The Jacobite Lass

By Violet Jacob

    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.

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