Coronach (for the dead of the 5/7th Battalion, The Gordon Highlanders) Waement the deid I never did, Ower gled I was ane o the lave That someway baid alive Tae trauchle my thowless hert Wi ithers' hurt. But nou that I'm far Frae the fechtin's fear, Nou I hae won awa frae aa thon pain Back til my beuks and my pen, They croud around me oot o the grave Whar luve and langerie and blyness grieve. Cryan the cauld words: 'We hae dree'd oor weirds, But you that byde ahin, Ayont oor ugsome hyne, You are the flesh we aince hae been, We that are bruckle brokken bane.' Cryan a drumlie speak: 'You hae the words we spak, You hae the sang We canna sing, Sen daith maun skail The makar's skill. 'Makar, frae nou ye maun Be singan for us deid men, Sing til the warld we loo'd For aa that its brichtness lee'd, And tell hou the sudden nicht Cam doun and made us nocht.' Waement the deid I never did, But nou I am safe awa I hear their wae Greetan, greetan dark an daw Till I their biddin dae.
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