John Cope, or the Battle of Preston.
As sung by Edward Harrigan in The Blackbird."
The blare in trumpet sounded far,
And horsemen rode weel graithed for war,
While Sir John Cope marched fra Dunbar
Upon a misty morning.
Prince Charlie wi' his Highland host
Lay westward on the Lothian coast,
But Johnnie bragged wi' many a boast
He'd rout them ere neist morning.
Lang ere the cock proclaimed it day
The prince's men stood in array,
And, though impatient for the fray,
Bent low the knee that morning.
When row-dow roll'd the English drum,
The Highland bagpipe gied a bum,
And told the mountain clans had come,
Grim death and danger scorning.
Ilk hand was firm, ilk heart was true-
A shot, and down their guns they threw,
Then forth their dree claymores they drew
Upon that fearful morning.
The English raised a loud huzza.
But durstna bide the brunt ava;
They wavered, turned, syne ran awa'
Like sheep at shepherd's warning.
Fast, fast their foot and horsemen flew,
And caps were mixed wi' bonnets blue,
And dirks were wet, but no wi' dew,
Upon that dreadful morning.
Few stay'd, save as devoted band.
To bide the blow frae Highland brand
That swept around, and heart and hand
Lopp'd on that bluidy morning.
What sad mishaps that few befell!
When faint had grown the battle's yell,
Still Gardiner fought-and fighting fell
Upon that awesome morning.
Nae braggart, but a sodger he,
Wha' scorn'd wi' coward loons to flee;
Sae fell aneath the wuld-thorn tree
Upon that fatal morning.