Dear is this land to me, dear is this land: O Alba of the lochs! Sure I would not be sailing sad from thy foam-white sand Were I not sailing with Nathos for the Irish strand. Dear is the Forest Fort and high Dunfin, And Dun Sween, and Innis Drayno-- Often with Nathos have I striven to win To the wooded heights of these--and now we go Far hence, and to me it is a parting of woe. O woods of Coona, I can hear the singing Of the west wind among the branches green And the leaping and laughing of cool waters springing, And my heart aches for all that has been, For all that has been, my Home, all that has been! Fain would I be once more in the woods of Glen Cain, Fain would I sleep on the fern in that place: Of the fish, venison, and white badger’s flesh I am fain That plentifully we had there, or wherever our trail Carried us, yea, I am fain of that place. Glenmassan! O Glenmassan! High the sorrel there, and the sweet fragrant grasses: It would be well if I were listening now to where In Glenmassan the sun shines and the cool west wind passes, Glenmassan of the grasses! Loch Etive, O fair Loch Etive, that was my first home, I think of thee now when on the grey-green sea-- And beneath the mist in my eyes and the flying foam I look back wearily, I look back wearily to thee! Glen Orchy, O Glen Orchy, fair sweet glen, Was ever I more happy than in thy shade? Was not Nathos there the happiest of men? O may thy beauty never fade, Most fair and sweet and beautiful glade. Glen of the Roes, Glen of the Roes, In thee I have dreamed to the full my happy dream: O that where the shallow bickering Ruel flows, I might hear again, o’er its flashing gleam, The cuckoos calling by the murmuring stream. Ah, well I remember the Isle of the Thorn In dark and beautiful Loch Awe afar: Ah, from these I am now like a flower uptorn, Who shall soon be more lost than a falling star, And am now as a blown flame in the front of war! Nathos was sad when he heard this lament from the mouth of Darthool, and Ailne and Ardan looked at each other and whispered that it was the beginning of the end. Nevertheless, they did not fear to confront the days to come, for whatsoever the decrees of Fate may be a brave man does not draw back, but goes forward upon the way set before him. But Nathos was in a dream, and so heeded little, content too to chide Darthool because that she laid so much stress on vain imaginings. The voyage was a swift and good one, and even Darthool’s heart beat the quicker when once more she stood on the soil of Erin, her own land. In three days thereafter they came within sight of the Dun of Borrach, and Fergus MacRossa was glad, for soon he would be able to see Concobar the king, and tell him how great was his success.