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Posts Tagged ‘courage’

The moon’s on the lake, and the mist’s on the brae,
And the Clan has a name that is nameless by day:
Then gather, gather, gather, Grigalach!
Gather, gather, gather, Grigalach!

Our signal for fight, that from monarchs we drew,
Must be heard but by night in our vengeful haloo!
Then haloo, Grigalach! haloo, Grigalach!
Haloo, haloo, haloo, Grigalach!

Glen Orchy’s proud mountains, Coalchuirn and her towers,
Glenstrae and Glenlyon no longer are ours;
We’re landless, landless, landless, Grigalach!
Landless, landless, landless, Grigalach!

But doom’d and devoted by vassal and lord,
MacGregor has still both his heart and his sword!
Then courage, courage, courage, Grigalach!
Courage, courage, courage, Grigalach!

If they rob us of name, and pursue us with beagles,
Give their roofs to the flame, and their flesh to the eagles!
Then vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, Grigalach!
Vengeance, vengeance, vengeance, Grigalach!

While there’s leaves in the forest, and foam on the river,
MacGregor, despite them, shall flourish for ever!
Come then, Grigalach, come then, Grigalach!
Come then, come then, come then, Grigalach!

Through the depths of Loch Katrine the steed shall career,
Oe’r the peak of Ben-Lomond the galley shall steer,
And the rocks of Craig-Royston like icicles melt,
Ere our wrongs be forgot, or our vengeance unfelt!
Then gather, gather, gather, Grigalach!
Gather, gather, gather, Grigalach!

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Sung on Youtube (4:42) – (4:42) https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0vvdz4yfaag

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background: https://www.highlandtitles.com/2015/06/clans-of-scotland-macgregor/

 

 

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           Barbara Frietchie

Up from the meadows rich with corn,
Clear in the cool September morn, 

The clustered spires of Frederick stand
Green-walled by the hills of Maryland. 

Round about the orchards sweep,
Apple and peach-tree fruited deep, 

Fair as a garden of the Lord
To the eyes of the famished rebel horde,

On that pleasant morn of the early fall
When Lee marched over the mountain wall; 

Over the mountains winding down,
Horse and foot, into Frederick town. 

Forty flags with their silver stars,
Forty flags with their crimson bars, 

Flapped in the morning wind: the sun
Of noon looked down, and saw not one. 

Up rose old Barbara Frietchie then,
Bowed with her fourscore years and ten; 

Bravest of all in Frederick town,
She took up the flag the men hauled down; 

In her attic window the staff she set,
To show that one heart was loyal yet. 

Up the street came the rebel tread,
Stonewall Jackson riding ahead. 

Under his slouched hat left and right
He glanced; the old flag met his sight. 

“Halt!” – the dust-brown ranks stood fast.
“Fire!” – out blazed the rifle blast. 

It shivered the window, pane and sash;
It rent the banner with seam and gash. 

Quick, as it fell, from the broken staff
Dame Barbara snatched the silken scarf. 

She leaned far out on the window-sill,
And shook it forth with a royal will. 

“Shoot, if you must, this old grey head,
But spare your country’s flag,” she said.

A shade of sadness, a blush of shame,
Over the face of the leader came; 

The nobler nature within him stirred
To life at that woman’s deed and word; 

“Who touches a hair of yon grey head
Dies like a dog! March on!” he said. 

All day long through Frederick street
Sounded the tread of marching feet: 

All day long that free flag tost
Over the heads of the rebel host. 

Ever its torn folds rose and fell
On the loyal winds that loved it well; 

And through the hill-gaps sunset light
Shone over it with a warm good-night. 

Barbara Frietchie’s work is o’er,
And the rebel rides on his raids no more. 

Honor to her! and let a tear
Fall, for her sake, on Stonewall’s bier. 

Over Barbara Frietchie’s grave,
Flag of freedom and union, wave! 

Peace, and order, and beauty draw
Round thy symbol of light and law; 

And ever the stars above look down
On thy stars below in Frederick town!

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