High Hings the Hawk – Lorna Summers
High hings the hawk ower lonely Harlaw
Blue, sings the air through wings lang an broad
As shalla spring sunlicht glints in his ee
Look tae the North,
Fa comes? Fa comes?
Ten thoosan bold Hielan men tae follow their lord
Ten thoosan fierce Hielan men tae fecht or tae dee
High hings the hawk ower the battlefield Harlaw
As fear grips the sojers wi ringmail and pike
Fa staun in the Garioch tae bar the wye
Look tae the North,
They come! They come!
Wi brood sword and battle axe and fearful cry
Smash Highlands and Lawlands thegither like fame
High hings the hawk ower bloody Harlaw
The mountains look doon on the maimed and the fa'an
The moans o the deein, the cries for the lost
Look tae the North,
Nane comes, nane comes
The battle is ower, but at oh what a cost?
Fine men tae the graveyard; what gained? Not a thing.
The days o the fechtin are noo far awa
But the hawk still hings high ower lonely Harlaw
Fa focht there? Fae deeit there?
Fa cares noo in the North
For the chiels o the Highlands or the men o' oor land?
That gave their lives in a cause long forgotten
And focht here and died here on lonely Harlaw