If I were a raven or a raptor of the plain, 
Whirling far above my earthly brain; 
If I could only my desires betake to wing 
And all at once my heart were free to sing. 

To the west, to the west, I’d be gone in an hour! 
Where the fields of my sires are in flow’r, 
Where in a bare keep ‘neath the swirling of mists, 
Their oblivious bones are lying at rest. 
Where on ancient walls ancestral shields hang 
Above a broad [bad word] and lang. 

I would fly over the sword and shield,  [bad word] the dust of ages as I wheeled; 
Grazing the mute Scottish harp strings 
As, once again, through the chamber it rings 
And is heard by the one who awakes – 
And as it reverberates… so the spell breaks. 

But… disconsolate dreams, unfulfillable yearning 
Against the strict edicts of fate not returning; 
Between me and the hills of my native land 
Billowing furrows lie twixt either strand. 

The last scion of a race that routed foes 
Desiccating here amongst th’ alien snows; 
Ach, I was born here, but I would be fain… 
O! Why am I not a raptor of the plain?