Then back to back the brithers twa
Gaed in amo the thrang,
An they hewed doun the Hielanmen,
Wi swords baith sharp an lang.
Macdonell he was young an stout,
Had on his coat o mail,
And he has gane oot throw them a'
To try his han himsell.
The first ae straik that Forbes strack,
He garrt Macdonell reel;
An the neist ae straik that Forbes strack,
The great Macdonell fell.
And siccan a lierachie,
I'm sure ye never sawe
As wis amo the Hielanmen,
When they saw Macdonell fa.
An whan they saw that he was deid,
They turnd and ran awa,
An they buried him in Legget's Den,
A large mile frae Harlaw.
They rade, they ran, an some did gang,
They were o sma record;
But Forbes and his merry men,
They slew them a' the road.
On Monanday, at mornin,
The battle it began,
On Saturday at gloamin',
Ye'd scarce kent wha had wan.
An sic a weary buryin,
I'm sure ye never saw,
As wis the Sunday after that,
On the muirs aneath Harlaw.
Gin anybody speer at ye
For them ye took awa,
Ye may tell their wives and bairnies,
They're sleepin at Harlaw.
Ballad: Dickie Macphalion
(Sharpe's Ballad Book, No. XIV.)
I went to the mill, but the miller was gone,
I sat me down, and cried ochone!
To think on the days that are past and gone,
Of Dickie Macphalion that's slain.
Shoo, shoo, shoolaroo,
To think on the days that are past and gone,
Of Dickie Macphalion that's slain.
I sold my rock, I sold my reel,
And sae hae I my spinning wheel,
And a' to buy a cap of steel
For Dickie Macphalion that's slain!
Shoo, shoo, shoolaroo,
And a' to buy a cap of steel
For Dickie Macphalion that's slain.
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