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<div style="background:#fff;border:#bbb dashed 1px;padding:5px"><a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/comments.php?id=538398" style="color:#000;text-decoration:none"><div style="margin:10px 0"><strong>Donal Campbell</strong></div><div style="margin:10px 0">DONAL' CAMPBELL<br>-Donal' Bane-<br>sailed away across the <br>ocean<br>With the tartans of Clan<br>Gordon, to the Indies' <br>distant shore,<br>But on Dargai's lonely hill-<br>side, Donal' Campbell<br>met the foeman,<br>And the glen of Athol<br>Moray will never see him more!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">O! the wailing of the women, O! the storm of<br>bitter sorrow<br>Sweeping like the wintry torrent thro' Athol<br>Moray's glen<br>When the black word reached the clansmen,<br>that young Donal' Bane had fallen<br>In the red glare of the battle, with the gallant<br>Gordon men!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Far from home and native sheiling, with the<br>sun of India o'er him<br>Blazing down its cruel hatred on the white-<br>faced men below<br>Stood young Donal' with his comrades, like the<br>hound of ghostly Fingal<br>Eager, waiting for the summons to leap up<br>against the foe-</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Hark! at last! the pipes are pealing out the<br>welcome Caber Feidh<br>And wild the red blood rushes thro' every<br>Highland vein<br>They breathe the breath of battle, the children<br>of the Gael,<br>And fiercely up the hillside, they charge and<br>charge again-</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And the grey eye of the Highlands, now is<br>dark as blackest midnight,<br>The history of their fathers is written on each<br>face,<br>Of border creach and foray, of never yieldong<br>conflict<br>Of all the memories shrouding a stern uncon-<br>quered race!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">And up the hillside, up the mountain, while<br>the war-pipes shrilly clamour<br>Bayonet thrusting, broadsword cleaving, the<br>Northern soldiers fought<br>Till the sun of India saw them victors o' er the<br>dusky foeman,<br>For who can stay the Celtic hand when Celtic<br>blood is hot?</div><div style="margin:10px 0">But the corse of many a clansman from the far-<br>off Scottish Highlands<br>'Mid the rocks of savage Dargai is lying cold<br>and still<br>With the death-dew on its forehead, and young<br>Donal' Campbell 's tartan<br>Bears a deeper stain of purple than the heather<br>of the hill!</div><div style="margin:10px 0">Mourn him! Mourn him thro' the mountains,<br>wail him women of Clan Campbell!<br>Let the Coronach be sounded tii it reach the<br>Indian shore<br>For your beautiful has fallen in the foremost<br>of the battle<br>And the glen of Athol Moray will never see<br>him more!</div><div style="margin:10px 0"><br /></a><br />poem by <a href="http://en.citatepedia.ro/by.php?a=William+Henry+Drummond">William Henry Drummond</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=538398" data-title="Donal Campbell de William Henry Drummond" data-description="DONAL' CAMPBELL
-Donal' Bane-
sailed away across the 
ocean
With the tartans of Clan
Gordon, to the Indies' 
distant shore,
But on Dargai's lonely hill-
side, Donal' Campbell
met the foeman,
And the glen of Athol
Moray will never see him more!

O!..."></div>
</div>
</div>