The Isle of Mull
D. MacPhail


The Isle of Mull is of the Isles the fairest,
Of ocean's gems 'tis the first and rarest;
Green grassy island of sparkling fountains,
Of waving woods and high tow'ring mountains,
Tho' far from home, I am now a ranger,
In grim Newcastle a doleful stranger;
The thought of thee stirs my heart's emotion,
And deeper fixes its fond devotion.

Oh! fresh and fair are thy medows blooming,
With fragrant blossoms the air perfuming;
Where boyhood days I've oft spent in fooling
Around Ben Varnick and Durry Cooling.

The Isle of Mull is of the Isles the fairest,
Of ocean's gems 'tis the first and rarest;
Green grassy island of sparkling fountains,
Of waving woods and high tow'ring mountains,
Tho' far from home, I am now a ranger,
In grim Newcastle a doleful stranger;
The thought of thee stirs my heart's emotion,
And deeper fixes its fond devotion.

Where Lussa's stream thro' the pools comes whirling,
Or o'er the clear pebbly shallows swirling;
The silv'ry salmon is there seen playing,
And in the sunbeam his hues displaying.

The Isle of Mull is of the Isles the fairest,
Of ocean's gems 'tis the first and rarest;
Green grassy island of sparkling fountains,
Of waving woods and high tow'ring mountains,
Tho' far from home, I am now a ranger,
In grim Newcastle a doleful stranger;
The thought of thee stirs my heart's emotion,
And deeper fixes its fond devotion.

There might young manhood find fit enjoyment,
In healthy, vigorous rare employment;
With three-pronged spear on the margin standing,
And with quick dart the bright salmon landing.

The Isle of Mull is of the Isles the fairest,
Of ocean's gems 'tis the first and rarest;
Green grassy island of sparkling fountains,
Of waving woods and high tow'ring mountains,
Tho' far from home, I am now a ranger,
In grim Newcastle a doleful stranger;
The thought of thee stirs my heart's emotion,
And deeper fixes its fond devotion.

How pleasant 'twas in the sweet May morning,
The rising sun thy gay fields adorning;
The feather'd songsters their lays were singing,
While rocks and woods were with echoes ringing.

The Isle of Mull is of the Isles the fairest,
Of ocean's gems 'tis the first and rarest;
Green grassy island of sparkling fountains,
Of waving woods and high tow'ring mountains,
Tho' far from home, I am now a ranger,
In grim Newcastle a doleful stranger;
The thought of thee stirs my heart's emotion,
And deeper fixes its fond devotion.

But gone are now all those joys for ever,
Like bubbles bursting on yonder river.
Farewell, farewell, to they sparkling fountains,
Thy waving woods and high tow'ring mountains.

The Isle of Mull is of the Isles the fairest,
Of ocean's gems 'tis the first and rarest;
Green grassy island of sparkling fountains,
Of waving woods and high tow'ring mountains,
Tho' far from home, I am now a ranger,
In grim Newcastle a doleful stranger;
The thought of thee stirs my heart's emotion,
And deeper fixes its fond devotion.

The Isle of Mull is the largest of the Inner Hebrides and is surrounded by many smaller islands such as Iona, Staffa, Ulva, Gometra and Inch Kenneth. Dugald MacPhail's words were translated into English by Malcolm MacFarlane.

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