Thou dark winding Carron, once pleasing to see,|
To me thou can'st 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 treachery 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.
2. Farewell, ye dear partners of peril! farewell!
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