Lachin y Gair
Away, ye gay landscapes, ye gardens of roses!
In you let the minions of luxury rove;
Restore me the rocks where the snow-flake reposes,
Though still they are sacred to freedom and love;
Yet, Caledonia, beloved are thy mountains,
Round their white summits though elements war;
Though cataracts foam 'stead of smooth-flowing fountains,
I sigh for the valley of dark Loch na Garr.
Ah ! there my young footsteps in infancy wandered;
My cap was the bonnet, my cloak was the plaid;
On chieftains long–perished my memory ponder'd,
As daily I strode through the pine–covered glade;
I sought not my home till the day's dying glory
Gave place to the rays of the bright polar star;
For fancy was cheered by traditional story,
Disclosed by the natives of dark Loch na Garr.
"Shades of the dead! Have I not heard your voices
Rise on the night–rolling breath of the gale?"
Surely the soul of the hero rejoices,
And rides on the wind, o'er his own Highland vale.
Round Loch na Garr while the stormy mist gathers,
Winter presides in his cold icy car:
Clouds there encircle the forms of my fathers;
They dwell in the tempests of dark Loch na Garr.
Ill–starr'd, though brave, did no visions foreboding
Tell you that fate had forsaken your cause?
Ah! were you destined to die at Culloden,
Victory crowned not your fall with applause:
Still were you happy in death's earthly slumber,
You rest with your clan in the caves of Braemar;
The pibroch resounds, to the piper's loud number,
Your deeds on the echoes of dark Loch na Garr.
Years have rolled on, Loch na Garr, since I left you,
Years must elapse ere I tread you again:
Nature of verdure and flowers has bereft you,
Yet still you are dearer than Albion's plain.
England! thy beauties are tame and domestic,
To one who has roved o'er the mountains afar:
Oh for the crags that are wild and majestic!
The steep frowning glories of dark Loch na Garr.
poem by Byron (1806)
Submitted by Veronica Serbanoiu
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Legend In My Spare Time
Ashes to ashes and funks to funky
Daddy Long Legs is a mean ass honky
And Jimmy Pop ain't no heiny hobbit gaybe
Ain't no big meaty chunks in my thick brown gravy
Cause I'm a Loch Ness a Loch Ness a Loch Ness monster
Jerry's Kids are knockin' at my door
song performed by by Bloodhound Gang
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Loch Katrine
Beautiful Loch Katrine in all thy majesty so grand,
Oh! how charming and fascinating is thy silver strand!
Thou certainly art most lovely, and worthy to be seen,
Especially thy beautiful bay and shrubberies green.
Then away to Loch Katrine in the summer time,
And feast on its scenery most lovely and sublime;
There's no other scene can surpass in fair Scotland,
It's surrounded by mountains and trees most grand.
And as I gaze upon it, let me pause and think,
How many people in Glasgow of its water drink,
That's conveyed to them in pipes from its placid lake,
And are glad to get its water their thirst to slake.
Then away to Loch Katrine in the summer time,
And feast on its scenery most lovely and sublime;
There's no other scene can surpass in fair Scotland,
It's surrounded by mountains and trees most grand.
The mountains on either side of it are beautiful to be seen,
Likewise the steamers sailing on it with their clouds of steam:
And their shadows on its crystal waters as they pass along,
Is enough to make the tourist burst into song.
Then away to Loch Katrine in the summer time,
And feast on its scenery most lovely and sublime;
There's no other scene can surpass in fair Scotland,
It's surrounded by mountains and trees most grand.
'Tis beautiful to see its tiny wimpling rills,
And the placid Loch in the hollow of a circle of hills,
Glittering like silver in the sun's bright array,
Also many a promontory, little creek, and bay.
Then away to Loch Katrine in the summer time,
And feast on its scenery most lovely and sublime;
There's no other scene can surpass in fair Scotland,
It's surrounded by mountains and trees most grand.
Then to the east there's the finely wooded Ellen's Isle,
There the tourist can the tedious hours beguile,
As he gazes on its white gravelled beautiful bay,
It will help to drive dull care away.
Then away to Loch Katrine in the summer time,
And feast on its scenery most lovely and sublime;
There's no other scene can surpass in fair Scotland,
It's surrounded by mountains and trees most grand.
The mountains Ben-An and Ben-Venue are really very grand
Likewise the famous and clear silver strand;
Where the bold Rob Roy spent many a happy day,
With his faithful wife, near by its silvery bay.
Then away to Loch Katrine in the summer time,
And feast on its scenery most lovely and sublime;
There's no other scene can surpass in fair Scotland,
It's surrounded by mountains and trees most grand.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Loch Ness
Beautiful Loch Ness,
The truth to express,
Your landscapes are lovely and gay,
Along each side of your waters, to Fort Augustus all the way,
Your scenery is romantic...
With rocks and hills gigantic...
Enough to make one frantic,
As they view thy beautiful heathery hills,
And their clear crystal rills,
And the beautiful woodlands so green,
On a fine summer day...
From Inverneaa all the way...
Where the deer and the doe together doth play;
And the beautiful Falls of Foyers with its cystal spray,
As clear as the day,
Enchanting and gay,
To the traveller as he gazes thereon,
That he feels amazed with delight,
To see the water falling from such a height,
That his heed feels giddy with the scene,
As he views the Falls of Foyers and the woodlands so green,
That he exclaims in an ecstasy of delight -
Oh, beautiful Loch Ness!
I must sincerely confess,
That you are the most beautiful to behold,
With your lovely landscapes and water so cold.
And as he turns from the scene, he says with a sigh-
Oh, beautiful Loch Ness! I must bid you good-bye.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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Margaret
(traditional, arrangement by steve rothery, mark kelly, pete trawavas, michael pointer & fish)
For me and my true-love will never walk again on the bonnie, bonnie banks of loch lomond.
Moira anderson, eat your heart out!
You-ou--
Youll take the high road an Ill take the low road, an Ill be in scotland before you
For me and my true-love well never walk again on the bonnie, bonnie banks of loch lomond
Youll take the acid an Ill take the dope, an Ill be stoned before you
For me an my true-love, the drink waters well on the bonnie, bonnie banks of loch lomond
Step we gaily on we go, heel for heel and toe for toe
Arm in arm
An row an row all for mhairis wedding
Step we gaily on we go, heel for heel and toe for toe
Arm in arm an row an row all for mhairis wedding
I said you, you, you, youll take the high road
I said ill, ill, ill, Ill take the low road
On the lead guitar, from yorkshire mr. stephen rothery!
I said you, you, you, you take the high road
I said ill, ill, ill, Ill take the low road
On the bass guitar, the backing vocal, from aylesbury mr. peter trawavas!
I said you, you, you, you take the high road
I said ill, ill, ill, Ill take the low road
On the keyboards, from dublin mr. mark kelly!
I said you, you--, youll take the high road
I said ill, ill--, Ill take the low road
On drums, per-cus-si-on, mr. michael e.t. pointer!
And a very big round of applause, for yourself, one audience tonight
It takes two!
On vocals, and percussion fish! ...
A dream fulfilled!
Sweet ma- ma- ma- ma- margaret
I said you take the high road
An Ill take the low road
An Ill be in scotland before you
For me and my true-love well never meet again
On the bonnie, bonnie banks of loch lomond
Sweet ma- ma- ma- ma- margaret
The balcony: sweet ma- ma- ma- ma margaret
Say yer scottish: sweet ma- ma- ma- ma- margaret
I said youll take the high road
An Ill take the low road
An Ill be in scotland before you
For me and my true-love well never meet again
On the bonnie, bonnie, bonnie, bonnie, bonnie banks of loch lomond!
Banks of loch lomond!
Sweet margaret
Sweet margaret
Sweet ma- ma- ma- ma- margaret!
Thank you edinburgh, good night, we shall de-fi-nite-ly return
song performed by by Marillion
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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I have been off the motorcycles for about 20 years now, but that doesn't mean I can't still do it.
The Well of Loch Maree
Calm on the breast of Loch Maree
A little isle reposes;
A shadow woven of the oak
And willow o'er it closes.
Within, a Druid's mound is seen,
Set round with stony warders;
A fountain, gushing through the turf,
Flows o'er its grassy borders.
And whoso bathes therein his brow,
With care or madness burning,
Feels once again his healthful thought
And sense of peace returning.
O restless heart and fevered brain,
Unquiet and unstable,
That holy well of Loch Maree
Is more than idle fable!
Life's changes vex, its discords stun,
Its glaring sunshine blindeth,
And blest is he who on his way
That fount of healing findeth!
The shadows of a humbled will
And contrite heart are o'er it;
Go read its legend, 'TRUST IN GOD,'
On Faith's white stones before it.
poem by John Greenleaf Whittier
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There's always going to be somebody worse off than me.
I've always been this insane. Isn't that interesting?
You have to lift your head up out of the mud and just do it.
I have a disease, but I also have a lot of other things.
Loch Leven
Beautiful Loch Leven, near by Kinross
For a good day's fishing the angler is seldom at a loss,
For the Loch it abounds with pike and trout,
Which can be had for the catching without any doubt;
And the scenery around it is most beautiful to be seen,
Especially the Castle, wherein was imprisoned Scotland's ill-starred Queen.
Then there's the lofty Lomond Hills on the Eastern side,
And the loch is long, very deep, and wide;
Then on the Southern side there's Benarty's rugged hills,
And from the tops can be seen the village of Kinross with its spinning mills.
The big house of Kinross is very handsome to be seen,
With its beautiful grounds around it, and the lime trees so green
And 'tis a magnificent sight to see, on a fine summer afternoon,
The bees extracting honey from the leaves when in full bloom.
There the tourist can enjoy himself and while away the hours,
Underneath the lime trees shady bowers,
And listen to the humming of the busy bees,
While they are busy gathering honey from the lime trees.
Then there's the old burying ground near by Kinross,
And the dead that lie there turned into dusty dross,
And the gravestones are all in a state of decay,
And the old wall around it is mouldering away.
poem by William Topaz McGonagall
Submitted by Poetry Lover
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I take one of the interferon therapies, Rebif.
I think there are a lot of myths about MS, and it may have affected my career.
I do Pilates a lot. I don't do a lot of cardiovascular stuff.
Seventy-five percent of MS sufferers are women.
Someday they may cure MS, that idiot thing. It gets in there and they can't get it out.
My doctor said, for want of a better word, now that we've got medicines out here that can help, let's put you on one of them and say we're treating MS.
There were symptoms that I saw, and though I went to many doctors and had many tests, no one diagnosed MS.