On windswept isle of sea-swept storm
I saw her lovely Hebridean form.
Our eyes they met but hers withdrew
And spurned the love she never knew.

Like the sea spray o'er the scree
She said "Please do not think to capture me!"
I still held out my hands to hers entwine
The Hebridean Lady's were not for mine.

In broken crofts and shores that night
Departed souls danced with delight,
Wronged by Lairds and foreign thrones
Driven from beloved homes...

Next day I walked across the bay
An otter turned to me to say:
"We do not need your southern style
I alone can make her smile... "

Her Hebridean heart I could not melt.
Oh Coll, you know just how I felt...