Classic Poem

AFTER THE BATTLE OF FALKIRK

Air — Maids of Arrochar.

Thou dark winding Carron, once pleasing to see,
To me thou canst never give pleasure again,
My brave Caledonians lie low on the lea,
And thy streams are deep-ting'd with the blood of the slain.

Ah! base-hearted Treach'ry has doom'd our undoing,
My poor bleeding country, what more can I do?
Even Valour looks pale o'er the red field of Ruin,
And Freedom beholds her best warriors laid low.

Farewell, ye dear partners of peril! farewell!
Though buried ye lie in one wide bloody grave,
Your deeds shall ennoble the place where ye fell,
And your names be enroll'd with the sons of the brave.

But I, a poor outcast, in exile must wander,
Perhaps, like a traitor, ignobly must die!
On thy wrongs, O my country! indignant I ponder —
Ah! wo to the hour when thy Wallace must fly!