Father Allan Macdonald

Should I even have my choice

I’d prefer in all of Europe

A dwelling place beside the wave

In the lovely Isle of Youth.

It ‘ s bare of foliage, bare of bent – grass,

Bare of barley – sowing,

But beautiful for all its bareness

Is each sod of it to me …

In it live the manly people

Whose ways I find agreeable:

Of the defects that all men have

We possess our own fair share,

But Hanging Back, Stubbornness and Guile,

Yon epidemic’s selfishness –

Those faults are now completely cast out

From amongst us across the sea.

Long ago each savage hound

That heard the Gordon ‘ s whistle

Drove splendid men to the edge of the shore

Like lambs being rounded up –

We did not then possess that law

Which would process our just claim,

But Providence has come to our rescue

And turned oppression to our gain.

Folk would often say in derision

That the island was confined,

With all of its inhabitants

In a place like a sheep-fank;

But what has made it all the more lovely,

Each wee bit hill of it and glen,

Is the ring of waves all around it

That keeps unpleasantness outside.