Dirleton Castle ©
Caroline M King
The Castle stans mighty high an proud,
the craggy scar white wi winter's shroud.
Snaw is blawn in flurries to an fro,
to fa on ancient stanes below.
Where once braw laddies foucht to save,
the lives o luved yin's in battle brave.
Wi rairin harts and sword in hand
they faced the fae, a final stand.
Aside the Castle the English Army camp,
amang the gorse, cauld sodden and damp.
Wishing for wumin, hame and ingle warm,
A' ower the grun the Redcoats swarm.
Safe ahen the wa's, weary wumin greet,
bairn's in arms, weans at their feet.
They wait, heavy-heartit for the end,
hoping for the miracle God may send.
The Pipes skirl the call to fight,
facing death in the morn's pale light.
Young and auld lads, leal an strang,
Brawlie sodgers died, in bluidy battle lang.
The canons roared, the wa's they fell,
In men charged, wi a mighty yell.
Jaggy swords they clashed and arrows flew,
wi deadly aim the bluid they drew.
Mornie mists swirl ower the grun softly,
an sae yon ruins remain eerie, ghostly.
Auld stanes covered in mirk moss green,
aye, bluidy times this land has seen.
Sae ye ken yon muckle monuments stand,
testimony tae Scots, a bold an hearty band.
This Bonny land they strived tae save,
will ayeways be "SCOTLAND THE BRAVE".