Eilean Donan

 

Wander slowly by lochs and glens, where hills and sky become one,

and shimmering waters draw down the light, and the lapping waves greet the sun.

And you may see  a vision of yesteryear, a vision that’s hard to behold;

for on a small island for all to see, stands a fairy tale castle, detached, stark, and bold.

It guards the waters of three Scottish lochs, proclaiming the power it once had;

it can take all your breath, its presence so strong; no matter its history sad,

 

It’s a wonder of wonders, a national gem. Castle Eilean Donan by name,

but what makes it beguiling is its boldness; plus its ignominy and shame.

For its past was one of violence and blood, constant battles, of capture, and strife,

and many a man in support of his clan, gave all he had got - and his life.

And though most of the people were loyal, to the Mackenzie chief were subjected,

they opposed Lords and Earls, British puppets in curls, and to their rule  they objected.

 

So take care at your romantic thoughts, for all is not what it may seem,

for blood is soaked into every stone – for the victims, retribution extreme.

Savage tales are told of dreadful deeds, and of tenuous loyalties strained,

And some paid the price for their scant regard, of the laws that the state proclaimed.

Their punishment savage for all to see; raised up on high pole by pole - head by head.

As many as fifty, on display round the walls, grotesque ‘gargoyles’ of the dead,

 

Its history starts in the mists of time when to Abbott Donan it was home,

For he started his mission right there at that place, before on to Eigg he did roam.

And there, when faced by a Viking raid, despite their fearsome threat,

He refused to stop till the mass was read; faced those godless foes without regret.

Then he and his monks, united in faith, were cruelly murdered by the sword,

 now the martyred sixth century Saint, is content by the side of his lord.

 

Of nobler deeds when times were bad, or when jealousy replaced good sense,

are tales of defenders, though armed only with a bow or sword, but their courage immense.

One such hero was Duncan, son of the clan Macrae, who witnessed an attack,

and though fighting nigh alone, outnumbered score on score, he, undeterred fought back.

His ruthless foe was Donald of MacDonald, artful and cunning - with all his men around,

but Duncan’s final arrow flew straight and true, sending mortally wounded Donald to the ground.

 

Then came the times when Scotsmen railed, against Southerners rule and abuse,

but the British, hearing whispers of the Donan plan, would brook no excuse.

They sent three frigates to quell the uprising, armed with many cannon, all ablaze,

to lay waste the keep, and the 'troops' there within, and the castle walls to raze.

When the ships withdrew all they left behind was a pall of dust, where the castle in ruins lay;

and it dealt a blow to James’s cause; and for the fleeing Bonnie Prince, a sombre day.

 

Two hundred years it lay abandoned, heaps of rubble, decaying slow,

two hundred cruel winters it endured, crumbling year by year in ice and snow.

But came the nineteen hundreds, and with a soldier gallant, the elements to tame,

dedicated to a cause, his birthright clear, the family story in his claim.

Lt Col John Macrae-Gilstrap was his name, upright and tall he stood,

to rebuild Eilean Donan, that was his task; pride and history in his blood.

.

Ten years he toiled and ten years more, inspired by visions of long gone clans;

to rebuild the castle as it once had stood, armed with dedication and ancient plans.

Bit by bit the rubble pile departed, dissolved into the mists of time and sky;

and in its place the castle grew, stone on stone, layer on layer, high on high.

Till finally it was complete, gloriously grown to what it had been once before,

death defied - back in its historic place - an island castle, alive once more.