Apr 16, 2013 by

Deánta – “Culloden’s Harvest” http://youtu.be/YtnPquqI3Bk

Cold the wind on the moors blow. Warm the enemy’s fire glows. Like the harvest of Culloden, Pain and fear and death grow. ‘Twas love of our prince drove us on to Drumossie, But in scarcely the time that it takes me to tell The flower of our country lay scorched by an army As ruthless and red as the embers of hell… …Red Campbell the Fox did the work of the English. McDonald in anger did no work at all. With musket and cannon ‘gainst honour and courage. The invader’s men stood while our clansmen did fall…. … Nine mothers and children were left to their weeping, With only the memory of father and son. Turned out of their homes to make shelter for strangers, The blackest of hours on this land has begun. Cold the wind on the moors blow. Warm the enemy’s fire glows. Like the harvest of Culloden, Pain and fear and death grow.

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