THE SINGER OF THE ISLES.
You sing : and my soul is borne To the isles of the outer seas
To the far, wind-scarred, wave-worn Wild Hebrides.
You sing : and with flight upon flight Of white wings the air is alive;
And, deep through the waters of light, The seal-folk dive.
You sing : and the lilies unfold
On the tarns : and the deep seas, aglow
With sapphire and emerald and gold, Round green isles flow.
You sing : and each island is fair
As the islands of dream and desire,
Washed clean in the magical air, With dawn afire.
You sing : and there steals through the song The reek of the peat ; and the gloom
Is alight with the faces that throng The twilit room.
You sing: and the folk gather round The hearth where the heroes are sung:
And soft in mine ear is the sound Of the island tongue.