The Poetical Works of Walter C. Smith ... Revised by the Author: Coll. ed. |
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Kenneth's Song.
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 | The Poetical Works of Walter C. Smith |  |
Kenneth's Song.
There is no fire of the crackling boughs
On the hearth of our fathers,
There is no lowing of brown-eyed cows
On the green meadows,
Nor do the maidens whisper vows
In the still gloaming,
Glenaradale.
On the hearth of our fathers,
There is no lowing of brown-eyed cows
On the green meadows,
Nor do the maidens whisper vows
In the still gloaming,
Glenaradale.
There is no bleating of sheep on the hill
Where the mists linger,
There is no sound of the low hand-mill
Ground by the women,
And the smith's hammer is lying still,
By the brown anvil,
Glenaradale.
Where the mists linger,
There is no sound of the low hand-mill
Ground by the women,
And the smith's hammer is lying still,
By the brown anvil,
Glenaradale.
Ah! we must leave thee, and go away
Far from Ben Luibh,
Far from the graves where we hoped to lay
Our bones with our fathers,
Far from the kirk where we used to pray
Lowly together,
Glenaradale.
Far from Ben Luibh,
Far from the graves where we hoped to lay
Our bones with our fathers,
Far from the kirk where we used to pray
Lowly together,
Glenaradale.
430
We are not going for hunger of wealth,
For the gold and silver,
We are not going to seek for health
On the flat prairies,
Nor yet for lack of fruitful tilth
On thy green pastures,
Glenaradale.
For the gold and silver,
We are not going to seek for health
On the flat prairies,
Nor yet for lack of fruitful tilth
On thy green pastures,
Glenaradale.
Content with the croft and the hill were we,
As all our fathers,
Content with the fish in the lake to be
Carefully netted,
And garments spun of the wool from thee,
O black-faced wether
Of Glenaradale.
As all our fathers,
Content with the fish in the lake to be
Carefully netted,
And garments spun of the wool from thee,
O black-faced wether
Of Glenaradale.
No father here but would give a son
For the old country,
And his mother the sword would have girded on
To fight her battles;
Many's the battle that has been won
By the brave tartans,
Glenaradale.
For the old country,
And his mother the sword would have girded on
To fight her battles;
Many's the battle that has been won
By the brave tartans,
Glenaradale.
But the big-horned stag and his hinds, we know,
In the high corries,
And the salmon that swirls the pool below
Where the stream rushes,
Are more than the hearts of men, and so
We leave thy green valley,
Glenaradale.
In the high corries,
And the salmon that swirls the pool below
Where the stream rushes,
Are more than the hearts of men, and so
We leave thy green valley,
Glenaradale.
| The Poetical Works of Walter C. Smith | |