Suddenly a voice rang out, strong, clear, and blithe:
"Mo rùn geal, dìleas,
Dìleas, dìleas,
Mo rùn geal, dìleas
Nach till thunall!"
Upon the spring of the last word came back from Iolair a voice as blithe and more sweet, the voice of a woman, with the lilt of a bird in it and all the joy of the sunshine:
"I go where the sheep go,
With the sheep are my feet:
I go where the kye go,
Their breath is so sweet: