An old man stands by a castle wall at dusk, singing a quiet song. His country—church and state—is in ruins, plagued by delusions, oppression, and murderous wars. People know who’s to blame but dare not say it openly. For this singer, the cost is painfully personal: his seven fine sons drew their swords for Jamie and now lie in green graves, and the grief broke his faithful wife’s heart. Life has become a burden since he lost his children and his exiled king lost his crown. The refrain he keeps returning to is as much a lament as a stubborn conviction—there will never be peace until Jamie comes home. The poem feels like a private whisper at day’s end, heavy with sorrow, weariness, and a loyalty that time and loss cannot erase. Even the landscape seems to share his grief; the castle wall and the close of day cast a long shadow over his words. There’s no rage here, only a deep, exhausted sadness that turns political loss into a family tragedy.
314. Song—There’ll never be Peace till Jamie comes hame — Summary
BY yon Castle wa’, at the close of the day, I heard a man sing, tho’ his head it was grey: And as he was singing, the tears doon came,— There’ll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.
The Church is in ruins, the State is in jars, Delusions, oppressions, and murderous wars, We dare na weel say’t, but we ken wha’s to blame,— There’ll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.
My seven braw sons for Jamie drew sword, But now I greet round their green beds in the yerd; It brak the sweet heart o’ my faithful and dame,— There’ll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.
Now life is a burden that bows me down, Sin’ I tint my bairns, and he tint his crown; But till my last moments my words are the same,— There’ll never be peace till Jamie comes hame.