Scottish Glory Poem by John McKay Withey

Over the bluebells and down through the glens,
Along the lochs and over the bens,
Through the mists that hide the heather,
Over the moors in the bleakest of weather.

The salmon rivers they crossed with ease,
They fed on grouse among the trees.
The flighty deer signalled their foe,
The eagle on high, swooped in low.

The kilts they swung in coloured array,
As the men marched for the enemy to slay.
With claymores and dirks ready to hand,
They would fight to the last to protect their land.

At the break of dawn they launched the attack,
For cunning and bravery there was no lack.
Pipes continually droned to rouse their pride,
Father and son marched side by side.

At Stirling Brig the enemy were routed,
The bravery shown was never doubted.
The warriors now are fast asleep,
But their legend will in glory keep.