| Cold wind 'cross Cawdor’s keep
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| won’t waken wild John’s sleep
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| Wild places, dark scree faces
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| the stag’s roar, by Cawdor sounds
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| the rut’s strathspey.
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| White snow sky, corbies hard cry
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| Red Grouse call, come nightfall
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| send the day away!
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| Highland hunting tower, guards the glen,
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| Banquo’s spirit power stalks the night again,
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| at Cawdor, Cawdor, Cawdor.
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| Grey geese skein, song to dead thane
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| His pibroch «The Quiet Loch» rises on the mist.
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| Cruel Claymore, bloodshed, clan war.
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| No reprieving, cattle rieving, avenged
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| with the dirk’s twist. |