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.
Fare thee weel, my native cot,
Bothy o' the birken tree!
Sair the heart, and hard the lot,
O' the lad that parts wi' thee.
My good grandsire's hand thee rear'd,
Then thy wicker work was full;
Mony a Campbell's glen he clear'd,
Hit the buck, and hough'd the bull.
In thy green and grassy crook
Mair lies hid than crusted stanes;
In thy bien and weirdly nook
Lie some stout Clan-Gillian banes.
Thou wast aye the kinsman's hame,
Routh and welcome was his fare;
But if serf or Saxon came,
He cross'd Murich's hirst nae mair
Never hand in thee yet bred
Kendna how the sword to wield;
Never heart of thine had dread
Of the foray or the field:
Ne'er on straw, mat, bulk, or bed,
Son of thine lay down to die;
Every lad within thee bred
Died beneath heaven's open e'e.
Charlie Stuart he cam' here,
For our king, as right became;
Wha could shun the Bruce's heir?
Wha could tyne our royal name?
Firm to stand, and free to fa',
Forth we march'd right valiantlie,
Gane is Scotland's king an' law!
Woe to the Highlands and to me!
Freemen, yet I'll scorn to fret,
Here nae langer I maun stay;
But, when I my hame forget,
May my heart forget to play!
Fare thee weel, my father's cot,
Bothy o' the birken tree!
Sair the heart, and hard the lot,
O' the lad that parts wi' thee.