Of the ancient Royal sceptre
Of the Isles had passed away.

Once from Rathlin to the southward,
Westward, to the low Tiree,
Northward, past the Alps of Coolin,
Somerled ruled land and sea.

Colonsay, Lismore, and Scarba,
Bute and Cumrae, Mull and Skye,
Arran, Jura, Lew's and Islay
Shouted then one battle-cry.

But those Isles that, still united,
Fought at Harlaw, Scotland's might,
Broken by their fierce contentions
Singly waged disastrous fight.

And the teaching of forgiveness,
Grey Iona's creed, became
Not a sign for men to reverence,
But a burning brand of shame.

Still among the names that Ruin
Had not numbered in her train,
Lived the great Clan, proud as ever
Of the race of strong Maclaine.

And his boy, like her he wedded,
Though of nature like the dove,