Lays of the Highlands and Islands :: :: University of Virginia Library

The old man of Hoy
Looks out on the sea,
Where the tide runs strong and the wave rides free:
He looks on the broad Atlantic sea,
And the old man of Hoy
Hath this great joy,
To hear the deep roar of the wide blue ocean,
And to stand unmoved 'mid the sleepless motion,
And to feel o'er his head
The white foam spread
From the wild wave proudly swelling,
And to care no whit
For the storm's rude fit
Where he stands on his old rock-dwelling,
This rare old man of Hoy.

The old man of Hoy
Looks out on the sea,
Where the tide runs strong and the wave rides free:
He looks on the broad Atlantic sea,
And the old man of Hoy
Hath this great joy,
To look on the flight of the wild sea-mew,
With their hoar nests hung o'er the waters blue;
To see them swing
On plunging wing,
And to hear their shrill notes swelling,
And with them to reply
To the storm's war-cry,
As he stands on his old rock-dwelling;
This rare old man of Hoy.

The old man of Hoy
Looks out on the sea,
Where the tide runs strong, and the wave rides free:
He looks on the broad Atlantic sea,
And the old man of Hoy
Hath this great joy,
When the sea is white, and the sky is black,

And the helmless ship drives on like wrack,
To see it dash
At his feet with a crash,
And the sailors' death-note knelling,
And to hear their shrieks
With pitiless cheeks,
This stern old man of Hoy.

The old man of Hoy
Looks out on the sea,
Where the tide runs strong, and the wave rides free:
He looks on the broad Atlantic sea,
And the old man of Hoy
Hath this great joy,
To think on the pride of the sea-kings old,
Harolds, and Ronalds, and Sigurds bold,
Whose might was felt,
By the cowering Celt,
When he heard their war-cry yelling;
But the sea-kings are gone,
And he stands alone,
Firm on his old rock-dwelling,
This stout old man of Hoy.

The old man of Hoy
Looks out on the sea,
Where the tide runs strong and the wave rides free:
He looks on the broad Atlantic sea,
And the old man of Hoy
Hath this great joy,
To think on the gods that were mighty of yore,
Braga, and Baldur, and Odin, and Thor,
And giants of power
In fateful hour,
'Gainst the great gods rebelling:
But the gods are all dead,
And he rears his head
Alone from his old rock-dwelling,
This stiff old man of Hoy.

But listen to me,
Old man of the sea,
List to the Skulda that speaketh by me;
The Nornies are weaving a web for thee,
Thou old man of Hoy,
To ruin thy joy,
And to make thee shrink from the lash of the ocean,

And teach thee to quake with a strange commotion,
When over thy head
And under thy bed
The rampant wave is swelling,
And thou shalt die
Neath a pitiless sky,
And reel from thine old rock-dwelling,
Thou stout old man of Hoy!