Share page | Visit Us On FB |
292 |
The Song Book |
||
CCXXVI
MY SORROW, DEEP SORROW |
|||
![]() |
|||
Of Macgregor na Ruara, whose pipes far resounding, With their bold martial strain set each bosom a bounding, My sorrow, deep sorrow, incessant returning, Time still as it flies adds increase to my mourning.
The badge of Strathspey from yon pine by the fountain, Distinguish'd the hero when climbing the mountain, The plumes of the eagle gave wings to his arrow, And destruction fled wide from the bow bent so narrow; His darts, so well polishM and bright, were a treasure That the son of a king might have boasted with pleasure. When the brave son of Murdock so gracefully held them, Well pois'd and sure aim'd, never weapon excell'd them. |
|||