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If on windy days the Raven
Though the Sea-horse in the Ocean
The fleet Ostrich, till day closes Vagrant over Desert sands, Brooding on her eggs reposes When chill night that care demands.
Day and night my toils redouble,
THE SOLITUDE OF BINNORIE.
SEVEN Daughters had Lord Archibald,
Fresh blows the wind, a western wind, And from the shores of Erin, Across the wave, a Rover brave To Binnorie is steering : Right onward to the Scottish strand The gallant ship is borne ; The Warriors leap upon the land, And hark! the Leader of the Band Hath blown his bugle horn. Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully, The Solitude of Binnorie.
Beside a Grotto of their own, With boughs above them closing, The Seven are laid, and in the shade They lie like Fawns reposing. But now, upstarting with affright At noise of Man and Steed, Away they fly to left, to right — Of your fair household, Father Knight, Methinks you take small heed! Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully, The Solitude of Binnorie.
Away the seven fair Campbells fly,
Some close behind, some side by side,
The Stream that flows out of the Lake, As through the glen it rambles, Repeats a moan o'er moss and stone, For those seven lovely Campbells. Seven little Islands, green and bare, Have risen from out the deep: The Fishers say, those Sisters fair By Faeries are all buried there, And there together sleep. Sing, mournfully, oh! mournfully, The Solitude of Binnorie.