In the cold of the morning, / In the burning of the day, / The thin lines stumbled forward, /…
The moon – frozen eye –
/ Stares down stupidly,
/ And the wind licks
/ A few bare sticks,
/ Once trees:
/ And near the craters…
after the Gaelic of Lachlann Mor MacMhuirich (fl. 1411)
/ You Clann of Conn, remember this:
/ Strength from the eye of the storm.
Quo life, the warld is mine.
/ The floo’ers and trees, they’re a’ my ain.
/ I am the day, and the sunshine
/ Quo life,…
Waves beating up against cliffs.
/ Cliffs holding hard against waves.
Small folk playing our part.
/ ‘Come all ye’, the country says
/ You win me, who take me most to heart. …
/ On the heights of Killiecrankie
/ Yester-morn our army lay:
/ Slowly rose the mist in columns