Highland cyclist: Lochiel of the 45

Here's a poem about Lochiel of the 45 Jacobite rebellion inspired by my trip down to Lochaber:

Lochiel
You ask me why I plant this avenue
Of beeches which winds towards Achnacarry?
I tell you I do it to please my wife,
For whom I’ve built this stately home
With civil comforts, dressed stone,
Not a castle but house graced by gentle arts,

An Italian garden in my wild Lochaber.
These saplings I’ve laid by plan, those yonder
Lie haphazard for later ordering.
Think how their spreading arms in summer
Will overarch the avenue with dappled shade
Or golden hues of Autumn will confirm
The august genius of the place
And set a reverence for tranquillity
In the approaching traveller’s mind.

With seven men he has landed in Moidart,
No French dragoons or Irish brigade?
Seven men you say, then would that the Lord
Would undo the seven day’s making of the world
For we are seven thousand times doomed.

Should I chance these men who to me
Are kith and kin, to whom I am like a father,
This Cameron land that is the map of my heart
See bloodied, broken, burning?
Should I cast all with a dice preloaded?
My father lives in exile for the cause,
One brother’s a burgher in whiggish Glasgow
A merchant who wants no part in Honour’s
Perilous pledge,but steady increase of wealth,
And I within my nest have new fledged bairns.

Will I a gentle man unlearned in war’s brutal school
Buckle targe and broadsword?
You admire the workmanship, the tempered blade,
The ornate basket . In Stirling it was made to my design,
But it was never whetted by a drop of blood.
Here I’ve finished writing now, the inks near dry.
Take this note to my brother the priest,
On Loch Arkaig’s side. Have him convey it
To the rightful Heir. Tread the Dark Mile in haste,
The Prince must know I’m bound by Honour
But torn by the rashness of this enterprise.