Cha Till Maccruimein

The pipes in the street were playing bravely.
The marching lads went by,
With merry hearts and voices singing
My friends marched out to die;
But I was hearing a lonely pibroch
Out of an older war,
"Farewell, farewell, farewell, MacCrimmon,
MacCrimmon comes no more."

And every lad in his heart was dreaming
Of honour and wealth to come,
And honour and noble pride were calling
To the tune of the pipes and drum;
But I was hearing a woman singing
On dark Dunvegan shore,
"In battle or peace, with wealth or honour,
MacCrimmon comes no more."

And there in front of the men were marching.
With feet that made no mark.
The grey old ghosts of the ancient fathers
Come back again from the dark;
And in front of them all MacCrimmon sang
A weary tune and sore,
"On the gathering day, for ever and ever,
MacCrimmon comes no more."

Bedford, 1915