Many's the lad fought on that day
Well the claymore could wield
When the night came, silently lay
Dead on Culloden's field
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
Burned are our homes, exile and death
Scatter the loyal men
Yet, e'er the sword cool in the sheath,
Charlie will come again.
Skye Boat Song
