In th' Inverary Castle high, [Note 713.1]
While quick the whirling paddles fly,
We scarce receive the hours gae by,
At sailing she's sae brave o't.
Wha can at business always pine?
When summer suns in splendour shine,
We'll aften sail to see Lochfine¹,
An' whistle o'er the lave¹ o't [Note 713.2]
A' ye wha would a-hunting gang,
To places fam'd in Highland sang,
Where old Fingal¹ did foe-men bang,
An' aft gave them a grave o't:
Ye'll see the glens¹ where Ossian¹ strung
His harp - and mighty heroes sung,
Till a' the hills around him rung,
And Echo¹ tun'd the lave o't.
Around the lofty mountains rise,
That hide their heads amid the skies;
While wide the loch in propect lies,
An' mony a curling wave o't.
While swiftly o'er the waves we fly,
On every sie the hills run by;
Beneath a mild and pleasant sky,
We'll whistle o'er the lave o't.