<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=538120" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>The Widow Of Glencoe</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">Do not lift him from the bracken,<br>Leave him lying where he fell-<br>Better bier ye cannot fashion:<br>None beseems him half so well<br>As the bare and broken heather,<br>And the hard and trampled sod,<br>Whence his angry soul ascended<br>To the judgment-seat of God!<br>Winding-sheet we cannot give him-<br>Seek no mantle for the dead,<br>Save the cold and spotless covering<br>Showered from heaven upon his head.<br>Leave his broadsword, as we found it,<br>Bent and broken with the blow,<br>That, before he died, avenged him<br>On the foremost of the foe.<br>Leave the blood upon his bosom-<br>Wash not off that sacred stain:<br>Let it stiffen on the tartan,<br>Let his wounds unclosed remain,<br>Till the day when he shall show them<br>At the throne of God on high,<br>When the murderer and the murdered<br>Meet before their Judge's eye!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Nay-ye should not weep, my children!<br>Leave it to the faint and weak;<br>Sobs are but a woman's weapon-<br>Tears befit a maiden's cheek.<br>Weep not, children of Macdonald!<br>Weep not thou, his orphan heir-<br>Not in shame, but stainless honour,<br>Lies thy slaughtered father there.<br>Weep not-but when years are over,<br>And thine arm is strong and sure,<br>And thy foot is swift and steady<br>On the mountain and the muir-<br>Let thy heart be hard as iron,<br>And thy wrath as fierce as fire,<br>Till the hour when vengeance cometh<br>For the race that slew thy sire;<br>Till in deep and dark Glenlyon<br>Rise a louder shriek of woe<br>Than at midnight, from their eyrie,<br>Scared the eagles of Glencoe;<br>Louder than the screams that mingled<br>With the howling of the blast,<br>When the murderer's steel was clashing,<br>And the fires were rising fast;<br>When thy noble father bounded<br>To the rescue of his men,<br>And the slogan of our kindred<br>Pealed throughout the startled glen;<br>When the herd of frantic women<br>Stumbled through the midnight snow,<br>With their fathers' houses blazing,<br>And their dearest dead below.<br>Oh, the horror of the tempest,<br>As the flashing drift was blown,<br>Crimsoned with the conflagration,<br>And the roofs went thundering down!<br>Oh, the prayers-the prayers and curses<br>That together winged their flight<br>From the maddened hearts of many<br>Through that long and woeful night!<br>Till the fires began to dwindle,<br>And the shots grew faint and few,<br>And we heard the foeman's challenge<br>Only in a far halloo;<br>Till the silence once more settled<br>O'er the gorges of the glen,<br>Broken only by the Cona<br>Plunging through its naked den.<br>Slowly from the mountain-summit<br>Was the drifting veil withdrawn,<br>And the ghastly valley glimmered<br>In the gray December dawn.<br>Better had the morning never<br>Dawned upon our dark despair!<br>Black amidst the common whiteness<br>Rose the spectral ruins there:<br>But the sight of these was nothing<br>More than wrings the wild dove's breast,<br>When she searches for her offspring<br>Round the relics of her nest.<br>For in many a spot the tartan<br>Peered above the wintry heap,<br>Marking where a dead Macdonald<br>Lay within his frozen sleep.<br>Tremblingly we scooped the covering<br>From each kindred victim's head,<br>And the living lips were burning<br>On the cold ones of the dead.<br>And I left them with their dearest-<br>Dearest charge had everyone-<br>Left the maiden with her lover,<br>Left the mother with her son.<br>I alone of all was mateless-<br>Far more wretched I than they,<br>For the snow would not discover<br>Where my lord and husband lay.<br>But I wandered up the valley<br>Till I found him lying low,<br>With the gash upon his bosom,<br>And the frown upon his brow-<br>Till I found him lying murdered<br>Where he wooed me long ago.<br>Woman's weakness shall not shame me;<br>Why should I have tears to shed?<br>Could I rain them down like water,<br>O my hero, on thy head,<br>Could the cry of lamentation<br>Wake thee from thy silent sleep,<br>Could it set thy heart a-throbbing,<br>It were mine to wail and weep.<br>But I will not waste my sorrow,<br>Lest the Campbell women say<br>That the daughters of Clanranald<br>Are as weak and frail as they.<br>I had wept thee hadst thou fallen,<br>Like our fathers, on thy shield,<br>When a host of English foemen<br>Camped upon a Scottish field;<br>I had mourned thee hadst thou perished<br>With the foremost of his name,<br>When the valiant and the noble<br>Died around the dauntless Græme.<br>But I will not wrong thee, husband!<br>With my unavailing cries,<br>Whilst thy cold and mangled body,<br>Stricken by the traitor, lies;<br>Whilst he counts the gold and glory<br>That this hideous night has won,<br>And his heart is big with triumph<br>At the murder he has done.<br>Other eyes than mine shall glisten,<br>Other hearts be rent in twain,<br>Ere the heathbells on thy hillock<br>Wither in the autumn rain.<br>Then I'll seek thee where thou sleepest,<br>And I'll veil my weary head,<br>Praying for a place beside thee,<br>Dearer than my bridal-bed:<br>And I'll give thee tears, my husband,<br>If the tears remain to me,<br>When the widows of the foemen<br>Cry the coronach for thee.</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Edmondstoune+Aytoun">William Edmondstoune Aytoun</a><div class=q> <img src="https://www.citatepedia.ro/g/32share.png" style="float:left" alt="Share"> <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=538120" data-title="The Widow Of Glencoe de William Edmondstoune Aytoun" data-description="Do not lift him from the bracken, Leave him lying where he fell- Better bier ye cannot fashion: None beseems him half so well As the bare and broken heather, And the hard and trampled sod, Whence his angry soul ascended To the judgment-seat of God..."></div> </div> </div>

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