My favourite camp song: Birthright
We, who are born in country places,
Far from the city and shifting faces,
We have a birthright no man can sell
And a secret joy no man can tell
For we are kindred to lordly things
The white owl’s cry and the wild duck’s wing
Pike and salmon, bull and horse
The curlew’s cry and the smell of gorse.
Pride of tree and swiftness of stream
The magic of frost has shaped our dreams
No greater vision the spirit fills
Who walk by right on the naked hills.