Calum's Dream

    Sometimes there are stories
    That simply must be told,
    O' sorrow,joy an' glories
    Past tae young fae old,
    Here is such a story,
    I'd like tae share wi you,
    About a son o' Raasay,
    An Eilean man sae true,
    He was known as Calum,
    Macleod that was his clan,
    The isle he loved was dyin',
    But Calum had a plan.

CHORUS-
    Calums road aye Calums road,
    Built wi sweat an' toil,
    For future generations,
    An' those driven fae the soil.

    Tae turn the tide o' history,
    As hard as that would seem,
    An' secure the islands future,
    That was Calums dream,
    So in the north at Arnish,
    In nineteen sixty four,
    He began tae dig the land,
    The factor cleared before,
    If he could join the-gether,
    The south end an' the north,
    Maybe life would spring again,
    In the homeland o' his birth?

    Depopulation rife again,
    Never far fae mind,
    If he began tae weaken,
    In God strength he would find,
    Wi barrow,pick an' shovel,
    Workin' night an' day,
    Wi nuthin' but his callus hands,
    Calum cleared the way,
    Six days he'd be workin',
    The saabath rest an' pray,
    Then Calums road completed,
    Two decades past the day.

    Calum died in "88"
    A legend amoung men,
    The self-belief that drove him,
    None would see again,
    But he lived tae see his dream,
    His vision had come true,
    The north o' Raasay breathes again,
    Calum thanks tae you,
    So tae that humble man,
    I dedicate my ode,
    Raise yer glasses tae him,
    Tae Calum an' his road.

    Calums road aye Calums road,
    Built wi sweat an' toil,
    For future generations,
    An' those driven fae the soil,
    Calums road aye Calums road,
    As people come tae view,
    The north o' Raasay breathes again,
    Aye calum thanks tae you!

 1320

Oh the year was 1320
In the Abbey o' Arbroath
When the sons of sovereign Scotland
First took their solemn oath.

For freedom we'll endeavour
For liberty we'll strive
And tae England, No Surrender
While one hundred true Scots survive.

On that glorious occasion
Was Scotland's future writ
Tae foreign domination
We never shall submit

Wi the words o promise spoken
Tae calm our bitter steel
While blades of grass lie broken
Beneath the Saxon heel

And should our chosen fail us
And kneel at London's door
Lest treason should assail us
We shall tak tae the steel once more

Fields O Bannockburn

Twas on a bonnie simmer's day,
me English came in grand array
King Edward's orders to obey ,
Upon the Field of Bannockburn.

chorus: Sae loudly let the Pibroch wake
Each loyal Clan frae hill and lake ,
And boldly fight for Scotia's sake
Upon the Field of Bannockburn.

King Edward raised his standard high,
Bruce shook his banners in reply -
Each army shouts for victory
Upon the Field of Bannockburn.

The English horse wi' deadly aim
Upon the Scottish army came;
But hundrteds in our pits were slain
Upon the Field of Bannockburn.

Loud rose the war cry of McNeil,
Who flew like tigers to the field
And made the Sass'nach army feel
There were dauntless hearts at Bannockburn.

McDonald's clan, how firm their pace-
Dark vengeance gleams in ev'ry face,
Lang had they thirsted to embrace
Their Sass'nach friends at Bannockburn.

The Fraser bold his brave clan led,
While wide their thistle banners spread-
They boldly fell and boldly bled
Upon the Field of Bannockburn.

The ne'er behind brave Douglas came,
And also with him Donald Graham,
Their blood-red painted swords did stain
The glorious Field of Bannockburn.

That day King Edward's heart did mourn,
With joy each Scottish heart did burn,
In mem'ry now let us return
Our thanks to Bruce at Bannockburn.

Will Ye go to Sheriffmuir

Will ye go tae Sheriffmuir,
Bauld John o'Innisture,
There tae see the noble Mar
And his Hieland laddies.
A' the true men o' the north,
Angus, Huntly, and Seaforth
Scourin' on tae cross the Forth
Wi' their white cockadies.

There ye'll see the banners flare;
There ye'll hear the bagpipes rare,
And the trumpets' deadly blare
Wi' the cannons' rattle.
There ye'll see the bauld McCraws,
Camerons and Clanranald's raws
And a' the clans, wi' loud huzzas,
Rushin' tae the battle.

There ye'll see the noble Whigs,
A' the heroes o' the brigs,
Raw hides and withered wigs,
Ridin' in array, man.
Ri'en hose and raggit hools,
Sour milk and girnin' gools,
Psalm-beuks and cutty-stools,
We'll see ne'er mair, man.

Will ye go tae Sheriffmuir,
Bauld John o' Innisture,
Sic a day and sic an hour
Ne'er was in the North, man.
Sic can sights will there be seen,
And gin some be nae mista'en,
Fragrant gales will come bedeen,
Frae the waters o' Forth, man. 

Lock the Door, Lariston

Lock the door, Lariston, lion of Liddesdale,
Lock the door, Lariston, Lowther comes on.
The Armstrongs are flying, the widows are crying,
Castletown is burning and Oliver is gone!
Lock the door, Lariston, high on the weather gleam,
See how the Saxon plumes they bob on the sky.
Yeoman and carbinier, billman and halberdier,
Fierce is the foray and far is the cry!

Why d'you smile, noble Elliot o' Lariston?
Why do the joy candles gleam in your eye?
You bold Border ranger, beware of your danger,
Your foes are relentless, determined and nigh!
"I have Mangerton and Ogilvie, Raeburn and Netherbie,
Auld Sim o' Whitram and all his array,
Come all Northumberland, Teesdale and Cumberland
Here at the Breaken Tower end shall the fray."

Scowled the broad sun o'er the links o' green Liddesdale,
Red as the beacon-fires tipped he the wold,
Many a bold martial eye mirrored that morning sky,
Never more oped on its orbit of gold.
See how they wane the proud files o' the Windermere.
Howard! Ah woe tae your hopes o' the day.
Hear the wide welkin rend while the Scots shouts ascend -
"Elliot o' Lariston! Elliot for aye!'

Scotland The Brave
 
Let Italy boast of her gay gilded waters
Her vines and her bowers and her soft sunny skies
Her sons drinking love from the eyes of her daughters
Where freedom expires amid softness and sighs

Scotland's blue mountains wild where hoary cliffs are piled
Towering in grandeur are dearer tae me
Land of the misty cloud land of the tempest loud
Land of the brave and proud land of the free

Enthroned on the peak of her own highland mountains
The spirit of Scotia reigns fearless and free
Her green tartan waving o'er blue rock and fountain
And proudly she sings looking over the sea

Here among my mountains wild I have serenely smiled
When armies and empires against me were hurled
Firm as my native rock I have withstood the shock
Of England, of Denmark, or Rome and the world

But see how proudly her war steeds are prancing
Deep groves of steel trodden down in their path
The eyes of my sons like their bright swords are glancing
Triumphantly riding through ruin and death

Bold hearts and nodding plumes wave o'er their bloody tombs
Deep eyed in gore is the green tartan's wave
Shivering are the ranks of steel dire is the horseman's wheel
Victorious in battlefield Scotland the brave

Bold hearts and nodding plumes wave o'er their bloody tombs
Deep eyed in gore is the green tartan's wave
Shivering are the ranks of steel dire is the horseman's wheel

Victorious in battlefield Scotland the brave
Victorious in battlefield Scotland the brave

John Mcdermott 

The Land of Gallant Hearts

    Ours is the land of gallant hearts,
       The land of lovely forms,
    The island of the mountain-harp,
       The torrents and the storms;
    The land that blooms with freeman's tread,
       And withers with the slave's,
    Where far and deep the green woods spread,
       And wild the thistle waves.

    Ere ever Ossian's lofty voice
       Had told of Fingal's fame,
    Ere ever from their native clime
       The Roman eagles came,
    Our land had given heroes birth,
       That durst the boldest brave,
    And taught above tyrannic dust,
       The thistle tufts to wave.

    What need we say how Wallace fought,
       And how his foemen fell?
    Or how on glorious Bannockburn
       The work went wild and well?
    Ours is the land of gallant hearts,
       The land of honour'd graves,
    Whose wreath of fame shall ne'er depart
       While yet the thistle waves.

The Road to the Isles

    The far Cuillins are pullin' me away,
    As take I wi' my crummack to the road.
    The far Cuillins are puttin' love on me,
    As step I wi' the sunlight for my load.

    Chorus:
    Sure by Tummel and Loch Rannoch and Lochaber I will go
    By heather tracks wi' heaven in their wiles.
    If it's thinkin' in your inner heart, the braggart's in my step,
    You've never smelled the tangle o' the Isles.
    Oh the far Cuillins are puttin' love on me,
    As step I wi' my crummack to the Isles.

    It's by Shiel water the track is to the west,
    By Aillort and by Morar to the sea.
    The cool cresses I am thinkin' of for pluck,
    And bracken for a wink on Mother's knee.

    Chorus:

    The blue islands are pullin' me away,
    Their laughter puts the leap upon the lame;
    The blue islands from the Skerries to the Lews,
    Wi' heather honey taste upon each name.

Our Ain Native Land

Our ain native land! our ain native land!
   There's a charm in the words that we a' understand,
That flings o'er the bosom the power of a spell,
   And makes us love mair what we a' love so well.
The heart may have feelings it canna conceal,
   As the mind has the thoughts that nae words can reveal,
But alike he the feelings and thought can command
   Who names but the name o' our ain native land.

Our ain native land! our ain native land!
   Though bleak be its mountains and rugged its strand,
The waves aye seem bless'd, dancing wild o'er the sea,
   When woke by the winds from the hills o' the free.
Our sky oft is dark, and our storms loud and cauld,
   But where are the hearts that sic worth can unfauld
As those that unite, and uniting expand,
   When they hear but the name o' our ain native land?

Our ain native land! our ain native land!
   To hear of her famed ones let none e'er demand,
For the hours o' a' time far too little would prove
   To name but the names that we honour and love.
The bard lives in light, though his heart it be still,
   And the cairn of the warrior stands gray on the hill,
And songster and sage can alike still command
   A garland of fame from our ain native land.

Our ain native land! our ain native land!
   Her wild woods are glorious, her waterfalls grand,
And her songs still proclaim, as they ring through the glen,
   The charms of her maids and the worth of her men.
Her thistle shall cease in the breezes to wave,
   And the floweret to bloom on the patriot's grave,
Ere we cease to defend, with our heart and our hand,
   The freedom and faith of our ain native land.

MacPherson's Lament

Sae wontonly, sae dauntonly,
O rantinly gaed he,
He played a tune an' he danced aroon,
Below the gallers tree.

Chorus
Fare thee weel, you dungeons dark and strong,
Fareweel, fareweel to thee.
Macpherson's rant will ne'er be lang,
On yonder gallers tree. 

Well the laird o' Grant, you highlan' Saint
That first laid hands on me,
He plead the cause o' Peter Broon,
He watched Macpherson dee.

By a woman's treacherous hand
That I was condemned to dee,
High on a ledge of her window she stood,
And a blanket she threw over me.

Some come here noo tae see me hang
And some to buy my fiddle,
Before I'll pairt wi' thee,
I'll brak' her through the middle.

Come ye loose the bands from off my hands
Bring tae me noo my sword,
There's nae a man in a' Scotland
That'll brave him at his word.

Little did my mother think
When first she cradled me,
That I would turn a rovin' boy
And die upon the gallers tree.

The reprieve was comin' o'er the brig o' Banff,
To set Macpherson free,
They pu' the clock a quarter fast,
And they hanged him to the tree.