This is another Scots poem..written in both Scots and English...
The gist of the poem concerns the attempt by Bonnie Prince Charlie to reclaim the throne of Britain for the Stuarts..his subsequent defeat on Culloden moor (Drummossie) and his flight to safety in France.
30.000 pounds sterling was offered for his capture, but no Scot betrayed his whereabouts.
This is a tale of my own long dead clansmen who helped shepherd him to safety...across their ancient lands of Atholl and over the sacred mountain of the clan.."Schiehallion".
I'm no royalist..so I have not painted a gallant picture of the Prince, lyke the one that is normally shown..

Atholl braes..
.............

Atholl braes sae saft an’ lovely
in this morn o’ misty glow,
stealthily we hush oor footsteps
lest we stir, red coated foe.
for we guard the prince o’ light
wha cam tae fecht for royal claim,,
at glenfinnan he was welcomed
amangst the heather... o’ his hame...

Lords and chieftains there tae greet him
swore their solemn oaths tae share,
by the swords and lives o’ ithers
they wad follow him and dare ,
staun’ agin the micht o’ london
offering their kinsman’s bluid
willingly tae face the roundshot
dying .. in Drummossie mud...

Noo he rins like headless chicken
efter the blade hae done the deed
following us in panic stricken
noo it is his turn tae bleed..
on oor trail the foreign red coat
and the dogs o’ cruachan ben
baying on their maisters leashes
crying death ...tae oor moorhen..

But we are the sons o’ Duncan
nane shall ever try nor dare,
hairm oor noble princely charge
whilst he shelters in oor care.
for many are the clans in payment
o’ the saxon government
for shameful thirty siller pieces
may their worth be...forever kent..

and the marquis in his castle
entertaining london’s elite,
bows and scrapes for recognition
o’ the sassenach effete.
we gae forth in loyal duty
through the glen an’ o’er the mount
standing when the the jackals circling
makin’ every ...sword thrust count..

Lovely are the atholl braes
when sinks the sun in simmer sweet,
sorrowful oor lonely memories
thinking o’ oor youngblood heat
when we outran argyles hounds
like highland wild young mountain hares
nae thochts o’ thirty thoosan’ pounds,
let them squabble ..ower their share..

but we hie’d him tae the west
aboard the ship for his depart,
and he left us on the shorline
with an empty aching heart........
mony years hae passed since that day
mony tears we shed lang syne
memories o’ battles focht an’
memories ...o’ comrades fine...

Atholl braes are aye sae bonny
in the cauldwynd wintertyme
schiehallion.....the ancient mither
o’ this duncan clan o’ myne,
watches oe’r me as i clamber
high amidst her heathered braes
smiles doon on me as i wander
across this land ...o’ donnachaidh.

Atholl braes...my memorie fading
noo i’m auld an’unco sad
when i think upon my youth
when i was but a lusty lad,
chasing lassies o’ the glen
there’s mair than hell i’d often raise
when fighting, loving, a’ amang
my bonnie bonnie ...atholl braes..

Graham.....2003