"Ye maun cast her into a massymore,
Or away on a tide-swept isle;"
"But, out and alas!" he's answered her,
"For my wife's o' the bluid o' Argyll!"

Oh! they twa sat, and they twa grat,
And made their weary maen,
Till McLean has ridden to Dowart Castle,
And left the Queen her lane.

His wife was a Campbell, fair and fause,
Says "Lachlan, where hae ye been?"
"Oh! I hae been at Tobermory,
And kissed the hand o' a Queen!"

"Oh! we maun send the Queen a stag,
And grouse for her propine,
And we'll send her a cask o' the usquebaugh,
And a butt o' the red French wine!"

She has put a bomb in the clairet butt,
And eke a burning lowe,
She has sent them away wi' her little foot-page
That cam' frae the black Lochow.

* * *

The morn McLean rade forth to see
The last blink o' his Queen,