They whisper down across the field,
The winds above Culloden–
They say the names of all the dead,
The highlanders and Englishmen
Who faced the day to prove their stead
To clan and king and countrymen–
Those brave souls at Culloden.
So clean and cold and silent are
The plains along Culloden–
They stretch beneath the morning star,
Beyond the graves, beyond the Nairn,
To peaceful glens and fields afar,
Even beyond the Clava Cairn–
Eternal is Culloden.