Proud Highland stag hears howling hounds
Turns fleeing for his life
With huntsmen spurring on horses
Hunting horn blown at full gallop.
Terrified he runs and runs
Through woods, over fields, wading rivers
Until he can run no more
Heart pounding, lungs near to bursting
He turns at bay facing the hounds.
What was his crime for being so cruelly hunted
Chased by hounds and ripped apart alive?
Only that he was Monarch of the Glen
Trophy for a rich man without conscience.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem