O young Charles Stewart, your cause is the reason of my sorrow
You took from me everything I had, in the war on your behalf
I am not mourning cattle and sheep, but my partner
Since I am left alone with nothing but my shroud!
I am torn apart, and although I say it, it is no lie
My joy turned to sorrow, since you will not return from d**h
One of your wisdom and understanding was not easy to find
And not one stood at Culloden, of your appearance and bravery.