5o THE DEER FORESTS OF SCOTLAND. 



On the hill the Chief lay careless, 

 While the child watched eagerly. 



'Neath them, on the shining ocean, 



Island beyond island lay, 

 Where the peaks of Jura's bosom 



Rose o'er holy Oronsay. 



Where the greener fields of Islay 



Pointed to the far Kintire, 

 Fruitful lands of after ages, 



Wasted then with sword and fire. 



For the spell, that once had gathered 

 All the chiefs beneath the sway 



Of the ancient royal sceptre 

 Of the Isles, had passed away. 



Once, from Rathline to the southward, 

 Westward to the low Tiree, 



'Northward, past the Alps of Coolin, 

 Somerled ruled land and sea. 



Colonsay, Lismore and Scarba, 

 Bute and Cumrae, Mull and Skye, 



Arran, Jura, Lew's and Islay, 

 Shouted then one battle cry. 



But those Isles that still united 



Fought at Harlaw Scotland's might, 

 Broken by their fierce contentions, 



Singly waged disastrous fight. 



