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.