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C.D. Warner, et al., comp.
The Library of the World’s Best Literature. An Anthology in Thirty Volumes. 1917.

William Glen (1789–1826)

Wae’s Me for Prince Charlie!

A WEE bird came to our ha’ door;

He warbled sweet and clearly;

And aye the o’ercome o’ his sang

Was “Wae’s me for Prince Charlie!”

Oh, when I heard the bonny, bonny bird,

The tears came drapping rarely;

I took my bonnet aff my head,

For weel I lo’ed Prince Charlie.

Quoth I: “My bird, my bonny, bonny bird,

Is that a tale ye borrow?

Or is ’t some words ye’ve learned by rote,

Or a lilt o’ dool and sorrow?”

“Oh no, no, no!” the wee bird sang:

“I’ve flown sin’ morning early;

But sic a day o’ wind and rain!—

Oh, wae’s me for Prince Charlie!

“On hills that are by right his ain

He roams a lonely stranger;

On ilka hand he’s pressed by want,

On ilka side by danger.

Yestreen I met him in the glen,—

My heart near bursted fairly;

For sadly changed indeed was he—

Oh, wae’s me for Prince Charlie!

“Dark night came on; the tempest howled

Out owre the hills and valleys:

And where was ’t that your prince lay down,

Whase hame should be a palace?

He rowed him in a Highland plaid,

Which covered him but sparely,

And slept beneath a bush o’ broom—

Oh, wae’s me for Prince Charlie!”

But now the bird saw some redcoats,

And he shook his wings wi’ anger:

“Oh, this is no a land for me—

I’ll tarry here nae langer.”

Awhile he hovered on the wing,

Ere he departed fairly;

But weel I mind the farewell strain—

’Twas “Wae’s me for Prince Charlie!”