Heath-Cock
T
Red rase the sun o’er distant vale;
Our Northern clans, wi’ distant yell,
Around their chiefs were gathering.
M’Donald, are ye ready yet,
O Frazer, are ye ready yet,
To join the clans in the morning?”
O’er dowie glen or mountain brow,
But rush like tempest on the foe,
Wi’ sword an’ targe this morning.
“O Duncan,” etc.
A stem o’ Stuart’s glorious name;
What Highlander his sword wad hain
For Charlie’s cause this morning?
“O Duncan,” etc.
The sun back frae their spears shines clear;
The Southron trumps fall on my ear;—
’Twill be an awfu’ morning.
“O Duncan,” etc.
The pipers blew, the echoes rang;
The cannon roared the clans amang,
Culloden’s awfu’ morning.
He’s lost his dirk an’ tartan sheen;
His bannet’s stained that ance was clean;—
Foul fa’ that awfu’ morning.
She saw her flag sae fiercely flee;
Culloden hills were hills o’ wae,—
It was an awfu’ morning.
Duncan now, etc.
The midnight dew fa’s on her cheek;—
What Scottish heart that will not weep
For Charlie’s fate that morning?
He’s lost his dirk an’ tartan sheen;
His bannet’s stained that ance was clean;—
Foul fa’ that awfu’ morning.