The Ballad of Lochnagar

There's mony cruel an mean, nou,
Escapes his richt desert,
But wae for winsome Jean, nou,
Wha's faut was in her hert.

Aa for ae nicht o pleisure,
Aa for a sodger's glaunce,
She's tint a life o leisure
An gane a sorry daunce.

Nor kirk nor kin will ken her,
Nor keep her frae the cauld,
But turn their face agin her
An cast her frae the fold.

For aa will caa her fause, nou,
An set their tongues tae blame.
Alane she'll tak her loss, nou.
The lad she will na name.

She's ta'en her wee bit meal, nou,
An rowed her plaidie roun,
An she maun beg or steal, nou,
Aa wi the lift abune.

Nae pillow tae her heid, nou,
Nor bield at set o sun,
But lanesome miles indeed, nou,
Afore her days are dune.

An sairly wad she hide, nou,
An shelter til the morn,
But maunna stop nor bide, nou,
Afore the bairnie's born

Fu mony a weary mile, nou,
For want o guidin staur
She's croonin aa the while, nou,
'Win on tae Lochnagar'

For aince she heard that bairnies
Wha's born on the ben
In shadow o the cairnie's
The blessedest o men.

There's naethin left tae cheer her
An aa her strength is gane,
But Lochnagar draws nearer
Wi every step she's ta'en.

Sair hirplit, near tae crawlin,
Syne burthened wi the wean,
There's nane tae see her fallin
Ne'er tae rise again.

An wae for bonnie Jean, nou,
An wae for Jeannie's bairn,
An aa that micht hae been, nou,
Had she but won the cairn.

A puckle stanes that markit
Whaur gallant chieftains fell,
Syne ane puir lass that harkit
Tae tales the tinklers tell.

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