[Footnote: Words and air by Alexander Nicholson, LL. O.] [Illustration: Musical notation omitted.] "My heart is yearning to thee, O Skye, Dearest of islands! There first the sunshine gladdened my eye, On the sea spark-ling; There doth the dust of my dear ones lie, In the old graveyard. [Musical notation omitted.] Bright are the golden green fields to me Here in the lowlands; Sweet sings the mavis in the thorn tree Snowy with fragrance; But oh for a breath of the great North sea Girdling the mountains! Good is the smell of the brine that laves Black rock and skerry; Where the great palm-leaved tangle waves Down in the green depths, And round the craggy bluff, pierced with caves, Sea-gulls are screaming. Many a hearth round that friendly shore Giveth warm welcome; Charms still are there, as in days of yore, More than of mountains; But hearths and faces are seen no more Once of the brightest. Many a poor black cottage is there Grimy with peat smoke; Sending up in the soft evening air Purest blue incense, While the low music of psalm and prayer Rises to heaven. Kind were the voices I used to hear Round such a fireside, Speaking the mother tongue old and dear, Making the heart beat With endless tales of wonder and fear, Of plaintive singing. Reared in those dwellings have brave ones been; Brave ones are still there; Forth from their darkness on Sunday I've seen Conning pure linen, And, like the linen, the souls were clean Of them that wore it. Blessings be with ye, both now and aye, Dear human creatures! Yours is the love no gold can buy. Nor time wither. Peace be to thee and thy children, O Skye! Dearest of Islands!" "That is not one of your fisher songs, David?" "Na, na; it is a sang made aboot Skye, and our mither was a Skye woman; sae Maggie learned it to please her. I dinna think much o' it." "It is the most touching thing I ever heard." The melody was Gaelic, slow and plaintive, and though Maggie gave the English words with her own patois, the beauty and simplicity of the song was by no means injured. "Put by the books, David," said Allan. "I have no heart now for dry-as-dust lessons. Let us speak of Maggie. How is she going to live when you go to Glasgow?" "She will just bide where she is. It is her ain hame, and she is amang her ain folk." "Surely she will not live alone?" "Na, na, that wed gie occasion for ill tongues to set themsel's to wark. Aunt Janet Caird is coming to be company for her. She is fayther's sister, and no quite beyond the living wi'. I thocht o' taking the boat the morn, and going for her." "Where to?" "About twenty miles to the nor'ward, to a bit hamlet, thae call Dron Point." "What kind of a woman is she, David? I hope she is kind and pleasant."