C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.
William Glen (1789–1826)
Wae’s Me for Prince Charlie!
A
He warbled sweet and clearly;
And aye the o’ercome o’ his sang
Was “Wae’s me for Prince Charlie!”
Oh, when I heard the bonny, bonny bird,
The tears came drapping rarely;
I took my bonnet aff my head,
For weel I lo’ed Prince Charlie.
Is that a tale ye borrow?
Or is ’t some words ye’ve learned by rote,
Or a lilt o’ dool and sorrow?”
“Oh no, no, no!” the wee bird sang:
“I’ve flown sin’ morning early;
But sic a day o’ wind and rain!—
Oh, wae’s me for Prince Charlie!
He roams a lonely stranger;
On ilka hand he’s pressed by want,
On ilka side by danger.
Yestreen I met him in the glen,—
My heart near bursted fairly;
For sadly changed indeed was he—
Oh, wae’s me for Prince Charlie!
Out owre the hills and valleys:
And where was ’t that your prince lay down,
Whase hame should be a palace?
He rowed him in a Highland plaid,
Which covered him but sparely,
And slept beneath a bush o’ broom—
Oh, wae’s me for Prince Charlie!”
And he shook his wings wi’ anger:
“Oh, this is no a land for me—
I’ll tarry here nae langer.”
Awhile he hovered on the wing,
Ere he departed fairly;
But weel I mind the farewell strain—
’Twas “Wae’s me for Prince Charlie!”