Oh where shall I gae seek my bread and where shall I gae wander
And where shall I gae hide my head, for here I'll bide nae langer
The seas may row, the winds may blow and swathe me round in danger
My native land I must forgo and roam a lonely stranger

The glen that was my father's own must be by his forsaken
And the house that was my father's home is levelled with the bracken
Och on, och on, our glory's o'er, stol'n by a mean deceiver
Our hands are on the broad claymore, but might is broke forever

And now my Prince, my injured Prince, thy people have disowned thee
Have hunted and have driven thee down with ruined chiefs around thee
Thy brave, thy just, fell in the dust, on ruin's brink we quiver
Heaven's pitying eye is closed on thee, adieu, adieu forever