Poem

Having arrived in Portree, my brother sent me this very poignant poem by A.M. Harbord. The Scots amongst you will surely know it!

Stranger with the pile of luggage proudly labelled for Portree,
How I wish this night of August I were you and you were me!
Think of all that lies before you when the train goes sliding forth.
And the lines athwart the sunset lead you swiftly to the North!
Think of breakfast at Kingussie, think of high Drumochter Pass.
Think of highland breezes singing through the bracken and the grass.
Scabious blue and yellow daisy, tender fern beside the train,
Rowdy tummmel falling, brawling, seen and lost and glimpsed again!
You will pass my golden roadway of the days of long ago:
Will you realise the magic of the names I used to know;
Clachnaharry, Achnashellash, Achnasheen and Duirinish?
Ev'ry moor alive with coveys, every pool aboil with fish;
Every well remembered vista more exciting by the mile
Till the wheeling gulls are screaming round the engine at the Kyle
Think of cloud on Bheinn na Cailleach, jagged Cuillins soaring high
Scent of peat and all the glamour of the misty Isle of Skye!
Rods and gun case in the carriage, wise retriever in the van;
Go, and good luck travel with you!
(Wish I'd half your luck, my man!)