Ossian Collection > Gaelic bards

264 TRANSLATIONS.
THE PEMSE OF ISLAY.
Chorus: — Oh! my Island, oh, my Isle !
Oh! my dear, my native soil,
Again the rising sun can smile
With golden beams on Landy.
I see afar yon hill, Ardmore,
The beating billows wash its shore,
But ah! its beauties bloom no more,
For me no more in Islay.
Oh ! my Island, &c.
But birchen branches there are gay,
And hawthorns wave their silvered spray;
And every bough the breezes sway
Awakens joy in Islay.
Oh ! my Island, tire.
There eagles rise on soaring wing.
And herons watch the gushing spring;
And heath-cocks with their whirring bring
Their own delight to Islay.
Oh ! my Island, &c.
Its mavis sings on hazy bough.
Its linnet haunts the glen below.
And O, may long their wild notes flow
With melodies in Islay.
Oh! my Island, tfcc.
The black-cock too, so glossy brave —
The ducks that cleave the moory wave —