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The luvely Lass o' Inverness, Nae joy nor pleasure can she see; For, e'en and morn she cries, Alas! And aye the saut tear blins her e'e. Drumossie moor, Drumossie day, A waefu' day it was to me; For there I lost my father dear, My father dear and brethren three. Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay, Their graves are growin' green to see; And by them lies the dearest lad That ever blest a woman's e'e! Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord, A bludy man I trow thou be; For mony a heart thou has made sair, That ne'er did wrang to thine or thee!