Legends of the isles and Highland Gatherings :: :: University of Virginia Library

THE WITCH OF SKERRIEVORE.

I

“We were sisters, sisters seven—
The fairest women under heaven;
One was calm, serene, and fair—
One had locks of auburn hair—
One had lips like parted cherries—
One had cheeks like autumn berries—
One had eyes where pity glow'd—
One a smile where love abode;
Comely, ruddy, graceful, tall;
And I the fairest of them all.

II

“Oh my sisters!—sisters sweet,
Dancing with their nimble feet,
Mingling voices all the day
In a happy roundelay,
Wreathing flowers to bind their hair,
With their smiles dispelling care,
Scattering pleasures as they went,
To the world's enravishment,
Oh my sisters! oh their fall;
Love destroy'd them one and all!

III

“Fairest blossoms of our clime,
They were blighted ere their time:
One was sear'd by slander's breath—
One, too loving, pined to death—
One, deceived, and smitten low,
In her madness lost her woe—
One, we thought a maiden mild,
In her frenzy slew her child—
One, with hopes and passions strong,
Lived for vengeance, but not long:
I alone escaped their fall—
I alone, amid them all.

IV

“Never have I loved a man;
Never will I—never can;
Smile, nor tear, nor passion-word
Never yet my heart has stirr'd;
Never shall they: Hate is free—
Love abides in slavery.
I have other joys than this,
Hotter pleasures, fiercer bliss,
As upon the winds I go,
Flying, floating to and fro!

V

“Up in the air! up in the air!
In foul weather, and in fair.

I have made a compact free
With the sprites of air and sea,
To do my bidding willingly.
I can ride the fleetest wind,
And leave the lazy clouds behind,
Or swim the surf where breakers roar
Amid the rocks of Skerrievore,
Working mischief as I go,
Floating, flying to and fro!

VI

“Up in the air! up in the air!
Before the watchman is aware,
I love to rattle the chimneys down,
And rock the belfries of the town!
Oh, 'tis sweet o'er field and copse
To rush from the barren mountain-tops,
To strip the garden of flower and fruit,
To scatter the pine-trees branch and root,
To loosen the wreaths of drifted snow,
And roll the avalanche below!

VII

“Oh, 'tis sweet to ride the blast,
To rend the sail from the creaking mast,
To dash the billows amid the shrouds,
To hide the moon in the driving clouds,

To sweep the sailor from the deck,
And cast his ship on the rocks a wreck,
And drown his last expiring cry
In the howl of tempests rushing by!

VIII

“Up in the air! up in the air!
I avenge my sisters fair;
On mankind I vent my wrath,
Strewing dangers in his path.
For this I've made a compact free
With the powers of air and sea,
That I shall rue eternally!
But hate is joy—and this is mine,
To ride the wind, to sail the brine,
And work fierce mischief as I go,
Floating, flying to and fro.”

IX

Ye that sail the stormy seas
Of the distant Hebrides,
By Scarba's rock, and Colonsay,
And old Iona's Minster gray,
By far Tiree, the flow'ry isle,
And Staffa's wondrous cave and pile,
By Jura, with her treble hills,
And Skye, far looming, seam'd with rills,
By barren Mull and Ulva's shore,
Beware the Witch of Skerrievore!