Far distant, far distant, lies Scotia the brave,

                                        No tombstone memorial shall hallow his grave.

                                        His bones they are scatter'd on the rude soil of Spain,

                                        For young Jamie Foyers in battle was slain.

 

                                        From the Perthshire Militia to serve in the line,

                                        The brave Forty-second we sailed for to join.

                                        To Wellington's army we did volunteer,

                                        Along with young Foyers, that brave halberdier.

 

                                        The night that we landed the bugle did sound,

                                        The general gave orders to form on the ground.

                                        To storm Burgos castle before break of day,

                                        And young Jamie Foyers to lead on the way.

 

                                        But mounting the ladder for scaling the wall,

                                        By a shot from a French gun young Foyers did fall,

                                        He leaned his right arm upon his left breast,

                                        And young Jamie Foyers his comrades addressed.

 

                                        'For you, Robert Percy, that stands a campaign,

                                        If goodness should send you to old Scotland again,

                                        Please tell my old father if yet his heart warms,

                                        That young Jamie Foyers expired in your arms.

 

                                        But if a few moments in Campsie I were,

                                        My mother and sisters my sorrow would share.

                                        Now, alas, my old mother, long may she mourn,

                                        But young Jamie Foyers will never return.

 

                                        Oh! if I could drink of Baker Brown's well,

                                        My thirst it would quench and my fever would quell.'

                                        But his very life-blood was ebbing so fast,

                                        And young Jamie Foyers soon breathed his last.

 

                                        They took for his winding sheet his ain tartan plaid,

                                        And in the cold ground his body was laid.

                                        With hearts full of sorrow they covered his clay,

                                        And, saying 'Poor Foyers', marched slowly away.

 

                                        His father and mother and sisters will mourn,

                                        But Foyers, the brave hero, will never return.

                                        His friends and his comrades lament for the brave,

                                        Since young Jamie Foyers is laid in his grave.

 

                                        The bugle may sound and war drum may rattle,

                                        No more will they raise this hero to battle.

                                        He fell from the ladder a hero so brave,

                                        And rare Jamie Foyers is lying in his grave. 

 

 

Footnote : This song comes from the  Peninsular War and it is ironic to think that while many Scots who took the King's Shilling to fight against the French in Spain, back in Scotland their families were being cleared from their land. The great songwriter Ewan MacColl wrote a song with the same title to commemorate the Scots who died in the Spanish Civil War which will be added to 'Sing A Sang At Least' next week.