The Shires on the Moray Frith

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The Shires on the Moray Frith

Worthy of either song or story

Are the shires round Frith of Moray,

Here lies the valley of Strathspey,

Famed for its music, lively, gay,

Elgin cathedral’s ’prentice aisle

Is glory of that ruined pile.

What modern chisel now could trace

Fine sculpture of that ancient place,

And Forres famed for Sweyn’s stane

In honor of that kingly Dane,

’Graved with warriors runes and rhymes,

Long prior to historic times,

For a thousand years its been forgot

Who was victor Dane or Scot,

It is the country of McBeth

Where good King Duncan met his death,

And barren heath that place of fear

Stood witches cauldron of Shakespeare,

Nairn’s Cawdor castle strong remains

Full worthy of the ancient Thanes,

And nestled ’neath the hills and bens

Queen of the moors, the lochs and glens,

Full proudly stands in vale of bliss

Chief Highland town of Inverness,

Near here the famous falls of Foyers

Where Burns and others tuned their lyres,

And the fatal field of dark Culloden

Where doughty clans were once down trodden,

Here men yet wear the tartan plaid

Ready to join the Highland Brigade,

And when the Frith you look across

The eye beholds Sutherland and Ross,

Where Duke has harnessed mighty team,

Plows hills and rocks and moors by steam,

Perhaps it may in part atone

For cruel clearings days bygone,

And Cromarty, whose wondrous mason,

First learned his geologic lesson,

Friends may rear a stately pillar,

The old red sand stone of Hugh Miller,

Ben Wyvis towers like monarch crowned,

Conspicuous o’er the hills around,

With crest ’ere white with driven snow,

Strathpeffer’s water cure below.