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.