Sinless and still thou art, most beautiful of lakes!
Four fairy isles,—like smiles in woman's eye,
Or gems upon her bosom—rise beside
Thy spreading waters, dreamy as the sky,
Whose glories are reflected in thy tide;
While shrubs and flowers are growing in their pride,
And ancient trees, where'er our eyes we turn—
And, like a melody, thy echoes glide
Within the memory—while grey and stern
Stands, like a spirit of the past, lone old Kilchurn.