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Stirling Castle
I climb this royal road to see
What Stirling Castle means to me.
This winding way of cobblestone,
Which leads to Scotland's very throne.
Before me stands that mighty arch,
Through which the Argylls bravely marched.
Their country's honor to defend,
Broadsword and musket to the end.
From gates of stone and garden wall,
With ramparts vigil over all,
To royal chapel's silent prayer,
Then skirl the pipes in distant air.
To see this place of kindred pose,
And know the hearts of men, who chose,
To stand this ground for Scotland's love,
And raise its standard high above
These fortress walls, for all to see,
That Scotland was, no more to be,
A land whose rule was not her own,
Obliged to serve a foreign throne.
Without a doubt my heart is stirred
By all that I have seen and heard
About this castle's noble place,
Forever etched in Scotland's face.
So now, I walk that cobbled path,
Content to know I've gazed at last
On Scotland's very heart and soul,
Where still the winds of freedom blow.
Howard Garrison Yates
© January 24, 2000
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