This is a song written by Scotland's greatest poet, Robert Burns in 1789, and sung to the tune of "The Cameronian Rant". It commemorates the battle of Sheriffmuir, fought between the English and the Jacobites, which brought the 1715 Jacobite rebellion to an end with the Scots' defeat. I enjoyed The Corries' version of this tune, which is one reason I've noded it. I've pipe-linked most of the Scots words to their English equivalents.
"O
cam ye here the fight to shun,
Or herd the sheep
wi' me, man?
Or were ye at the
Sherra-moor,
Or did the battle see, man?"
I saw the battle,
sair and
teugh,
And
reekin-red ran
mony a sheugh;
My heart, for fear,
gaed sough for sough,
To hear the thuds, and see the cluds
O' clans
frae woods, in
tartan duds,
Wha glaum'd at kingdoms three, man.
La, la, la, la, &c.
The red-coat lads, wi' black
cockauds,
To meet them were
na slaw, man;
They rush'd and push'd, and
blude outgush'd
And mony a
bouk did
fa', man:
The great
Argyle led on his files,
I
wat they glanced twenty miles;
They hough'd the clans like nine-pin
kyles,
They hack'd and hash'd, while
braid-swords, clash'd,
And
thro' they dash'd, and hew'd and smash'd,
Till
fey men died
awa, man.
La, la, la, la, &c.
But had ye seen the philibegs,
And
skyrin tartan
trews, man;
When in the teeth they dar'd our
Whigs,
And
covenant True-blues, man:
In lines extended
lang and large,
When
baiginets o'erpower'd the
targe,
And thousands hasten'd to the charge;
Wi' Highland wrath they frae the sheath
Drew blades o' death, till, out o' breath,
They fled like frighted
dows, man!
La, la, la, la, &c.
"O how
deil, Tam, can that be true?
The chase
gaed frae the north, man;
I saw
mysel', they did pursue,
The horsemen back to
Forth, man;
And at
Dunblane, in my
ain sight,
They took the
brig wi'
a' their might,
And
straught to
Stirling wing'd their flight;
But, cursed lot! the gates were shut;
And mony a
huntit poor red-coat,
For fear
amaist did
swarf, man!"
La, la, la, la, &c.
My sister Kate cam up the
gate
Wi'
crowdie unto me, man;
She
swoor she saw some rebels run
To
Perth unto
Dundee, man;
Their left-hand general had
nae skill;
The
Angus lads had nae
gude will
That day their
neibors' blude to spill;
For fear, for foes, that they should lose
Their cogs o'
brose; they scar'd at blows,
And
hameward fast did flee, man.
La, la, la, la, &c.
They've lost some gallant gentlemen,
Amang the Highland clans, man!
I fear my
Lord Panmure is slain,
Or fallen in Whiggish hands, man,
Now
wad ye sing this double fight,
Some fell for
wrang, and some for right;
But mony bade the world gude-night;
Then ye may tell, how pell and mell,
By red claymores, and muskets knell,
Wi' dying yell, the Tories fell,
And Whigs to
hell did flee, man.
La, la, la, la, &c.
Source:
http://www.robertburns.org/