(1) Upon the Steeple's
top we stand
And gaze with
musing eyes around us.
Here in the heart
of our dear land
The Spirit of the
Past has found us.
Historic scenes on
every side
Are whispering of
Scotland's glory;
We feel our beings
fill with pride
As reading o'er
her ancient story.
With organ roar
the river swells
It's anthem up the
brae before us.
In deathless tones
it speaks and tells
The history of the
land that bore us.
It saw the Roman
eagles fly
When Rome trod
o'er the world its master.
And heard arise
from earth to sky
The sounds of doom
and fell disaster.
(2) O'er yonder
Cambusmichael stands
The name alone to
man and woman
Speaks of the
fierce and powering hands
They came and went
and Scotland stood
Unconquered by
their bloody Beagles;
It saw them come
and go, the rude
And serried
Legions, with their eagles.
Rome now sits, 'mong
her seven hills,
Amid her ruins,
old and hoary;
Mayhap her once
wild spirit thrills
When brooding o'er
her ancient story.
She sees an Empire
spreading far
O'er lands
undreamt of in her grandeur,
And knows that in
peace or war
Britain obeys the
Great Commander,
And carries with
her where she goes
The message He to
man hath given----
Warm hearts to
friends, goodwill to foes!
Teach them the
Christian's way to heaven.
Tay heard the
Norsemen's battle shriek
And saw their
raven grimly flying
O'er blazing
homes, with bloody beak,
And croaking o'er
the dead and dying;
(3) O'er Thistle Brig
it watched them cross
To smite our
sires. It watched them driven
Firm beaten back
o'er moor and moss.
And heard their
death groans rise to heaven.
The Thistle is our
emblem yet;
It gave our
fearless fathers warning
That Scandinavian
hordes were met
For battle that
far distant morning.
Adown the past the
echo comes
Of that fell
strife, when battling freemen
Struck for their
land, their hearths, their homes,
Their children and
defenceless women!
(4) From Luncarty's
historic field,
In fancy we can
hear war's thunder.
And see the gleam
of helm and shield,
And admiration,
awe and wonder
Fill mind and
heart when gazing down,
We watch a sturdy
ploughman smiting
Both friend and
foe with fearless frown,
Shouting, cursing,
striving, fighting,
To stem defeat and
victory bring
To Scotland's
ranks with grand endeavour,
And at the feet of
Scotland's king
He laid a wreath
'twill last for ever!
Stout John de Luce
- his name is still
On every Scottish
heart engraven;
It permeates each
plain and hill
That once were
swept by Norway's raven.
The spirit of the
land we see
And looking from
his eyes in glory---
The spirit that
has made us free
And wrote our
stirring battle story!
The Norsemen sweep
the seas no more---
We tamed their
pride and took their places;
Over their shores
our flags wave over
The Viking never
set their faces
Our argosy from
deck to keel
Their holds with
merchandise are teeming;
Above the waves
they rock and reel;
The wondering
Norsemen look on dreaming
And with our peace
hath victories won
Not with an eagle
yet nor raven.
From rising to the
setting sun
Britain's meteor
flag is waving.
Hark to the shout
upon the blast
Again auld
Scotland meets her foemen;
The storm of
battle thunders past
Above the heads of
England's yeoman
St George's banner
proudly flies
The swords of
mail-clad knights are gleaming.
And curses deep
and battle cries
Awake the Tay from
out its dreaming.
(5) Inchbervis stands
upon its banks---
Its massive walls
can still recall us
Of marshalled men
and serried ranks,
Of those who
fought with Bruce and Wallace!
And further up the
river side
(6) Kinclaven Castle
towers in grandeur,
Its ruined walls
will still stir our pride,
And move our
thoughts to where'er we wander.
Stern freemen
fought for freedom then;
War's marks are
round where'er we turn;
We tread amidst
those hero men,
And fight with
them at Bannockburn.
Proud
England! Now she treads our land,
And friendly faces
smile upon her;
With open heart
and open hand
We tread with her
the place of honour---
The path that
leads to kindly deeds,
To free and
generous emulation,
And spread afar
the fruitful seeds
Of trade, that
makes a mighty nation.
The past is gone -
then let it go
Buried beneath its
bloody story;
We've had the
banded world cur foe---
The world our
friend were greater glory!
(7) See Stanley House,
it stands below
Its once proud
walls are now untrodden,
They have a weary
tale of woe
To tell us of yon
dark Culloden,
When Highland
hearts were stilled in death,
And Highland
brands were bent and broken.
From here they
trod to yon grim heath---
This rugged stone
can give us token.
There, deeply cut
we see a name
Initialled - 'tis
a race of daring
Who cut it there -
we read of fame
Within the
letters, Lord John Nairne!
Our Highand hearts
have swept since then
O'er other lands
in blood and thunder;
Their comrades,
England's merry men,
At once the
world's dread and wonder.
Still more, the
spreading scene has more
To tell us, for
the place is teeming
With memories of
the time of yore
To rouse to life
our wakeful dreaming.
(8) Drumbeth's broad
field before us spreads;
Macduff, Macbeth
have met in battle
With Malcolm
Canmore at their head
We hear their
swords and ail-coats rattle;
O'er Thistle Brig
the tryant flies
To shelter him in
lone Dunsinnan.
Behind his foes
victorious cries
Proclaim his end
is now beginning.
Lo! yonder Birnam
wood comes down.
Above the brows of
warriors borne.
Macbeth he notes
with gloomy frown,
And cries aloud in
furious scorn---
"Ring bell,
blow wind, come ruin, come rack,
Ye witches three,
I bid, avaunt thee;
We'll die with
harness on our back;
No man of woman
born can daunt me;
I dare death's
worst - Lay on, Macduff."
He flings his
bloody shield before him---
"Cursed he
who first cries 'Hold, enough'!"
Then death's dark
shadow darkened o'er him.
(9) Stobhall's lone
hold now claims our thought
Our mild King
Robert now wanders therein;
We see not now a
battle spot,
We thrill not now
at deeds of daring
Sung to fair
Annabella Drummond,
And whispering
memories bid us bear
To Scotland's
throne the lady summoned
But aye these
bonnie woods will hold
Her heart wherever
she may wander;
She hears the tale
that never grows old
Around her rising'
mid her grandeur.
The swelling sound
of Campsie Linn
Still thrills her
heart with emotion
It beats with
every throb within
Her bosom with
love's sweet devotion.
What flying figure
meets our gaze.
Rushing through
the woods despairing.
Ah. Conacher,
by devious ways
Fate has met
thee: grim unsparing,
From yonder bloody
Inch behind
Horror comes
where'er thou'rt rushing
You hear their
groans upon the wind,
And see the
faithful's red blood gushing
"One blow for
us" they dying moan,
"Who gave our
lives to guard our Chieftain;
One blow for us,
but one by one"---
But far away the
sounds are driftin';
He sees respite
for all his woes
In yonder river
onward rolling;
He sees escape
from earthly foes,
He hears the
Chapel's death-knell tolling;
Into the foam with
arms outspread,
Into the breast of
the great river;
It's pitying waves
close o'er his head,
And Conacher is
gone for ever.
Ho look
around; on every side,
On every side auld
Scotland's story
Is written
deep. We gaze in pride,
And dream of her
undying glory.
The City Fair in
distance looms;
Beside it rises
Scone's proud Palace,
Where kingly
monuments and tombs
Uprose long ere
the days of Wallace.
Kings were crowned
within its walls
Long ere First
Edward robbed our nation
And carried to
Westminster halls
The Stone that
watched each Coronation,
And kings are
crowned upon it still---
The Stone of
Destiny! Wherever
It lies, o'er moor
and moss and hill,
Our Scottish blood
will rule for ever--
So said the
phrophecy---and yes,
Its truth has
swept adown the ages
And wonder-watched
'twill be for aye
By earnest saints
and seers and sages!
In Scotland's
heart today we stand
And look with
glowing eyes around us
Upon our bonnie
mountain land
Where smiling
peace at last has found us.
(11) The Grampians,
Ochils, Sidlaws keep
Grim ward and
silent do their duty
O'er fertile
plains that peaceful sleep
Enfolded in the
arms of beauty
And while time
pulls its ceaseless course
They aye will
stand as rugged warders
To stay and stem
tyrannic force
Should battle ever
cross our borders;
But ne'er again we
hope and trust,
Will battle's cry
be heard above us.
The mail-clad
knights are mouldering dust
Their memories
only now can move us
We give them creed
of praise who fought
And won the
freedom that we cherish
A freedom that
their bravery has brought
Has now its home
in our parish.
(12) Go watch the
spinning spindles spin
The fleshing of
the weavers shuttle
Our hearts uplift,
out spirits real
In glad and
glorious elation;
Not mail-clad
force, but factory wheels
Are now the
guardians of our nation.
Great child of
Peace, where commerce reigns
Alike are broken
sword and sabre
And healthful
vigour finds the veins
Of those who have
their meed of labour.
Strong Labour's
throne beneath we see
The force that
keeps the village moving;
Our home's the
world's epitome;
Hating, envying,
helping, loving,
Good and evil
mixed - What, though?
It only proves
that we are human.
Our own dear
Stanley there below
Holds in its heart
- yea, this we know--
True-hearted men
and kindly women!
Such are the
sights and thoughts that come
Upon our minds, ye
Stanley people,
When looking down
upon our home
From off the
village Auld Kirk Steeple.
*********
James Ferguson
("Nisbet Noble") Stanley circa 1890
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