The Glencoe Massacre Memorial

An Dol Sios Gleann Coe

or

(Lament of the Glencoe Thirty-eight)

I shall sing the sad fate Of our own Thirty-eight,
Asleep in their icy graves.
No more tear drops remain
From the soul searing pain,
But memories are phantom waves.

Ancient voices do plead,
"Honest men you must heed,
The mournful lilt of our tale.
In the blood spattered snow
Of MacIain's Glen Coe,
Thirty-eight lie deathly pale."

On a cold winter's day
The Old Fox made his way,
To Fort William with his vow.
At his presence they leered,
"Inverary its feared
Is where you need to be now."

He arrived two days late
And three more he must wait,
For the Sheriff to arrive.
Yet through snow he set forth
For his Clan in the North,
Thinking nothing was awry.

In Edinburgh's hall
The schemes of men appall,
For MacIain's word was censured.
Sir Dalrymple of Stair
Made the Council aware,
The oath had not been rendered.

The Earl of Breadalbane,
With his King did proclaim,
"Root out that damnable Sept!"
A massacre was planned
All by Hamilton's hand,
While Duncanson's silence kept.

The Glenlyon was sent
Of Argyll's Regiment,
With one hundred and twenty men.
The Captain gave orders
At Glencoe take quarters,
Where the days dragged on into ten.

As hearth flame flickered bright
Soldiers dined well each night,
In the care of MacIain's Clan.
Then death orders arrived
For the slaughter contrived,
On the twelfth of An Gearran.

On a winter's black dawn
Evil's bloodthirsty spawn,
Awaited the signal fire.
Highland honor was breached
As the wind blown torch reached,
That rocky funeral pyre.

At Carnoch the Clan Chief
With his claymore in sheath,
Was shot as he rose from bed.
His dear Lady was stripped,
From her hands fingers ripped,
As jewels are not for the dead.

The Inverrigan nine
Securely bound with twine,
Lie sprawled in the frozen snow.
As musket barrels smoked
Blood bubbled forth and choked,
A curse on murderous foe.

In Achnacon they slew
A bairn and old man too,
For butchers no mercy show.
Death silenced even bards,
Their songs now shattered shards
Upon the bitter winds blow.

By fire and by the sword
Came the peril to life's cord,
Of MacDonald's Glencoe Clan.
But by honor so fair
Several soldiers did dare,
Warn some of that fiendish plan.

The two sons of the Chief
With Three hundred in grief,
All escaped the bloody gore.
Under cover of storm
The survivors did swarm,
Up the icy brae of Meall Mor.

Along cliffs of the Feinn
Death's pursuit was in vain;
Three soldiers were killed in the fray.
In high mountains men cried
For those loved ones who died,
And swore to remember that day.

I shall sing the sad fate
Of our own Thirty-eight,
Asleep in their icy graves.
No more tear drops remain
From the soul searing pain,
But memories are phantom waves.

Ancient voices do plead,
"Honest men you must heed,
The mournful lilt of our tale.
In the blood spattered snow
Of MacIain's Glen Coe,
Thirty-eight lie deathly pale."

Copyright© by

Mark W. Vance

February 13, 1990

Commissioned for the 300th Anniversary of the Glencoe Massacre:

1692-1992

In Honor of Alastair, the 14th Chief of Glencoe
As a babe he survived the Glencoe Massacre;
As a man he lead his Clan in the battle at Culloden.