Destruction our quiet homesteads through;
So it's rippling in the waters, it is rustling through the air,
Five hundred thousand curses upon cruel John Adair.
"We little dreamed upon our hills destruction's hour was nigh,
Woe! Woe the day our quiet glens first met his cruel eye!
He coveted our mountains all in an evil hour,
We have tasted of his mercy, and felt his grasp of power;
Through years to come of summer sun, of wintry sleet and snow,
His name shall live in Derryveigh as Campbell's in Glencoe.
"A tear is on each heather bell where heaven's dew distils,
And weeping down the mountain side flows on a thousand rills;
The winds rush down the empty glens with many a sigh and moan,
Where little children played and sang is desolate and lone.
The scattered stones of many homes have witnessed our despair,
And every stone's a monument to cruel John Adair.
"Where are the hapless people, doomed by John Adair's decree?
Some linger in the drear poor-house - some are beyond the sea;
One died behind the cold ditch - back beneath the open sky,
And every star in heaven was a witness from on high.
None dared to ope a friendly door, or lift a neighbor's latch,
Or shelter by a warm hearthstone beneath the homely thatch.
