At the Garrison These words come hard tae me, my dear The morrow we shall hang, So grieve, but not for me, my dear It willnae be sae lang Til I stand side my father's arm And wi him Colum Mor, And Hamish Og, and Malcolm Roy, The brave men of the tor. An tell yon Maggie Farquarson, Her boys feel no pain now, Their arms about their father Lying cold in yonder howe. But the worst thing o Drumossie Moor Is no the cold nor death Tis more not seeing you again Before my dying breath You are the only thought that keeps Me gladly from the sidhe I ony hope for you, my dear That you grieve not for me You think of me up in the byre Not on Culloden bare You think of me abed this night I swear I will be there It comes too quick, I see the dawn, The redcoats at the door There is so much more I would say But will be let no more I hope this letter reaches you Though many words let pass I go, mo chridh, to talk with God I love you, my wee lass