Lament for Sir Rory
T’was down by the glenside I met an auld woman,
She was plucking young nettles,
she ne’r saw me comin’,
I listened awhile to the song she was hummin’.
Glory o, glory o, to the brave Highland man.
’Tis sixteen long years,
since I saw the moon gleamin’,
On his brave manly form,
with hope in eyes gleamin’,
I see him now, all in my day dreamin’.
Glory o, glory o, to the brave Highland man.
Ah when I was a small girl,
they were marchin’ and drillin’.
Awakenin’ the hillside, sure it was so thrillin’,
But they loved dear auld Alba,
and tae die they were willin’.
Glory o, glory o, to the brave Highland man.
He died in the valley, he died amid strangers,
And the wise Queen she told us,
his cause was a failure.
But he loved dear auld Alba,
and he never feared danger.
Glory o, Glory o, to the brave Highland man.
I passed on me way, Gods be praised that I met him.
Be my life long or short, I’ll never forget him.
There may have been brave men,
but there’ll never be better.
Glory o, Glory o, to the brave highland man.
Glory o, Glory o, to the brave highland man...
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