When there the sun had blazed.
Glen-Orchay! O Glen-Orchay!
Straight vale of ridges smooth,
Full joyful there round Naos
Were the Glen-Orchay youth.
Glen-Daruadh! O Glen-Daruadh!
I love its men—I love it!
Sweet are the cuckoos on the boughs
On the grey hills above it.
Beloved is Drayen—its sounding shore;