Songs Of The Road Part 9

We saw his pipe, we saw his hat, We saw the stone on which he sat.

The solid stone is resting there, But where the sitter? Where, oh! where?

Over a dreary wilderness We had to take our path by guess, For Scotland's glories don't include The use of signs to mark the road.

For forty miles the way ran steep Over bleak hills with scattered sheep, [127] Until at last, 'neath gloomy skies, We saw the stately towers rise Where n.o.ble Edinburgh lies — No city fairer or more grand Has ever sprung from human hand.

But I must add (the more's the pity) That though in fair Dunedin's city Scotland's taste is quite delightful, The smaller Scottish towns are frightful.

When in other lands I roam And sing "There is no place like home."

In this respect I must confess That no place has its ugliness.

Here on my mother's granite breast We settled down and took our rest.

On Sat.u.r.day we ventured forth To push our journey to the North.

[128] Past Linlithgow first we sped, Where the Palace rears its head, Then on by Falkirk, till we pa.s.s The famous valley and mora.s.s Known as Bannockburn in story, Brightest scene of Scottish glory.

On pleasure and instruction bent We made the Stirling hill ascent, And saw the wondrous vale beneath, The lovely valley of Monteith, Stretching under sunlit skies To where the Trossach hills arise.

Thence we turned our willing car Westward ho! to Callander, Where childish memories awoke In the wood of ash and oak, Where in days so long gone by I heard the woodland pigeons cry, [129] And, consternation in my face, Legged it to some safer place.

Next morning first we viewed a mound, Memorial of some saint renowned, And then the mouldered ditch and ramp Which marked an ancient Roman camp.

Then past Lubnaig on we went, Gazed on Ben Ledi's steep ascent, And pa.s.sed by lovely stream and valley Through Dochart Glen to reach Dalmally, Where on a rough and winding track We wished ourselves in safety back; Till on our left we gladly saw The spreading waters of Loch Awe, And still more gladly truth to tell — A very up-to-date hotel, [130] With Conan's church within its ground, Which gave it quite a homely sound.

Thither we came upon the Sunday, Viewed Kilchurn Castle on the Monday, And Tuesday saw us sally forth Bound for Oban and the North.

We came to Oban in the rain, I need not mention it again, For you may take it as a fact That in that Western Highland tract It sometimes spouts and sometimes drops, But never, never, never stops.

From Oban on we thought it well To take the steamer for a spell.

But ere the motor went aboard The Pa.s.s of Melfort we explored.

A lovelier vale, more full of peace, Was never seen in cla.s.sic Greece; [131] A wondrous gateway, reft and torn, To open out the land of Lome.

Leading on for many a mile To the kingdom of Argyle.

Wednesday saw us on our way Steaming out from Oban Bay, (Lord, it was a fearsome day!) To right and left we looked upon All the lands of Stevenson — Moidart, Morven, and Ardgour, Ardshiel, Appin, and Mamore — If their tale you wish to learn Then to "Kidnapped" you must turn.

Strange that one man's eager brain Can make those dead lands live again!

From the deck we saw Glencoe, Where upon that night of woe William's men did such a deed [132] As even now we blush to read.

Ben Nevis towered on our right, The clouds concealed it from our sight, But it was comforting to say That over there Ben Nevis lay'.

Finally we made the land At Fort William's sloping strand, And in our car away we went Along that lasting monument, The good broad causeway which was made By King George's General Wade.

He built a splendid road, no doubt, Alas! he left the sign-posts out.

And so we wandered, sad to say, Far from our appointed way, Till twenty mile of rugged track In a circle brought us back.

But the incident we viwed [133] In a philosophic mood.

Tired and hungry but serene We settled at the Bridge of Spean.

Our journey now we onward press Toward the town of Inverness, Through a country all alive With memories of "forty-five."

The n.o.ble clans once gathered here, Where now are only grouse and deer.

Alas, that men and crops and herds Should ever yield their place to birds!

And that the splendid Highland race Be swept aside to give more s.p.a.ce For forests where the deer may stray For some rich owner far away, Whose keeper guards the lonely glen Which once sent out a hundred men!

When from Inverness we turned, [134] Feeling that a rest was earned.

We stopped at Nairn, for golf links famed, "Scotland's Brighton" it is named, Though really, when the phrase we heard, It seemed a little bit absurd, For Brighton's size compared to Nairn Is just a mother to her bairn.

We halted for a day of rest, But took one journey to the West To view old Cawdor's tower and moat Of which unrivalled Shakespeare wrote, Where once Macbeth, the schemer deep, Slew royal Duncan in his sleep, But actors since avenged his death By often murdering Macbeth.

Hard by we saw the circles gray Where Druid priests were wont to pray.

[135] Three crumbling monuments we found, With Stonehenge monoliths around, But who had built and who had planned We tried in vain to understand, As future learned men may search The reasons for our village church.

This was our limit, for next day We turned upon, our homeward way, Pa.s.sing first Culloden's plain Where the tombstones of the slain Loom above the purple heather.

There the clansmen lie together — Men from many an outland skerry, Men from Athol and Glengarry, Camerons from wild Mamore, MacDonalds from the Irish Sh.o.r.e, Red MacGregors and McLeods With their tartans for their shrouds, Menzies, Malcolms from the islands, Frasers from the upper Highlands — Callous is the pa.s.ser by Who can turn without a sigh From the tufts of heather deep Where the n.o.ble clansmen sleep.

Now we swiftly made our way To Kingussie in Strathspey, Skirting many a nameless loch As we flew through Badenoch, Till at Killiecrankie's Pa.s.s, Heather changing into gra.s.s We descended once again To the fertile lowland plain, And by Perth and old Dunblane Reached the banks of Allan Water, Famous for the miller's daughter, Whence at last we circled back [137] Till we crossed our Stirling track.

So our little journey ended, Gladness and instruction blended — Not a care to spoil our pleasure, Not a thought to break our leisure, Drifting on from Suss.e.x hedges Up through Yorkshire's fells and ledges Past the deserts and mora.s.ses Of the dreary Border pa.s.ses, Through the scenes of Scottish story Past the fields of battles gory.

In the future it will seem To have been a happy dream, But unless my hopes are vain We may dream it soon again.