En.Citatepedia^®.ro

The Shires on the Moray Frith

Worthy of either song or story
Are the Shires found Frith of Moray.
Here lies the valley of Strathspey,
Famed for its music-lively, gay.
Elgin cathedral's 'prentice aisle
Is glory of that ruined pile.
What modern chisel now could trace
Fine scuplture of that ancient place?
And Forres, famed for Sweyn's stane,
In honor of that kingly Dane.
'Graved with warriors' runes and rhyme
Long prior to historic times.
For a thousand years it's been forgot
Who was victor-Dane or Scot.
It is the country of Macbeth,
Where good King Duncan met his death,
And Barren Heath-that place of fear-
Stood witches' cauldron of Shakespeare.
Nairn's Cawdor Castle strong remains-
Full worthy of the ancient Thanes.
And nestled 'neath the hills and bens,
Queen of the moors, the loch's and glens,
Full proudly stands, in vale of bliss,
Chief Highland town of Inverness.
Near here the famous Falls of Foyers,
Where Burns and others tuned their lyres.
And the fatal field of dark Culloden,
Where doughty clans wore once down trodden
Here men yet wear the tartan-plaid,
Ready to join the Highland Brigade.
And when the Frith you look across.
The eye beholds Sutherland and Ross,
Where Duke hath harnessed mighty team,
Plows hills, and rocks, and moors by steam;,
Perhaps it may in part atone
For cruel clearings days by-gone.
And Cromarty, whose wondrous mason
First learned his geologic lesson ;
Friends may rear a stately pillar ..
The ' Old Red Sandstone ' of Hugh Miller.
Ben Wyvis towers, like monarch crowned,
Conspicious o'er the hills around,
With crest e'er white with driven snow ;
Strathpeffer's water-cure below.

poem by James McIntyre
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The Brothers Stuart

In the year 1843 we were, though but a boy, at a fair at
Cawdor Castle. Readers of Shakespeare's Macbeth will
have often found Cawdor mentioned therein; the village
of Cawdor is but a few miles from Culloden Moor While
we were there the old Highland people, in their broken
English, were declaring that the Stuarts were collecting
arms, and that the Clans were going to join them ; those
gentlemen wore the Highland garb, and were highly re-
spected. They had lived in Cawdor for some years ; one
of them built a Hermitage of wicker-work on high bank
of river, which remains entire and in good repair to the
present day.

Long 'ere Her Majesty the Queen
Had visited of Aberdeen,
'Ere she in castle did abide
'Mong glorious hills on the Dee side,
Or visited each Highland glen
Or won the hearts of Highlandmen,
There oft was seen in Highland dress
Two Stuarts brave in Inverness ;
Well worthy of the poet's lyre,
They claimed Prince Charlie as Grandsire,
And that they also did combine
Stuart with Royal Polish line ;
Their names, Sobieskie Stuart,
They won many a Highland heart.

But Royal order did go forth,
To build Balmoral Castle North,
Then woundrous change was quickly seen-
All hearts were captured by the Queen.

poem by James McIntyre
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Beautiful Nairn

All ye tourists who wish to be away
From the crowded city for a brief holiday;
The town of Nairn is worth a visit, I do confess,
And it's only about fifteen miles from Inverness.

And in the summer season it's a very popular bathing-place,
And the visitors from London and Edinburgh finds solace,
As they walk along the yellow sand beach inhaling fresh air;
Besides, there's every accommodation for ladies and gentlemen there.

Then there's a large number of bathing coaches there,
And the climate is salubrious, and very warm the air;
And every convenience is within the bathers' reach,
Besides, there's very beautiful walks by the sea beach.

The visitors to Nairn can pass away the time agreeably,
By viewing Tarbetness, which slopes downwards to the sea;
And Queen Street is one of the prettiest thoroughfares,
Because there's splendid shops in it, and stocked with different wares.

And there's ornamental grounds, and lovely shady nooks,
Which is a great advantage to visitors while reading their books;
And there's a certain place known as the Ladies' Beach,
So private that no intruder can them reach.

And there's many neat cottages with gardens very nice,
And picturesque villas, which can be rented at a reasonable price;
Besides, there's a golf course for those that such a game seeks,
Which would prove a great attraction to the knights of clubs and cleeks.

The surrounding scenery of Nairn is magnificent to be seen,
Especially its fertile fields and woodlands so green;
Besides, not far from Nairn, there's Cawdor Castle, the ancient seat
Of the noble Thanes of Cawdor, with its bold turrets so neat.

And its massive proportions is very imposing to see,
Because the arched entrance is secured by a drawbridge and a fosse;
And visitors will be allowed all over the grounds to roam,
Besides shown over the castle if the Earl is not at home.

The scenery surrounding the castle is charming in the summertime,
And the apples in the orchard there is very fine,
Also the flower-beds are most beautiful to see,
Especially in the month of June, when the birds sing merrily.

Then there's the ancient stronghold of the Bays of Lochloy,
And visitors when they see it will it heartily enjoy;
And a little further on there's the blasted heath of Macbeth,
And a hillock where the witches are wont to dance till out of breath.

And as the visitors to Nairn walk along the yellow sand,
They can see, right across the Moray Firth, the Black Island so grand,
With its productive fields and romantic scenery,
And as the tourist gazes thereon his heart fills with ecstasy.

And Darnaway Castle is well worthy of praise,
And to oblige all visitors there are open days,
When they can see the castle where one thousand warriors in all
Oft have assembled in the Earl of Randolph's Hall.

And in conclusion I will say for good bathing Nairn is the best,
And besides its pleasant scenery is of historical interest;
And the climate gives health to many visitors while there,
Therefore I would recommend Nairn for balmy pure air.

poem by William Topaz McGonagall
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Lines On The North Of Scotland

Lines on the North of Scotland, delivered in Embro nearly a
quarter of a century ago:

Scotsmen have wandered far and wide,
From Moray Frith to Frith of Clyde;
McDonald, from his sea girt isle,
And Campbell from his broad Argyle-

But chiefly here you have come forth
From those countries of the north;
Some oft have trod Dunrobins's Halls,
And gazed upon its stately walls.

Here to-night in this array
Is Murray, McKenzie and McKay;
And there doth around us stand
The Munroe, Ross and Sutherland.

Your young men have high honour earned;
In all of the professions learned;
Your Bonnie Lasses sung in song,
And youths are famed for muscle strong.

poem by James McIntyre
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Victoria Park and Caledonian Games

Lines on the naming of Victoria Park, on Queen's Birthday,
1881. The ceremony was performed by Thomas Brown,
Esq., Mayor of the town.

Come one, come all, to Scottish games
On the banks of Canadian Thames ;
You'll find that 'tis most pleasant way
You can enjoy the Queen's Birthday.

In future years it will be famed
The day whereon the park was named,
With its boundry great extended
And nature's charms sweetly blended.

Full worthy of the poet's theme
Is hill and dale, and wood and stream,
And glittering spires, and busy town.
Where mansions' do each mount top crown.

Come, witness the great tug-of-war,
And the great hammer thrown afar,
See running, jumping, highland fling,
At concert hear the sky lark sing.

And the bagpipes will send thrills
Like echoes from the distant hills,
And the bold sound of the pibroch
Which does resound o'er Scottish loch.

Young men and maids, and fine old dames
Will gather on the banks of Thames,
And though we have a tug-of-war
'Twill leave no wound or deadly scar.

poem by James McIntyre
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My Highland Lassie, O

Nae gentle dames, tho' e'er sae fair,
Shall ever be my muse's care;
Their titles a' are empty show;
Gie me my Highland Lassie, O.
Within the glen sae bushy, O,
Aboon the plain sae rushy, O,
I sit me down wi' right good will,
To sing my Highland Lassie, O.

Oh, were yon hills and valleys mine,
Yon palace and yon gardens fine!
The world then the love should know
I bear my Highland Lassie, O.
Within the glen...

But fickle fortune frowns on me,
And I maun cross the raging sea;
But while my crimson currents flow
I'll love my highland Lassie, O.
Within the glen...

Altho' thro' foreign climes I range,
I know her heart will never change,
For her bosom burns with honor's glow,
My faithful highland Lassie, O.
Within the glen...

For her I'll dare the billows' roar,
For her I'll trace a distant shore,
That Indian wealth may lustre throw
Around my Highland Lassie, O.
Within the glen...

She has my heart, she has my hand,
By sacred troth and honor's band!
Till the mortal stroke shall lay me low,
I'm thine, my highland Lassie, O.
Farewell the glen sae bushy, O!
Farewell the plain sae rushy, O!
To other lands I now must go,
To sing my Highland Lassie, O!

poem by Robert Burns
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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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Stood its Ground

Reflecting on the loch at night
Its shadow cast by the moonlight
This castle stands upon the shore
Been here for three hundred years or more

If we could see the sights it seen
Not all was peaceful like a dream
Many have tried to take it down
But its still here it’s stood its ground

Romantic setting now its seems
A place for that magic wedding dream
Snow topped hills high above
It’s full of all that romantic stuff

But remember from whence it came
Its been through battles and been through pain
Its life will never be the same
A laird a lord a movie star
It does not matter who the owners are

You’re a castle and will always be
As your part of my Scottish history
Does not matter were I roam
Your part of that place I call home

08 10 2010
Chellaston

poem by Jim O'Donnell
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The Ancient Hills Of Toora

The ancient hills of Toora are looking brown today
Yet they were lush and rather green when last I passed this way
But that was last September when the nesting birds did sing
And every where looked greener in the early days of Spring.

To those ancient hills of Toora the Seasons come and go
And where once were thousands of gum trees only a few gums grow
And the Aboriginals who lived and hunted on those hills are not around today
Time brings with it great changes and it's always been that way.

The ancient hills of Toora as old as father time
And they were millions of years old when Christ was in his prime
The oldest human on Planet Earth perhaps fifteen years with five score
But the ancient hills of Toora will exist forever more.

The ancient hills of Toora overlooking Toora Town
From the long and warm dry Summer have never looked so brown
But I recall last September decked in their wildering flowers
Those ancient hills of Toora lush and green after Spring showers.

poem by Francis Duggan
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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
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The Highland Widow's Lament

Oh, I am come to the low countrie,
Och on, och on, och rie!
Without a penny in my purse,
To buy a meal to me.

It was na sae in the Highland hills,
Och on, och on, och rie!
Nae woman in the country wide
Sae happy was as me.

For then I had a score o' kye,
Och on, och on, och rie!
Feeding on yon hills so high,
And giving milk to me.

And there I had threescore o' yowes,
Och on, och on, och rie!
Skipping on yon bonnie knowes,
And casting woo' to me.

I was the happiest of a' the clan,
Sair, sair may I repine;
For Donald was the brawest man,
And Donald he was mine.

Till Charlie Stuart cam' at last,
Sae far to set us free;
My Donald's arm was wanted then
For Scotland and for me.

Their waefu' fate what need I tell?
Right to the wrang did yield:
My Donald and his country fell
Upon Culloden field.

Och on, O Donald O!
Och on, och on, och rie!
Nae woman in the warld wide
Sae wretched now as me.

poem by Robert Burns
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Lines on Beachville

Of Beachville, village of the plain,
We now will sing a short refrain,
For here the Thames doth pleasant flow
And charms to landscape doth bestow ;
Though river here it is not deep,
Yet banks slope graceful up the steep
And from the summit of the hills
You look down on the famed lime kilns,
And 'tis full worthy poets rhyme
The whiteness of thy pure fine lime.
Your glory never shall be gone
While you have quarries of this stone ;
In influence you yet will wax
With mills for flour and also flax.

poem by James McIntyre
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Donald Ross

A Scottish - Canadian tale.

By the side of moss
Lived young Donald Ross,
Among the heathery hills
And the mountain rills,
In a snug little cot,
Content with his lot,
He never knew sorrow,
With his wife and wee Flora.

But an order went forth,
O'er the land of the north,
To burn many a home
So the wild deer might roam.
With grief he then did toss
All that night, Donald Ross,
And sad seemed the morrow
For his wife and sma' Flora.

Oh ! it was a cruel deed,
But nobles do not heed
The sorrows of the poor.
Drove on a barren moor,
Where he wove a wreath
Of the blooming heath,
For to crown with glory
The brow of little Flory.

He then bade farewell
To his mountain dell,
Where his fathers appears
Had lived a thousand years,
With their few goats and sheep
Which fed on hills so steep.
Oh, it was a sad story
For bonnie little Flora.

He sought a distant strand,
In Canada bought land,
To him a glorious charm
To view his own broad farm,
His horses and his cows,
Cultivators and plows ;
And now his daughter Flora
She is the flower of Zorra.

poem by James McIntyre
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The Great Grandfather

My father's grandfather lives still,
His age is fourscore years and ten;
He looks a monument of time,
The agedest of aged men.

Though years lie on him like a load,
A happier man you will not see
Than he, whenever he can get
His great grandchildren on his knee.

When we our parents have displeased,
He stands between us as a screen;
By him our good deeds in the sun,
Our bad ones in the shade are seen.

His love's a line that's long drawn out,
Yet lasteth firm unto the end;
His heart is oak, yet unto us
It like the gentlest reed can bend.

A fighting soldier he has been-
Yet by his manners you would guess,
That he his whole long life had spent
In scenes of country quietness.

His talk is all of things long past,
For modern facts no pleasure yield-
Of the famed year of forty-five,
Of William, and Culloden's field.

The deeds of this eventful age,
Which princes from their thrones have hurled,
Can no more interest wake in him
Than stories of another world.

When I his length of days revolve,
How like a strong tree he hath stood,
It brings into my mind almost
Those patriarchs old before the flood.

poem by Charles Lamb
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Where a Roman Villa Stood, Above Freiburg

On alien ground, breathing an alien air,
A Roman stood, far from his ancient home,
And gazing, murmured,
'Ah, the hills are fair,
But not the hills of Rome!'

Descendant of a race to Romans-kin,
Where the old son of Empire stood, I stand.
The self-same rocks fold the same valley in,
Untouched of human hand.

Over another shines the self-same star,
Another heart with nameless longing fills,
Crying aloud, 'How beautiful they are,
But not our English hills!'

poem by Mary Elizabeth Coleridge
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The Other Half

Over the hills, lies a new beginning
Over the hills
Over the hills, there is a way I know it
Over the hills
You can't bring all the gloom
Your heart is frayed and so empty
You glorify the future
Living in a different world than me
The journey ends in death
You are giving up so easily
You are the other half of me
Over the hills [4x]
We are drifting apart
Chilled to the marrow, cause you don't want to go
Cause we've got a different wish at heart
The amulet guides us to the other side
When I go down it's you who'll bleed
I'm not scared to die, as long as I'm with you
You are the other half of me
Over the hills, lies a new beginning
Over the hills
Over the hills, there's a way I know it
Over the hills

song performed by by Within Temptation
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Prologue

My friends, we sing Canadian themes,
For in them we proudly glory;
Her lakes, her rivers and her streams,
Worthy of renown in story.
And in these leaves we hope is strewn
Some wheat among the chaff
And maple boughs, by rude axe hewn
Where one may find a rustic staff
To help him o'er the rugged lines.
Some see no beauties near to home,
But do admire the distant far -
They always love abroad to roam,
View glory in but far off star;
But, let it never be forgot
That distant hills, when closer seen,
Are after all a barren spot -
Not like your own hills, clad in green.
You'll find they are but idle dreams,
To search for happiness afar:
At home there's lovely lakes and streams,
Remain content now where you are.
At us we hope you will not rage
Because we sing of local charms
In each varied town and village,
As well as round our rural farms.
But our address it must be brief,
So we bid you now all adieu;
But, of our book, pray read each leaf,
Until the whole you have gone through;
Each one doth know it is not wise,
Though our song may not be vocal,
Chants of our home for to despise,
But prize them 'cause they are local.

poem by James McIntyre
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The Other Half (of Me)

Over the hills lies a new beginning
Over the hills
Over the hills, there is a way, I know it
Over the hills
You cant bring all the gloom
Your heart is frayed and so empty
You glorify the future
Living in a different world than me
The yourney ends in death
You are giving up so easily
You are the other half of me
Over The Hills (x4)
We are drifting apart
Chilled to the marrow
cause you dont want to go
cause weve got a different wish at heart
The amulet guides us to the other side
When I go down, its you wholl bleed
Im not scared to die as long as Im with you
You are the other half of me
Over the hills lies a new beginning
Over the hills
Over the hills, there is a way, I know it
Over the hills

song performed by by Within Temptation
Submitted by Lucian Velea
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Meg Merrilies

OLD Meg she was a gipsy;
And liv'd upon the moors:
Her bed it was the brown heath turf,
And her house was out of doors.

Her apples were swart blackberries,
Her currants, pods o' broom;
Her wine was dew of the wild white rose,
Her book a church-yard tomb.

Her brothers were the craggy hills,
Her sisters larchen trees;
Alone with her great family
She liv'd as she did please.

No breakfast had she many a morn,
No dinner many a noon,
And 'stead of supper she would stare
Full hard against the moon.

But every morn, of woodbine fresh
She made her garlanding,
And every night the dark glen yew
She wove, and she would sing.

And with her fingers old and brown
She plaited mats o' rushes,
And gave them to the cottagers
She met among the bushes.

Old Meg was brave as Margaret Queen,
And tall as Amazon:
An old red blanket cloak she wore,
A chip hat had she on.
God rest her aged bones somewhere---
She died full long agone!

poem by John Keats
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Over the hills and far away

Over the hills and far away,
A little boy steals from his morning play
And under the blossoming apple-tree
He lies and he dreams of the things to be:
Of battles fought and of victories won,
Of wrongs o'erthrown and of great deeds done -
Of the valor that he shall prove some day,
Over the hills and far away -
Over the hills, and far away!

Over the hills and far away
It's, oh, for the toil the livelong day!
But it mattereth not to the soul aflame
With a love for riches and power and fame!
On, 0 man! while the sun is high -
On to the certain joys that lie
Yonder where blazeth the noon of day,
Over the hills and far away -
Over the hills, and far away!

Over the hills and far away,
An old man lingers at close of day;
Now that his journey is almost done,
His battles fought and his victories won -
The old-time honesty and truth,
The trustfulness and the friends of youth,
Home and mother-where are they?
Over the hills and far away -
Over the years, and far away!

poem by Eugene Field
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Pan

1.

O goat-foot God of Arcady!
This modern world is grey and old,
And what remains to us of thee?

No more the shepherd lads in glee
Throw apples at thy wattled fold,
O goat-foot God of Arcady!

Nor through the laurels can one see
Thy soft brown limbs, thy beard of gold,
And what remains to us of thee?

And dull and dead our Thames would be,
For here the winds are chill and cold,
O goat-foot God of Arcady!

Then keep the tomb of Helice,
Thine olive-woods, thy vine-clad wold,
And what remains to us of thee?

Though many an unsung elegy
Sleeps in the reeds our rivers hold,
O goat-foot God of Arcady!
Ah, what remains to us of thee?

2.

Ah, leave the hills of Arcady,
Thy satyrs and their wanton play,
This modern world hath need of thee.

No nymph of Faun indeed have we,
For Faun and nymph are old and grey,
Ah, leave the hills of Arcady!

This is the land where liberty
Lit grave-browed Milton on his way,
This modern world hath need of thee!

A land of ancient chivalry
Where gentle Sidney saw the day,
Ah, leave the hills of Arcady.

This fierce sea-lion of the sea,
This England lacks some stronger lay,
This modern world hath need of thee!

Then blow some trumpet loud and free,
And give thine oaten pipe away,
Ah, leave the hills of Arcady!
This modern world hath need of thee!

poem by Oscar Wilde
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