Up an awa oot wi us on the green sea machairs liftit

an we pit past dour Garvel o the gurlin storms –

lowps on us syne a sair blast wast bi sooth, an hard rain.

Up wi her heid, prow fornent cauld wave-heids

stoondin an stunnin, a slim dark lassie,

up wi her sang an surgin forrit.

She streikit her lee sheet ticht as steel

she streikit her hainch til the thies o the brekkers

she streikit her gait til the gait o the ocean

she gaed dunt wi her gunnel gin yaw

an dunt wi the seam o her shouther gaed she

an ryvit the wave wi her beak at the pitch.

Come Eilean Aoidh she raired oot joyfu

Ardlamont haerd her prood bellin

Bi Inchmarnock she crooned a douce air.

Oorsels wappit in her smeik – smoorit-nane –

that stang in oor een frae the ram-stam o her

in a spelder o speindrift an saut spray

an nocht cuid we hear but the pulse o her pechin.