The Poetry of Frank McNie
| The Children of the Mist | Ben Ledi | The Highland Code | A Coords Weapon |
| Gregarach | Call For Ma Piper |

The Children of the Mist

Children of the Mist, no land to call home
Descended from kings, destined to roam.

Honoured in battle, hunted like game.
Proof of our mettle, we’re still proud of our name

They outlawed our clan, the mode of our dress.
We never measured allegiance, by chance of success

Things we’re not proud of, were circumstance led.
What prince not a rogue, to see children are fed.

Our friendship was valued, by high born and low.
A steadfast belief, earned respect from our foe.

No great castles had we, our numbers were few.
Our clansmen before us, kept legacy true.

Ben Ledi

I saw the sun come up through poet’s eyes,
the sunrise on Ben Ledi.
First lit peak then hump then every lump,
it flowed through crack and eddy.
Ledi’s stark shape against sky so blue,
cotton clouds every pastel hue.

Birds were singing their morning song,
inviting poets pen to sing along.
The light then seemed to come from under,
Ledi capped with clouds of thunder,
I imagined rain in great torrents
pounding at his battlements

The rising light then won the day,
the thunder clouds all passed away.
Bright sunshine then told the story,
of Ben Ledi in it’s morning glory.
Callander was then center stage,
lit up as if for poet’s page.
It’s rooftops were in time frozen,
bathed in light as if been chosen.

Next morning Ledi seemed to lie in sleeping,
the mist and clouds were blankets creeping.
He was distant now though his feet were bare,
guarding dark secrets hidden there.
The rolling clouds then put him under,
pouring rain and clapit thunder.
Raining cats and dogs and days gone bye,
I saw Ben Ledi through Rob Roy’s eye.

“His cracks ind folds sae weelcomin,
safe haven fur ma kith n kin,
Montrose men no weelcom there,
bit let them come if they wad dare.
Ben Ledi’s friends hill ind glen,
sanctuary fir honest men.
When the eagle soars ma hert goes with it,
when a look aroon ma hert goes sickit.
Is there ony ither man sae base,
could wear the mask o’ Montrose face.”

I saw the mist roll down Ledi's glen,
into Callander …and then.
It smothered the houses in the square,
climbed the steeple till it was not there.
It crept uphill to Arden House…and then,
I was one,.. with that Highland Ben.

The Highland Code

My foot is in my native glen,
my name Rob Roy Macgregor.
Montrose men cast me out,
I’ll never be a beggar.

Above all right must be done,
no man left destitute.
The given word an honoured one,
and trust is resolute.

It’s been that way for generations,
if wrong is done there’s reparations.
Montrose himself chose other road,
He’ll feel the wrath of Highland Code.

A Coords Weapon

It wis twa days efter the tryst at Creif, Rob and his men wur makit weelcome at the hoose o' John McNie at the Port o' Menteith. Wi wur aw treetit tae a great feed o' perch fae the lake, washit doon wi McNie’s ”Wicket Broo.”

It wis aboot the oor whin aw guid folk are tucked awa fir the nicht. Rob stid up oan his pins woblin licht a furn on toap o' a hill oan a sleekit day. He oardird thit aw aboot him be atentit, fur he wis aboot tae mac a proclimayshun.

"Fi this day furrit, oany mon foonit tae hae violatit a Greegar wuman, wul hae his tackle feedit tae the perch swamin aboot yon Lake o' Menteith." ...This wurds wis meetit wi great guffaws.

But a dare say, tae this very day, yul no meet a MacGregor Mon, thit wad eat o' the perch fi yon Lake o' Menteith fir fear he micht be eatin the teeniest pert o' a coords weapon.

Oany mon foond sae sleekit
tae violate oor weeman meekit
wul ha his tackle feedit
tae oany perch wad eatit
in yon Lake Menteithit.

Gregarach

In bright sunlight
This land is theirs
They stole that right

But we have powers
For in the mist
This land is ours

Nameless by day
Outside the law
Gregarach our way

We must endure
Beyond the mist
Sunshine is pure

Call For Ma Piper

Call for ma piper Red Rob said,
hiv him play here by ma bed,
a'm content wi the life ah led,
so play a happy air.

Come on piper mak it skirl,
let's hiv aw the lassies birl,
yince mare tae see the tartan whirl,
faster if ye dare.

A've lived ma life in native glen,
a` count as freends great Scottish men,
think o` me atop highland ben,
walking without care.

We're descended fae the ancient kings
dispossessed of many things,
but royal is as royal brings,
on that ah'll say nae mare.

Lands that were drawn on ancient lines,
tane awa wi books ind rhymes,
we kent oor sword but no the times,
a battle so unfair.

We did oor best as best we must,
Highland men wi highland trust,
but ither men were so unjust,
the treachery wis sare.

Ah've forgiven all ma enemies,
forgotten their identities,
dae the same ah beg yi please,
they hiv their cross tae bare.

The Seer says,Griogaraich will rise again,
yince mare tae be great powerful men,
oor future lies wi unborn kin,
nurture them wi care.

We'll spread oot like a thursle tribe,
strength in numbers nae need to hide,
we ken that richt is on oor side,
an end tae this misfare.

Play a piobaireachd play it proud,
tae tak me o'er Ben Nevis cloud,
MacGregor tartan for ma shroud,
they'll see ma pride up there.

Mary a'll wait "between," we'll go thigither,
tae tak a stroll through heaven's heather,
eternal love for yin anither,
beyond life's thoroughfare.

Ah stood proud and tall and never fell,
if ye tell ma story, tell it well,
ah noo bid ye all a fond farewell,
tak me tae ma lair.

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Updated 29 January, 2008