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BRINGING THE CLAN BACK TO DUNVEGAN - A Parliamentary Tale

BRINGING THE CLAN BACK TO DUNVEGAN
(This is long, its an accumulation poem like the house that Jack built. If you can not handle it just choose another poem to review - and leave this one be. Thank you!)

There is an isle
In the Hebrides,
Set like a jewel
In the western seas,
The Cuillins' peaks
Are her cloud veiled daughters
And fishing is good
In surrounding waters.
This is the home of
The Clan MacLeod,
Who for eight hundred years
Have a heritage proud,
The isle is the Misty Isle of Skye-
Where the origins of this story lie.

But as centuries rolled by
Old bonds became weakened,
The young clansfolk left
As their fortunes bleakened.
Hardship and soldiering
Sent them day after day,
To seek a new life
In some land far away.
So the clansfolk were scattered
All hither and thither
And the strength of the clan
Did diminish and wither.
Till one year the Dame
Put an end to this rout,
And this story tells
How it all came about.

This is the rock,
The rock of Dunvegan,
For years untold
It has been a safe haven,
With a fresh water well
And a sheltered dock,
Lapped by the seas
On the shores of a loch.

This is the Castle
built on the rock,
That stands on the shores
of our island loch.
Across from the flat topped
mountain tables,
Where our Chief and King James
dined as in fables.

This is the flag
all tattered and torn
That was waived in distress
on that Sunday morn
That rallied the clan
at the battles ebb
And brought us
a victory instead.
When the church had burned
By the foeman's flint
But the tide had turned
and their galleys' were spent.

Oh! This is the flag
of silken thread
With darns made in Rhodes
of a faded red
That protects the clan
in its hour of dread
When waved by its warriors
over their head.
That hangs in the Castle
built on the rock,
That stands on the shores
of our island loch.

This is the horn
from the bull of Glenelg
Which was torn from its head
on the day it was felled,
By Malcolm the chief
when he sought the fair maid
Whome he stole back to Skye
at the end of his raid.
Where he guarded the flag
of silken thread,
With darns made in Rhodes
of a faded red,
Hung in Dunvegan Castle
built on the rock,
That stands on the shores
of our island loch.

This horn now chased
with a silver rim,
When filled with claret
up to the brim,
Must be drained while still standing
by any contender
If Chief he would be
of this clan, we remember.
The silver rimmed horn
from the bull of Glenelg
Which was torn from its head
on the day it was felled,
By Malcolm the chief
when he sought the fair maid
Whome he stole back to Skye
at the end of his raid.
Where he guarded the flag
of silken thread,
With darns made in Rhodes
of a faded red
Hung in Dunvegan Castle
built on the rock,
That stands on the shores
of our island loch.

Hold Fast was the cheer
that was heard from the crowd,
As the bull was dispatched,
It resounded aloud.
Hold Fast is the motto
we proudly proclaim,
When we gather with clan
of the blood and the name,
Who see the horn chased
with a silver rim,
When filled with claret
up to the brim,
Drained while still standing
by the contender
If Chief he would be
of this clan, we remember.
The silver rimmed horn
from the bull of Glenelg
Which was torn from its head
on the day it was felled,
By Malcolm the chief
when he sought the fair maid
Whome he stole back to Skye
at the end of his raid.
Where he guarded the flag
of silken thread,
With darns made in Rhodes
of a faded red
Hung in Dunvegan Castle
built on the rock,
That stands on the shores
of our island loch.

These are the pipes
with the silver chanter,
The rallying call
for the clan ever after,
When played by MacCrimmons
whose gifted hands
Were famed for their Peobaireachd
all over the lands.
Which summoned the clan
in their hour of need,
Or in great celebration
to witness the deed,
When Hold Fast the motto
we proudly proclaim
p*ss echoed by clan
of the blood and the name,
Who see the horn chased
with a silver rim,
When filled with claret
up to the brim,
Drained while still standing
by the contender
If Chief he would be
of this clan, we remember.
The silver rimmed horn
from the bull of Glenelg
Which was torn from its head
on the day it was felled,
By Malcolm the chief
when he sought the fair maid
Whome he stole back to Skye
at the end of his raid.
Where he guarded the flag
of silken thread,
With darns made in Rhodes
of a faded red
Hung in Dunvegan Castle
built on the rock,
That stands on the shores
of our island loch.


This is the Chief
as chief he was born,
Who drained the claret
which filled the horn,
He guards the rock
where Dunvegan still stands,
And is chief of the clan
from the eight MacLeod lands.
He loves the pipes
with the silver chanter,
The rallying call
for the clan ever after,
When played by MacCrimmons
whose gifted hands
Were famed for their Peobaireachd
all over the lands.
Which summoned the clan
in the hour of need,
Or in great celebration
to witness the deed,
When Hold Fast the motto
we proudly proclaim
Is echoed by clan
of the blood and the name,
Who see the horn chased
with a silver rim,
When filled with claret
up to the brim,
Drained while still standing
by the contender
If Chief he would be
of this clan, we remember.
The silver rimmed horn
from the bull of Glenelg
Which was torn from its head
on the day it was felled,
By Malcolm the chief
when he sought the fair maid
Whome he stole back to Skye
at the end of his raid.
Where he guarded the flag
of silken thread,
With darns made in Rhodes
of a faded red
Hung in Dunvegan Castle
built on the rock,
That stands on the shores
of our island loch.

This is the Dame Flora
who called with a sigh
"Calling MacLeods"
to come back to Skye.
Come back to your Isle
for a Parliament,
Come hear MacCrimmon
play a lament.
Come see the Chief
as chief he was born,
Who drained the claret
which filled the horn,
Who guards the rock
where Dunvegan still stands,
And is chief of the clan
from the eight MacLeod lands.
He loves the pipes
with the silver chanter,
The rallying call
for the clan ever after,
When played by MacCrimmons
whose gifted hands
Were famed for their Peobaireachd
all over the lands.
Which summoned the clan
in the hour of need,
Or in great celebration
to witness the deed,
When Hold Fast the motto
we proudly proclaim
Is echoed by clan
of the blood and the name,
Who see the horn chased
with a silver rim,
When filled with claret
up to the brim,
Drained while still standing
by the contender
If Chief he would be
of this clan, we remember.
The silver rimmed horn
from the bull of Glenelg
Which was torn from its head
on the day it was felled,
By Malcolm the chief
when he sought the fair maid
Whome he stole back to Skye
at the end of his raid.
Where he guarded the flag
of silken thread,
With darns made in Rhodes
of a faded red
Hung in Dunvegan Castle
built on the rock,
That stands on the shores
of our island loch.

We are the Clan
that came back together,
A Clan that was scattered
all hither and thither,
We answered Dame Flora
who called with a sigh
"Calling MacLeods"
to come back to Skye.
Come back to your Isle
for a Parliament,
Come hear MacCrimmon
play a lament.
Come see the Chief
as chief he was born,
Who drained the claret
which filled the horn,
Who guards the rock
where Dunvegan still stands,
And is chief of the clan
from the eight MacLeod lands.
He loves the pipes
with the silver chanter,
The rallying call
for the clan ever after,
When played by MacCrimmons
whose gifted hands
Were famed for their Peobaireachd
all over the lands.
Which summoned the clan
in the hour of need,
Or in great celebration
to witness the deed,
When Hold Fast the motto
we proudly proclaim
Is echoed by clan
of the blood and the name,
Who see the horn chased
with a silver rim,
When filled with claret
up to the brim,
Drained while still standing
by the contender
If Chief he would be
of this clan, we remember.
The silver rimmed horn
from the bull of Glenelg
Which was torn from its head
on the day it was felled,
By Malcolm the chief
when he sought the fair maid
Whome he stole back to Skye
at the end of his raid.
Where he guarded the flag
of silken thread,
With darns made in Rhodes
of a faded red
Hung in Dunvegan Castle
built on the rock,
That stands on the shores
of our island loch.
So the clansfolk came home
and their spirit grew strong,
And now in our children
the story lives on,
And true to our motto
we ever Hold Fast,
And with belt bull and flag
it shall be to long last

So continues this tale
of the Clan MacLeod
Who for eight hundred years
have a heritage proud,
On the fair lochside fields
and the shorelines they dwelt,
In Coigeach, Assynt,
Gairloch and Glenelg,
And on misty blue islands
the jewels in the foam,
And we shall not forget them
where ever we roam.
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Submitted on January 11, 2013

8:24 min read
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Neil McLeod Claim this poet

Born in Oxford, raised in Kenya, past winner of Los Slamgeles Poetry Slam and author of abitingchance.blogspot.comand "The First Thanksgiving".Doctor McLeod is a performing poet who has recited at Highland Games, dinners and Burns Nights for the last 36 years. He is happily married, lives and works in Los Angeles,has three children, and practices as a dentist on Sunset Boulevard:http://www.drneilmcleod.com/He can be contacted by e-mail at drneilmcleod@yahoo.com and will willingly entertain requests to share his work with permission. more…

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