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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=519617" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Flora Macivor's Song</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">There is mist on the mountain, and night on the vale,<br>But more dark is the sleep of the sons of the Gael.<br>A stranger commanded â€”- it sunk on the land,<br>It has frozen each heart, and benumb'd every hand!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The dirk and the target lie sordid with dust,<br>The bloodless claymore is but redden'd with rust;<br>On the hill or the glen if a gun should appear,<br>It is only to war with the heath-cock or deer.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">The deeds of our sires if our bards should rehearse,<br>Let a blush or a blow be the meed of their verse!<br>Be mute every string, and be hush'd every tone,<br>That shall bid us remember the fame that is flown.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But the dark hours of night and of slumber are past,<br>The morn on our mountains is dawning at last;<br>Glenaladale's peaks are illumined with the rays,<br>And the streams of Glenfinnan leap bright in the blaze.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O high-minded Moray! the exiled! the dear!<br>In the blush of the dawning the Standard uprear!<br>Wide, wide on the winds of the north let it fly,<br>Like the sunâ€™s latest flash when the tempest is nigh!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ye sons of the strong, when that dawning shall break,<br>Need the harp of the aged remind you to wake?<br>That dawn never beam'd on your forefathers' eye,<br>But it roused each high chieftain to vanquish or die.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O, sprung from the Kings who in Islay kept state,<br>Proud chiefs of Clan Ranald, Glengarry, and Sleat!<br>Combine like three streams from one mountain of snow,<br>And resistless in union rush down on the foe!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">True son of Sir Evan, undaunted Lochiel,<br>Place thy targe on thy shoulder and burnish thy steel!<br>Rough Keppoch, give breath to thy bugle's bold swell,<br>Till far Coryarrick resound to the knell!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Stern son of Lord Kenneth, high chief of Kintail,<br>Let the stag in thy standard bound wild in the gale!<br>May the race of Clan Gillean, the fearless and free,<br>Remember Glenlivat, Harlaw, and Dundee!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Let the clan of grey Fingon, whose offspring has given<br>Such heroes to earth and such martyrs to heaven,<br>Unite with the race of renown'd Rorri More,<br>To launch the long galley and stretch to the oar.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">How Macâ€“Shimei will joy when their chief shall display<br>The yew-crested bonnet o'er tresses of grey!<br>How the race of wrong'd Alpine and murderâ€™d Glencoe<br>Shall shout for revenge when they pour on the foe!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Ye sons of brown Dermid, who slew the wild boar,<br>Resume the pure faith of the great Callumâ€“More!<br>MacNeil of the islands, and Moy of the Lake,<br>For honour, for freedom, for vengeance awake!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Awake on your hills, on your islands awake,<br>Brave sons of the mountain, the frith, and the lake!<br>'Tis the bugle -â€” but not for the chase is the call;<br>'Tis the pibrochâ€™s shrill summons - but not to the hall.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">'Tis the summons of heroes for conquest or death,<br>When the banners are blazing on mountain and heath:<br>They call to the dirk, the claymore, and the targe,<br>To the march and the muster, the line and the charge.</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Be the brand of each chieftain like Fin's in his ire!<br>May the blood through his veins flow like currents of fire!<br>Burst the base foreign yoke as your sires did of yore,<br>Or die like your sires, and endure it no more!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=Sir+Walter+Scott">Sir Walter Scott</a><div class=q>
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<script type="text/javascript" src="//s7.addthis.com/js/300/addthis_widget.js#pubid=citatepedia" async="async"></script><div style="display:inline-block" class="addthis_sharing_toolbox" data-url="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=519617" data-title="Flora Macivor's Song de Sir Walter Scott" data-description="There is mist on the mountain, and night on the vale,
But more dark is the sleep of the sons of the Gael.
A stranger commanded â€”- it sunk on the land,
It has frozen each heart, and benumb'd every hand!

The dirk and the target lie sordid wi..."></div>
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