Scottish Lieder, op.108 - The lovely lass of Inverness
Ludwig Van Beethoven
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The lovely lass o' Inverness
Nae joy nor pleasure can she see
For e'en and morn she cries, "Alas!" And I've a sore tear blithely
"Drumbo'sie mo, Drumbosie day"
Away frae there it was tae be
For there I lost my faither dear, my faither dear and brethren three
Their winding-sheet the blawdy clay
Their graves are growing green tae see
And by them lies their dearest lad
That e'er blest a woman's e'en
Now wait till he, the cruel laird
A bloody man I'll true him be
Or mon ye heart, thou hast nae sair
That ne'er did wrong tae thine or thine