Laird Colyne Stewart, July AS 38 (2003)
A yawning hole below his feet,
the bard is offered no retreat.
Within lay broken bloody bones
of his patron, amongst the stones.
A call from king to come attend,
his hearthguard to the call contend;
they fought with valour 'gainst the foe
but by the sword was lord laid low.
The king in victory now feasts,
his army to his health now eats,
while in a lonely churchyard stand
a lowly disenheartened band.
No praise from lips of Majesty,
no sign of thanks are given free,
no man of His in rain attends,
no act will this dark error mend.
Singing low the bard offers praise
by reciting proud the unheard lais
that show his master's former might--
his love, his pride, his skill in fight.
The lord's few men together cry,
confine him in the earth to lie,
forgotten by the high born crown
who left him in the mud to drown.
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