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