Classic Poem

Far the grey loch runs
Up to Schiehallion.
Lap, lap the water flows
Where my wee boatie rows,
Greenly a star shows
Over Schiehallion.

She that I wander'd with
Over Schiehallion, —
How far beyond your ken,
Crags of the merry glen,
Stray'd she, that wander'd then
Down from Schiehallion!

Sail of the wild swan
Turn to Schiehallion!
Here where the rushes rise
Low the black hunter lies;
Beat thou the pure skies
Back to Schiehallion!