| |
| MY 1 heart is wae, and unco wae, | |
| To think upon the raging sea, | |
| That roars between her gardens green | |
| An’ the bonie Lass of Albany. | |
| |
| This lovely maid’s of royal blood | 5 |
| That ruled Albion’s kingdoms three, | |
| But oh, alas! for her bonie face, | |
| They’ve wrang’d the Lass of Albany. | |
| |
| In the rolling tide of spreading Clyde | |
| There sits an isle of high degree, | 10 |
| And a town of fame whose princely name | |
| Should grace the Lass of Albany. | |
| |
| But there’s a youth, a witless youth, | |
| That fills the place where she should be; | |
| We’ll send him o’er to his native shore, | 15 |
| And bring our ain sweet Albany. | |
| |
| Alas the day, and woe the day, | |
| A false usurper wan the gree, | |
| Who now commands the towers and lands— | |
| The royal right of Albany. | 20 |
| |
| We’ll daily pray, we’ll nightly pray, | |
| On bended knees most fervently, | |
| The time may come, with pipe an’ drum | |
| We’ll welcome hame fair Albany. | |
