The day is good, the wind is fair; The sands of time the hour declare; There rides the boat that hence will bear Me far away from Finorie. A thousand ties my soul enchain; Like arrows they awaken pain; My heart is nearly broke in twain Since I must leave thee, Finorie. Often alone I sought the hold Where mighty Fingal lived of old; Often I heard long legends told Of Finian deeds in Finorie. Often I viewed at Eve the spring Where Ossian tuned his harp to sing; Where sheen of gold the sun did bring Upon the heights of Finorie. Farewell, dear father, best of men, Far from me in the Highland glen! Heav’n smile on thee till back again I come to see dear Finorie. Mother! a name to me most dear; To lose thy tender care I fear; But in my snareful journey here I think of thee and Finorie. O brother of my love, adieu! Dear sisters, hide your grief from view; Your tears suppress, your joys renew; Be happy while at Finorie. Farewell, ye mountains capp’d with snow; Ye wild resorts of deer and roe; Long may the heath-cock live to crow Among the braes of Finorie. But matters are still further complicated in connection with this favourite song. A gentleman from North Argyll assured the writer that another Gaelic version was in general circulation long ago in Mull and Morven. This might have been the original one by Dr Macleod himself, from which Kelly translated; and the fact that the original chorus, “_Eirich agus tiugainn O_,” has been known only in Gaelic favours this supposition. Surely old folks in Morven must still be able to repeat this supposed original version if it ever had existence. If so, it is to be hoped that some one will take the trouble of giving it to the world. But whoever the author was, the song has obtained unquestionable hold of the Highland heart, no doubt largely because it refers to an early event in the history of the “Highlander’s friend,” the good, genial, and large hearted Norman Macleod. Poetry like that of A Mackay, of Moyhall (1821), of Archibald Grant, of Glenmoriston (1863), of John Macinnes (1875), Callum Macphail (1879), and of John Macfadyen (1890), shows excellent ease in verse-making, and no small amount of humour at times; but it does not demand serious examination. That so many volumes should be published indicates much activity and energy on the part of an obscure Gaelic muse.