Chapter III: Part I

On Jura’s heath how sweetly swell
The murmurs of the mountain bee!
How softly mourns the writhed shell
Of Jura’s shore, its parent sea!

But softer, floating o’er the deep,
The Mermaid’s sweet sea-soothing lay,
That charmed the dancing waves to sleep,
Before the bark of Colonsay.

Aloft the purple pennons wave,
As parting gay from Crinan’s shore,
From Morven’s wars the seamen brave
Their gallant Chieftain homeward bore.

In youth’s gay bloom, the brave Macphail
Still blamed the lingering bark’s delay;
For her he chid the flagging sail,
The lovely Maid of Colonsay.

“And raise,” he cried, “the song of love,
The maiden sung with tearful smile,
When first, o’er Jura’s hills to rove,
We left afar the lonely isle!--

“‘When on this ring of ruby red
Shall die,’ she said, ‘the crimson hue,
Know that thy favourite fair is dead,
Or proves to thee and love untrue.’”

Now, lightly poised, the rising oar
Disperses wide the foamy spray,
And, echoing far o’er Crinan’s shore,
Resounds the song of Colonsay.

“Softly blow, thou western breeze,
Softly rustle through the sail!
Soothe to rest the furrowy seas,
Before my Love, sweet western gale!”

Thus, all to soothe the Chieftain’s woe,
Far from the maid he loved so dear,
The song arose, so soft and slow,
He seemed her parting sigh to hear.

The lonely deck he paces o’er,
Impatient for the rising day,
And still, from Crinan’s moonlight shore,
He turns his eyes to Colonsay.

The moonbeams crisp the curling surge,
That streaks with foam the ocean green:
While forward still the rowers urge
Their course, a female form was seen.

That Sea-maid’s form, of pearly light,
Was whiter than the downy spray,
And round her bosom, heaving bright,
Her glossy, yellow ringlets play.

Borne on a foamy-crested wave,
She reached amain the bounding prow,
Then clasping fast the Chieftain brave,
She, plunging, sought the deep below.

Ah! long beside thy feigned bier,
The monks the prayers of death shall say,
And long, for thee, the fruitless tear
Shall weep the Maid of Colonsay!