Scotland -- Description and travel; Scotland -- History
The only spot in all the scene where silence reigns not is on board the
little boat herself; and a continuous ripple of merry chat and joyous
laughter floats away astern with her foam. From wild little islets
passed by the way come breaths of pinewood and of heather in bloom,
faint and delicious as the gales which drifted leeward of old from
homeward-bound spice-argosies of the East. But the bright eyes on board
are an inspiration themselves, independent of the sunshine and the
pure and scented air; and the gladness of youth has broken forth--the
contagion of happy and hopeful hearts. A sweet strain of melody floats
once and again from the bow, where the singing throats are:
Speed, bonnie boat, like a bird on the wing!
--the Skye Boat Song, a farewell to Prince Charlie, that old-time idol
of the Highland hearts. A sad melody it is, amid its sweetness, as are
all the old Jacobite songs, with their breathing of hopes that were
never to be fulfilled; and somehow, strains like that come to the ear
with more real tenderness when sung as to-day by clear young voices
among their native mountains.
Too soon, almost, the boat’s keel grates upon the island beach--the
strip of silver shingle under the green-fringing trees. One would
fain have prolonged especially the last part of the voyage, through
the straits between the islands--straits like the miniature narrows of
fairy-land, between whose near and bosky shores the fragile shallop
of Oberon and Titania might almost be expected to appear, flying a
web of the woodland gossamers for its sail. But other attractions
enough lie within the island greenwood. There are delicate groups of
birches to be sketched by those who have brought block and colours.
In the rivulet dells some of the young ladies have been promised the
discovery of the much-sought hart’s-tongue fern. And for those who
wish to recall to fancy the place’s romance of the past, there are the
remains of a ruined monastery to explore. But the merriest party of
all, perhaps, is that retained for the preparation of luncheon; and it
is wonderful in how short a time those dainty-fingered damsels have the
tasteful display of linen and crystal and silver spread on a grassy
plot, the clumsy-handed males being retained, after the fashion of the
knights-errant of old, for the opening of baskets and boxes, and the
seeking of leaves wherewith to decorate fruit-salvers, napkins, and the
tablecloth’s centre.
A merry meal it is, too, which follows, _al fresco_--“all in the
greenwood free”--with the contortions of carvers on their knees,
the popping of corks, and continual little explosions of mysterious
laughter from the various groups perched on cloaks and rugs wherever
a seat-hold offers round the roots of some gnarled oak or ash. Never
more gallant do young men appear than when attending the wants of their
fair comrades amid such a scene; and thrice happy is he who has such an
opportunity of laying siege to the heart that he desires.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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