Winds Of The Highlands

A tribute to faith and the Highlands.

The glint of the morning sun shone fain,
Beside the teeming sky of a nether glen,
As a shadowy erne that had tarried bain,
Hover'd slowly and freely above me then.

Winds brush'd his feathers in the wet,
And the birr sways in the loch's swell,
With the erne upon the lone bough yet,
Beyond the sprack thistles in the dell.

By the steady roke that drift'd before,
I walk'd yester alongside the old strath,
Abreast the strength of a gale inshore,
Treading in my seemingly endless path.

I shall wend to the edge of a bonny glen,
With my feet within the lush grass I stare,
Feeling a Lord’s light coming from the fen,
O'er my shelter'd eyes beneath the glare.

I shall find afterwards my healing wisely,
Nigh the breeze blowing upon my forehead,
Whither the horns of shepherds bellow lively,
Those songs of such a winsome bliss ahead.

In this behoveful abode I am thus hight,
With the bustle of a wealsome sheepfold,
And a glimpse of the lovesome bird in flight,
Gliding endlessly within a broad threshold.

I shut my eyes within the southern lowlands,
Amidst yonder clachans that are my true lee,
When I shall fly those winds of the highlands,
Roaming upon whitish clouds that I now see.

Therefore, the horns blare behind the rills,
Onto the rindling loch with their mighty roar,
While the strains heave upon the lofty hills,
And with thine abraid'd wings, I shall soar.