A wee bird cam’ to our ha’ door,
He warbled sweet an’ clearly,
An’ aye the o’ercome o’ his sang,
Was ‘Wae’s me for Prince Charlie!’
O! when I heard the bonnie, bonnie bird,
The tears cam’ droppin’ rarely;
I took my bonnet aff my head,
For weel I lo’ed Prince Charlie.
Quoth I, ‘My bird, my bonnie, bonnie bird,
Is that a sang ye borrow?
Are these some words ye’ve learnt by heart,
Or a lilt o’ dool an’ sorrow?’
‘O! no, no, no,’ the wee bird sang,
‘I’ve flown sin’ mornin’ early,
But sic a day o’ wind an’ rain—
Oh! wae’s me for Prince Charlie!
On hills that are by right his ain,
He roams a lonely stranger,
On ilka hand he’s press’d by want,
On ilka side by danger:
Yestreen I met him in a glen,
My heart maist burstit fairly;
For sairly changed indeed was he—
O! wae’s me for Prince Charlie!’
Dark night cam’ on, the tempest roar’d
Cauld o’er the hills an’ valleys;
An’ whaur was’t that your prince lay down,
Whase hame should be a palace?
He row’d him in a Hieland plaid,
Which cover’d him but sparely,
An’ slept beneath a bush o’ broom—
O! wae’s me for Prince Charlie!
But now the bird saw some red-coats,
An’ he shook his wings wi’ anger;
‘O! this is no a land for me;
I’ll tarry here nae langer.’
A while he hover’d on the wing,
Ere he departed fairly,
But weel I mind the fareweel strain
Was ‘Wae’s me for Prince Charlie!’
William Glen.
