Coll of the Waves

Oh! To tread the bright gold of the Crossapol shore,
Or to cull the white cannach by Arinagore,
Or to gather the sea-wrack with her you love best,
The wind in her hair, and the love in her breast!

Oh! My hunger of heart when in day-dreams I view
Eilean Chola, the ocean, the dear faces too -
Some asleep 'mong the sea flowers in deep ocean caves,
Some at rest in Cill-yoonaig in Coll of the waves!

Could I launch from Traigh Chliad in silence my keel
For the dark shining skerries, the haunt of the seal,
Could I plunge in the surf with young Ruari and Nyall,
Or scale the dark cliffs and the chasm of Ben Fyall.

Could I feel the fresh wind of the west on my brow,
My soul would revive, tho' tis withering now,
My soul with the seagull when th'ocean wind raves
Would exult in the glory of Coll of the waves!

In winter when rose the wild song of the storm,
At the ceilidh we'd sit by the peat-fire so warm,
Oh.' what music would flow from the sweet-throated girls,
While the fire shed its glow in the gold of their curls!

Oh! - the white-limbed, the pure-bosomed maids of the Isle!
One dearer than all - but I lived for her smile;
Though we wander the wide world, our hearts still are slaves
To the daughters of ocean in Coll of the waves!

'Twas there I first loved these, a Mhàiri mo run,
Sweet child! There thou gav'st me the blood-flower of June, '
'Twas there on thy bosom my heart sought thy own
In days ere with childhood life's glory had flown.

Oh! My heart would be cold as the coffins of stone
In Torastan's sea-grass, where sleep the unknown,
If my cheeks were not wet, for my whole spirit craves
For the west wind and Màiri and Coll of the waves!

Dugald MacEchern