Classic Poem

Oh mourn, oh mourn, ye Lowlands,
Oh mourn, ye Highlands a',
They have slain the Earl o' Murray,
On the greensward ha' he fa'.

Oh shame be to ye Huntly,
To treat your brother sae,
To meet him wi' your claymore,
An' in his bed to slay.

Oh, your lady will be sorrowfu'
Whe ye to hame have sped,
An' she learns the Earl o' Murray
You have murdered in his bed.

An' your corn will often ripen,
An' your meadow grass grow green
Ere you in Dinnybristle town
Will daurna to be seen.