We left afar the lonely isle!—
“‘When on this ring of ruby red
Shall die,’ she said, ‘the crimson hue,
Know that thy favourite fair is dead,
Or proves to thee and love untrue.’”
Now, lightly poised, the rising oar
Disperses wide the foamy spray,
And, echoing far o’er Crinan’s shore,
Resounds the song of Colonsay.