John o’ Lorn

My plaid is on my shoulder and my boat is on the shore,
And it’s all bye wi’ auld days and you;
Here’s a health and here’s a heartbreak, for it’s hame, my dear, no more,
To the green glens, the fine glens we knew!

‘Twas for the sake o’ glory, but oh! wae upon the wars,
That brought my father’s son to sic a day;
I’d rather be a craven, wi’ nor name, nor fame, nor scars,
Than turn a wanderer’s heel on Moidart Bay.

And you, in the day-time, you’ll be here, and in the mirk,
Wi’ the kind heart, the open hand, and free;
And far awa’ in foreign France, in town or camp or kirk,
I’ll be wondering if you keep a thought for me.

But nevermore the heather nor the bracken at my knees,
I’m poor John o’ Lorn, a broken man;
For an auld Hielan’ story I must sail the swinging seas,
A chief without a castle or a clan.

My plaid is on my shoulder and my boat is on the shore,
And it’s all bye wi’ auld days and you;
Here’s a health and here’s a heartbreak, for it’s hame, my dear, no more,
To the green glens, the fine glens we knew!