1: It fell upon a day on a bonnie summer's day,
When the clans were awa wi Chairlie;
That there fell oot a great dispute,
Between Argyll and Airlie;
That there fell oot a great dispute,
Between Argyll and Airlie.
2: The Duke o Montrose has written tae Argyle,
Tae meet him in the mornin early;
And lead his men tae the back o Dunkeld,
Tae plunder the Bonnie Hoose o Airlie.
[last lines repeated for each stanza)
3: Argyll he has taen a hundred o his men,
A hundred o his men and mairly;
And he’s awa tae yon green shaw,
Tae plunder the Bonnie Hoose o Airlie.
4: The lady looked ower her high castle waa,
And O but she sighed maist sairly,
When she saw Argyle and aa o his men,
Come tae plunder te Bonnie Hoose o Airlie.
5: “Come doun, come doun, Lady Margaret,” he cried,
“Come doun, come doun Lady Airlie;
For I swear by the brand that I haud in ma hand,
I winna leave a stannin stane in Airlie.”
6: “I’ll no come doun ye prood Argyle,
And tell ye faith maist sairly,
Though ye swear by the brand that ye haud in your hand,
That ye winna leave a stannin stane in Airlie.”
7: “If my guid lord been at hame,
But he’s awa wi Chairlie;
For there’s no a Campbell in aa Argyll,
Wad hae ever trod the bonnie green o Airlie.”
8: “For seiven bonnie bairnies have I born,
The last ne’er seen his daddy,
And had I seiven other sons,
They’d aa be men for Chairlie.”
9: “But since I can haud oot nae mair,
Ma hand I’ll offer you fairly;
So lead me doun tae yon low, low glen,
So I winna see the burnin doun o Airlie.”
10: He taen her by the hand, by the lilly white hand,
But he’s taen her maist unfairly,
He led her up tae the high mountain tap,
Far she saw the burnin doun o Airlie.
11: O it’s clouds o smoke an it’s clouds o flame,
It grieved her hert maist sairly,
Then she lay doun on the hill tae dee,
When she saw the burnin doun o Airlie.
12: “What lowe is yon,” cried brave Lochiel,
“That rises this mornin early?”
“By the God o ma kin,” cried the young Ogilvie,
“It’s my ain Bonnie Hoose o Airlie.”
13: “It’s no ma bonnie hoose or ma lands I loss,
That grieves my hert maist sairly;
It’s ma winsom wife and ma bonnie bairns,
For they’ll smooor in the dark reek o Airlie.”
14: “Then draw your sword,” cried brave Lochiel,
“And draw your dirk,” cried Chairlie;
“And we’ll kindle sic a lowe roun the fause Argyll,
And we’ll licht it wi a burning spark o Airlie.” |