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The Lovely Lass of Inverness
par
Ludwig van Beethoven
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The lovely lass o' Inverness Nae joy nor pleasure can she see; For e'en [to]1 morn she cries, (Alas!) And ay the saut tear blins her e'e: « Drumossie moor, Drumossie day A waefu' day it was to me ! For there I lost my father dear My father dear and brethren three Their winding-sheet the bluidy clay Their graves are growing green to see And by them lies the dearest lad That ever blest a woman's e'e! Now wae to thee, thou cruel lord A bluidy man I trow thou be For monie a heart thou has made sair That ne'er did wrang to thine or thee! »
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