Classic Poem

Early on a Lammas morning,
With my husband was I gay;
But my heart got sorely wounded
Ere the middle of the day.
Ochan, ochan, ochan uiri
Though I cry, my child, with thee —
Ochan, ochan, ochan uiri,
Now he hears not thee nor me!

Malison on judge and kindred,
They have wrought me mickle woe;
With deceit they came about us, —
Through deceit they laid him low.
Ochan, ochan, ochan uiri, etc.

Had they met but twelve MacGregors,
With my Gregor at their head;
Now my child had not been orphaned,
Nor these bitter tears been shed.
Ochan, ochan, ochan uiri, etc.

On an oaken block they laid him,
And they spilt his blood around;
I'd have drunk it in a goblet
Largely, ere it reached the ground.
Ochan, ochan, ochan uiri, etc.

Would my father then had sickened —
Colin, with the plague been ill;
Though Rory's daughter, in her anguish,
Smote her palms, and cried her fill
Ochan, ochan, ochan uiri, etc.

I could Colin shut in prison,
And black Duncan put in ward, —
Every Campbell now in Bealach,
Bind with handcuffs, close and hard.
Ochan, ochan, ochan uiri, etc.

When I reached the plain of Bealach,
I got there no rest, nor calm;
But my hair I tore in pieces, —
Wore the skin from off each palm!
Ochan, ochan, ochan uiri, etc.

Oh! could I fly up with the skylark —
Had I Gregor's strength in hand;
The highest stone that's in yon castle
Should lie lowest on the land.
Ochan, ochan, ochan uiri, etc.

Would I saw Finlarig blazing,
And the smoke of Bealach smelled,
So that fair, soft-handed Gregor
In these arms once more I held.
Ochan, ochan, ochan uiri, etc.

While the rest have all got lovers
Now a lover have I none;
My fair blossom, fresh and fragrant,
Withers on the ground alone.
Ochan, ochan, ochan uiri, etc.

While all other wives the night-time
Pass in slumber's balmy bands,
I upon my bedside weary,
Never cease to wring my hands.
Ochan, ochan, ochan uiri, etc.

For, far better be with Gregor
Where the heather's in its prime,
Than with mean and Lowland barons
In a house of stone and lime.
Ochan, ochan, ochan, uiri, etc.

Greatly better be with Gregor
In a mantle rude and torn,
Than with little Lowland barons
Where fine silk and lace are worn.
Ochan, ochan, ochan uiri, etc.

Though it rained and roared together,
All throughout the stormy day,
Gregor, in a crag, could find me
A kind shelter where to stay.
Ochan, ochan, ochan uiri, etc.

Bahu, bahu, little nursling —
Oh! so tender now and weak;
I fear the day will never brighten
When revenge for him you'll seek.
Ochan, ochan, ochan uiri,
Though I cry, my child, with thee —
Ochan, ochan, ochan uiri,
Yet he hears not thee nor me!