From scars where kestrels hover.
The leader looking over
Into the happy valley,
Orchard and curving river.
May turn away to see
The slow fastidious line
That disciplines the fell.
Hear curlew’s creaking call
From angles unforseen,
The drumming of a snipe
Surprise where driven sleet
Had scalded to the bone
And streams are acrid yet
To an unaccustomed lip;
The tall unwoundcd leader
Of doomed companions, all
Whose voices in the rock
Are now perpetual.
Fighters for no one’s sake.
Who died beyond the border.
Heroes are buried who
Did not believe in death
And bravery is now
Not in the dying breath
But resisting the temptations
To skyline operations.
Yet glory is not new;
The summer visitors
Still come from far and wide,
Choosing their spots to view
The prize competitors,
Each thinking that he will
Find heroes in the wood,
Far from the capital
Where lights and wine are set
For supper by the lake.
But leaders must migrate:
‘Leave for Cape Wrath tonight,’’
And the host after waiting
Must quench the lamps and pass
Alive into the house.