And still, from Crinan’s moonlight shore,
He turns his eyes to Colonsay.
The moonbeams crisp the curling surge,
That streaks with foam the ocean green:
While forward still the rowers urge
Their course, a female form was seen.
That Sea-maid’s form, of pearly light,
Was whiter than the downy spray,
And round her bosom, heaving bright,