. . . Did you ever get up in the morning with a certain tune running
around in your head? Well, that's how it was for me this morning, and the tune was Bonnie Strathyre! . . . And it kept on playing, over and over again! So I got out an old cassette, taped in 1954 during a birthday party for my Grandpa Birrell, when the whole family would get together, sit around the hearth and have ourselves a grand auld Sing~A~Long.
There's meadows in Lanark and mountains in Skye,
And pastures in Hielands and Lowlands forbye;
But there's nae greater luck that the heart could desire,
Than to herd the fine cattle
In Bonnie Strathyre.
I'm listening ... Listening and remembering my Uncle Hugh
McLachlan, how he would sit, eyes closed and sing this song.
Then there's mirth in the sheiling
and love in my breast, when the sun is gane doun
and the kye are at rest; for there's mony a prince
wad be proud to aspire, to my winsome wee Maggie,
The Pride 0' Strathyre.
You see, my Uncle Hugh was married to my Aunt Rita (Margaret Scobie Rankin Birrell), so he had his own "Wee Maggie" and this was a special song ... and we all knew it ... *grin*
Her lips are like rowans in ripe simmer seen,
And mild as the starlicht the glint 0' her e'en;
Far sweeter her breath than the scent 0' the briar,
And her voice is sweet music in bonnie Strathyre.
|
