Our New Southern Star

Bonnie Blue Campbell, miniature North American Shepherd (“Aussie”), born 21 May 2017.

For Bonnie Blue Campbell.

STAR OF THE SOUTH.

Star of the South! Break forth on the nation!
Break forth o’er the land, beam out on the sea!
We’ve watched for thy coming with blind adoration–
They never are slaves who will to be free!

Our fathers bequeathed to our guardian keeping
Their own institutions. and our liberty;
Let our enemies find, tho’ they dreamed we were sleeping,
They never are slaves who will to be free.

High up in the sky steals out in her splendour,
Our new Southern Star in fresh brilliancy,
With all of the glory that Heaven can lend her
They never are slaves who will to be free.

Blest with thy light, their countenance beaming,
Thy children are turning their eyes unto thee,
In the varied expanse where thy beauty is beaming
For they never are slaves who will to be free.

Tho’ Mars all a-glow should kindle in ire,
Thou Star of our hope, burn brighter than he,
Till our enemies think the Heavens on fire
They never are slaves who will to be free.

We’ll fling out our flag that the breath of the South,
Ensnared in its folds, may lift it to thee;
From the banks of Potomac to the Old Father’s mouth,
They’ll never be slaves who will to be free.

Then Star of the South! Break forth in thy glory,
Uncurtained by clouds, beam out on the sea!
Till our children unborn shall inherit the story,
They never are slaves who will to be free!

— Southern Literary Messenger, Vol. 32, Issue 4, Apr 1861; pp. 287-288.

A Pack of Hypocrites

WHERE are the days that we have seen,
When Phœbus shone fu’ bright, man,
Days when fu’ merry we have been,
When every one had right man;
Now gloomy clouds do overshade,
And spread wide over a’, man,
Ill boding comets blaze o’er head,
O whirry whigs awa’, man.

Now ill appears with face fu’ bare,
‘Mong high and low degree, man,
And great confusion every where,
Which every day we see, man;
A blind man’s chosen for a guide,
If they get not a fa’ man,
There’s none needs wonder if they slide,
O whirry whigs awa’, man.

We are divided as you see,
A sad and dreadful thing, man,
‘Twixt malice, pride, and presbytery,
And Satan leads the ring, man:
Our nation’s under misery,
And slavery with a’ man,
Yet deaf’d with din of liberty,
O whirry whigs awa’, man.

Our decent gowns are all put down,
Dare scarcely now be seen, man,
Geneva frocks take up their room,
Entitled to the tiends, man;
Who cant and speak the most discreet,
And say they love the law, man,
Yet are a pack of hypocrites,
O whirry whigs awa’, man.

Of primitive simplicity,
Which in our church was left, man,
Of truth and peace with prelacy,
Alas! we are bereft, man;
Instead of true humility,
And unity with a’ man,
Confusion’s mither presbytery,
Now spawns her brats thro’ a’ man.

The Lord’s prayer and the creed,
With glore to trinity, man,
New start-ups all these things exclude
And call them popery, man,
Rebellion’s horn they loudly tout,
With whinning tone and bla, man,
And leave the means of grace without;
O whirry whigs awa’, man.

Yet creed and Lord’s prayer too,
The true blue folks of old, man,
Ye know believed to be true,
And promised to hold, man.
But having proved false to God,
Traitors to kings with a’, man,
They never by their word abode;
O whirry whigs awa’, man.

Continue reading “A Pack of Hypocrites”

Fareweel Our Ancient Glory

Scottish association football supporter waives the Saltire in Trafalgar Square with Gig Ben in the background.
Scottish association football supporter waives the Saltire in Trafalgar Square with Big Ben in the background.

Fareweel to a’ our Scottish fame,
Fareweel our ancient glory;
Fareweel ev’n to the Scottish name,
Sae fam’d in martial story.
Now Sark rins over Solway sands,
An’ Tweed rins to the ocean,
To mark where England’s province stands-
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation!

What force or guile could not subdue,
Thro’ many warlike ages,
Is wrought now by a coward few,
For hireling traitor’s wages.
The English stell we could disdain,
Secure in valour’s station;
But English gold has been our bane-
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation!

O would, or I had seen the day
That Treason thus could sell us,
My auld grey head had lien in clay,
Wi’ Bruce and loyal Wallace!
But pith and power, till my last hour,
I’ll mak this declaration;
We’re bought and sold for English gold-
Such a parcel of rogues in a nation!

Such a Parcel o’ Rogues in a Nation, Robert Burns, 1791.

God Guard Thee, Newfoundland

The Newfoundland Tricolour. The "Pink, White and Green" flag first appeared in the 1880s or 1890s and was based on the colours of the Catholic fraternal group the Star of the Sea Association, which was formed in St. John's in 1871. The official colour of the Star of the Sea Association, rose (a liturgical colour and one rare in vexillology), replacing the orange panel of the Protestant William of Orange.
The Newfoundland Tricolour. The unofficial “Pink, White and Green” flag first appeared in the 1880s or 1890s and was based on the colours of the Catholic fraternal group the Star of the Sea Association, which was formed at St. John’s in 1871. Nearly identical to the Irish Tricolour, the official colour of the Star of the Sea Association, rose (a liturgical colour and one rare in vexillology), replaces the orange panel of the Protestant William of Orange.

When sun rays crown thy pine clad hills,
And summer spreads her hand,
When silvern voices tune thy rills,
We love thee, smiling land.
We love thee, we love thee,
We love thee, smiling land.

When spreads thy cloak of shimmering white,
At winter’s stern command,
Thro’ shortened day, and starlit night,
We love thee, frozen land.
We love thee, we love thee
We love thee, frozen land.

When blinding storm gusts fret thy shore,
And wild waves lash thy strand,
Thro’ spindrift swirl, and tempest roar,
We love thee windswept land.
We love thee, we love thee
We love thee windswept land.

As loved our fathers, so we love,
Where once they stood, we stand;
Their prayer we raise to Heaven above,
God guard thee, Newfoundland
God guard thee, God guard thee,
God guard thee, Newfoundland.

Ode to Newfoundland,
composed by Governor Sir Cavendish Boyle in 1902.

Tha sinn ‘san t-sean-nàdur

Tha sinn ‘san t-sean-nàdur
A bhà sinn roimh am an achda,
Am pearsanna ‘s an inntinn,
‘S ‘bar rìoghalachd, cha tèid lagadh.

We’re still of our old nature
As were we ere the Act was passèd,
Alike in mind and persons
And loyalty, we will not weaken.

Am Breachan Uallach, Alasdair Mac Mhaighstir Alasdair.

Once in a Lifetime

The Quiraing.
The Quiraing.

The red hot sun burns up the hill
The winter’s bride, the summer’s king
I tramp these acres and I feel
Once upon a time
Then it seemed that everything
You saw and touched and felt was real
You turned the tap and you turned the wheel
Breathing free

Once in a lifetime
You live and love
Once in a lifetime
You die
Once in a moment
The sun goes down
Protect and survive

Now you search the open evening sky
Trace the memories in your eyes
For the prophet’s hard rain and the deluge
Lie in tears around your door
Once there were trees and livestock here
A mother’s love, the warnings clear
But you chose to turn away from fear
Breathing free

Once in a lifetime
You live and love
Once in a lifetime
You die
Once in a moment
The sun goes down
Protect and survive

Now there’s a faceless cross on a distant hill
A wasted voice, a silent scream
Where the lovers love and the dreamers dream
You stand and dream alone
You took your sacrifice to the gods of war
Traded your children’s lives for a mess of gold
And you beat your ploughshares into swords
Breathing free

Once in a lifetime
You live and love
Once in a lifetime
You die
Once in a moment
The sun goes down
Protect and survive

Protect and Survive from the album Once in a Lifetime, Runrig;
recorded at Glasgow and Eden Court Theatre, Inverness, 1988;
songwriters Rory MacDonald & Calum MacDonald.

Failt, a Mhoire!

Detail of Our Lady from the Ghent Altarpiece, a very large and complex early 15th century Early Flemish polyptych panel painting.
Detail of Our Lady from the Ghent Altarpiece, a very large and complex early XV century Early Flemish polyptych panel painting.

Hail, Mary! hail, Mary!
Queen of grace, Mother of mercy;
Hail, Mary, in manner surpassing,
Fount of our health, source of our joy.

To thee we, night and day,
Erring children of Adam and Eve,
Lift our voice in supplication,
In groans and grief and tears.

Bestow upon us, thou Root of gladness,
Since thou art the cup of generous graces,
The faith of John, and Peter, and Paul,
With the wings of Ariel on the heights of the clouds.

Vouchsafe to us, thou golden branch,
A mansion in the Realm of peace,
Rest from the perils and stress of waves,
Beneath the shade of the fruit of thy womb, Jesu.

– Carmina Gadelica, Achaine, 47.

* * *

Failt, a Mhoire! failt, a Mhoire!
Righinn nan gras, Mathair na trocair;
Failt, a Mhoire, air mhodh gun choimeas,
Geil ar slainte, fath ar solais.

Riut tha sinne, dh’ oidhch’s a latha,
Sliochd seachranach Adhamh is Eubha,
Togail ar guth’s ag achan,
An gul’s an gal’s an deura.

Tabhair duinn, a Fhreimh an aigh,
O ‘s tu copan nan grasa fial,
Creid Eoin, is Pheaid, is Phail,
Le sgeith Airil an aird nan nial.

Deoin dhuinn, a gheug dhonn,
Aros ann am Fonn na sith,
Tamh o ghabhadh’s o anradh thom,
Fo sgath toraidh do bhronn, Ios.

– Carmina Gadelica, Achaine, 47.