This text comes from The Book of Scottish Song, edited by Alexander Whitelaw, a historical songbook transcribed on Wikisource and reproduced from the pinned revision linked below.
Far over the hills of the heather so green,
And down by the Corrie that sings to the sea,
The bonny young Flora sat weeping her lane,
The dew on her plaid and the tear in her e'e.
She look'd at a boat with the breezes that swung,
Away on the wave like a bird on the main;
And aye as it lessen'd she sigh'd and she sung,
"Farewell to the lad I shall ne'er see again;
Farewell to my hero, the gallant and young,
Farewell to the lad I shall ne'er see again.
"The moorcock that craws on the brows o' Ben-Connal,
He kens o' his bed in a sweet mossy hame;
The eagle that soars o'er the cliff's of Clan-Ronald,
Unawed and unhunted his eriy can claim;
The solan can sleep on his shelve on the shore;
The cormorant roost on his rock of the sea;
But oh! there is ane whose hard fate I deplore,
Nor house, ha', nor hame, in his country has he;
The conflict is past, and our name is no more,
There's nought left but sorrow for Scotland an' me.
"The target is torn from the arms of the just,
The helmet is cleft on the brow of the brave,
The claymore for ever in darkness must rust;
But red is the sword of the stranger and slave;
The hoof of the horse, an' the foot of the proud,
Have trod o'er the plumes on the bonnet o' blue:
Why slept the red bolt in the breast of the cloud,
When tyranny revelled in the blood of the true?
Farewell, my young hero, the gallant and good!
The crown of thy father is torn from thy brow."