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Fences of Stone
In centuries past, far up in the North , the Highlanders lived with the
land.
They fished in the sea, grew crops in the fields, and lived brave and free
in their clans.
Gael houses were made of mortar and stone, nestled in meadow and moor.
Their villages spanned the breadth of the land, from Duncansby Head to Ben
Mor.
With a peat fire burning so bright in the hearth, singing the song of the
Gael.
In a language that comes to you straight from the heart, echoing o'er hill
and dale.
The pride of the Gael, the freedom they loved, one day disappeared from the
land.
The Gentry had come with fire and sword, to clear out the folk of the Clans.
Cast out by their Chiefs, betrayed by the Crown, their culture and language
were banned.
Forced out of their homes, into slavery sold and sent away to unknown lands.
And their houses were burning so bright in the North, this was the end of
the Gael.
The cries of our people were heard in the night, echoing o'er hill and dale.
Their houses destroyed, stone after stone, from every meadow and moor.
Now, fences of stone span the breadth of the land, from Duncansby Head to
Ben Mor.
Those days are long past, far up in the North and now only sheep rule the
land.
The emptiness tells of sorrow and pain, the Clearances of the Clans.
© copyright 1997 Dewar & McLean |
