Ballad of The Battle of Roslin
|Grey wis the dawnin’ ower Rosewell,
When the Englishmen were roosin,
Gay wis Sir Simon Fraser’s yell,
“Castail Dhuni” echoed eight thoosan’,
Ten thoosan’ English, eight thoosan’ Scot,
The prior’s prayers were spoken,
Ane fiery charge such terror wrought,
That the English lines were broken.
But ballad writers stay your pen…
This was no sporting battle,
Sir Simon chased after the fleeing men,
And cut them down like cattle.
The Fraser, the Colmun and St. Clair,
Wer’na men tae slaughter,
But they faced twenty thoosan’ English mair,
So they derna gie them quarter.
An Farmers tae this verra day,
When they’re at the ploo-in’,
Still find shinbanes in the clay,
At a place they ca’ “The Hewin.”
Ten thoosan’ cam’ fae Rosewell Dyke,
Wi’ General Randolf leadin’,
Again the spears o’ercame the pike,
But mony gude Scots lay bleedin’.
Sudden an army cam’ up on the fight,
And the Scots were like to flee,
Prior Abernethy begged them tae fight,
But no man heard his plea.
“Look ower, look ower, on yonder hill,”
Quo’ Sir Simon lood and clear,
They blick’t and saw the lift gae ill,
Then saw a cross appear.
|“‘Tis gude St. Andrew,” cried ae man,
And doon they gaed tae pray,
“Gae to,” they heard the gude Sir Simon,
“Gae to, we’ll win the day.”
They ca’d the cross hill “Abernethy,”
Where they layed the Prior’s banes,
But soon they renamed it “Carnethy,”
Fae a’ the pilgrim’s stanes.
We mind the twa Frasers, o’ Colmyn tae,
And o’ the true St. Clair,
First tae the fecht, the Graham gay,
Dark Douglas tae wis there.
But wha made the cross fae the blasted tree,
That gied the Scots such solace?
Ma freens, ye surely needna ask me,
It was Sir William Wallace