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A / Albanach ar Dheis / The Flowers of the Forest


We'll hear nea mair lilting at our ewe milking.
Women and child are heartless and wea.
Sighing and moaning on ilka green loaning,
the flowers of the forest are just a wede away.

The flowers of the forest have been lost to time.
The flowers of the forest cling to the last of life.
The flowers of the forest are cauld in the clay
The flowers of the forest are all scythed away.

Falling from his horse, Felled by long pike,
arising in a state err dreamlike.
Picking up his sword valiant James our king.
Slashing right through everyone and everything.
His forces are diminished; flank giving way.
at Long last his grief began to fade away.

Will I ere grasp a blade again?
Or is thy fate preordain?
Rally to the your king your lord.
If no one shall survive - our bravery record.
Lay down our lives or pick up thy sword.
Rally to the your king!

Nea victory is not what he had found,
though what he saw was profound.
The very thought of his death braught fury,
an' makes him rush to meet their infantry.
Sword high above his head as he rages,
a sight n'ere lost to the ages.
As further yet he pushes himself forward,
he see's the faces of their men fill with horror,
for he shall n'ere give quarter!

Encircled alone without his ward,
Standing triumphant; refused to drop his sword.
Pikes came downward closing in around,
death be imminent; he will be renown -
Long into the years infinite err' unbound.

Grief and woe, lost our lads at the border.
English for ance by guile won the day.
Noblemen of Scottland - fought err midst the fore.
Holding their blades cauld in the clay.

We'll hear nea mair lilting at our ewe milking.
Women and child are heartless and wea.
Sighing and moaning on ilka green loaning,
the flowers of the forest are just a wede away.

The flowers of the forest have been lost to time.
The flowers of the forest cling to the last of life.
The flowers of the forest are cauld in the clay
The flowers of the forest are all scythed away.
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