Lament for the Pentland Men

Oh early grey of morning-time!
Oh Pentland Hills!
The bracken white with frosty rime,
The brown peat rills,
Home of the wild-bird wet with dew,
Heard ye the sunrise yearning
For the eager beat of Pentland feet
No more, no more, no more returning?

Up from the city’s clustered spires,
Up from the glen,
The thin sweet bugle-call inspires
The Redford men.
Home of the wild-bird wet with dew
Heard ye the bugle yearning
For the eager beat of Pentland feet
No more, no more, no more returning?

From high Caerketton’s pebbly ridge,
From Kips to Castlelaw,
From Loganlee to Redford Bridge,
From Dunsyre to Cobbinshaw,
Braes where the sheep-dog watches lone
Fling wild the echo, yearning
For the eager beat of Pentland feet
No more, no more, no more returning.

Oh fallen hearts of Pentland gold!
Oh bleeding feet that roam
The long grey silences that fold
The Hills of Home!
Hear ye no sobbing faint and far?
The grey old Pentlands yearning
For the wistful beat of children’s feet
No more, no more, no more returning.