THE SCOTIAD - damowords

BAATTLE’S AFTERMATHA reekin' cloud unveil'd the moon,The piper stroked a solemn tune,This forest glade by war bestrewn,The grieving widow at the burn,Sees sights to make her stoumach churnPale phantoms gather in the night,Picking through debris of the fight;The broken shield, the smash'd axehead,The tatter'd banners’ & the deadWhile many a skinnymalinkSkritches about for food & drinkSuch passage rites a nation heeds,For only when that nation bleedsWill destiny ponder its needs!BATTLECRIESDay sweetening silvery TayAround Dundee an army layDid sic a constant combat keepThat Wallace sometimes dared to sleep,A burst of lungs these dreams did break"Awake, Sir Wallace, pray awake!With lively march the Inglis kingHas reached the castle at Stirling!‛‚Then we must dance down to the ring!‛So Wallace took his sword to hand,As legends do, & claim'd commandOf many a mighty thousand,So loyal that with just one lookThem in his eyes great smeddum took,