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‹‹‹ prev (261) Page 239Page 239Bauldy Fraser

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240 JACOBITE
For had she met te tirty duke,
At ford of Spey or Prae- Culrook,
Te plood of every foreign pouk
Had dyed the Cherman sea, man.
We fought for a' we loved an' had,
An' for te right, put Heaven forpade ;
An' monie a ponnie Highlan' lad
Lay pleeding on te prae, man.
Fat could she to, fat could she say,
Te praif M'Donnell was away :
An' her ain chief tat luckless day
Was far ayont Drumboy, man.
Macpherson and Macgregor poth,
Te men of Muideart an' Glenquoich,
An' coot Mackenzies of te Doich,
All absent frae te field, man :
Te sword was sharp, te arm was true,
Pe honour still her nainsel's due ;
Impossibles she could not do,
Though laithe she pe to yield, man.
When Charlie wi' te foremost met ;
Praif lad, he thought her pack to get ;
" Return, my friends, an' face tem yet,
We'll conquer or we'll die, man : "
Put Tonald shumpit o'er te purn,
An' swore, pe Cot, she wadna turn,
For ter was nought put shoot an' purn,
An' hangin' on te tree, man.
O had you seen tat hunt of teath,
She ran until she tint her praith,
Aye looking pack on Scotland's skaithe,
Wi' hopeless, shining ee, man-.

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