Speed bonnie boat like a bird on the wing.
Onward, the sailors cry.
Carry the lad that's born to be king
Over the sea to Skye.
Loud the winds howl, loud the waves roar.
Thunderclaps rend the air,
Baffled, our foes stand by the shore,
Follow they will not dare.
Though the waves leap, soft shall ye sleep,
Ocean's a royal bed.
Rocked in the deep Flora will keep
Watch by your weary head.
Many's the lad fought on that day
Well the claymore could wield
When the night came silently lay
Dead on Culloden's field.
Burned are our homes, exile and death
Scatter the loyal men;
Yet, ere the sword cool in the sheath,
Charlie will come again.
|©scottish-folk-music.com 2011 Web design by - Alan Copeland|