Culloden Moor

Full of grief, the low winds sweep
O'er the sorrow-haunted ground
Dark the woods where night rains weep
Dark the hills that watch around.

Tell me, can the joys of spring
Ever make this sadness flee
Make the woods with music ring
And the streamlet laugh for glee?

When the summer moor is lit
With the pale fire of the broom
And through green the shadows flit
Still shall mirth give place to gloom?

Sad shall it be, though sun be shed
Golden bright on field and flood
E'en the heather's crimson red
Holds the memory of blood.

Here that broken, weary band
Met the ruthless foe's array
Where those moss-grown boulders stand
On that dark and fatal day.

Like a phantom hope had fled
Love to death was all in vain
Vain, though heroes' blood was shed
And though hearts were broke in twain.

Many a voice has cursed the name
Time has into darkness thrust
Cruelty his only fame
In forgetfulness and dust.

Noble dead that sleep below
We your valour ne'er forget
Soft the heroes' rest who know
Hearts like theirs are beating yet.