| |
| SEVEN daughters had Lord Archibald, | |
| All children of one mother: | |
| You could not say in one short day | |
| What love they bore each other. | |
| A garland, of seven lilies, wrought! | 5 |
| Seven sisters that together dwell; | |
| But he, bold knight as ever fought, | |
| Their father, took of them no thought, | |
| He loved the wars so well. | |
| Sing mournfully, O, mournfully, | 10 |
| The solitude of Binnorie! | |
| |
| Fresh blows the wind, a western wind, | |
| And from the shores of Erin, | |
| Across the wave, a rover brave | |
| To Binnorie is steering: | 15 |
| Right onward to the Scottish strand | |
| The gallant ship is borne; | |
| The warriors leap upon the land, | |
| And hark! the leader of the band | |
| Hath blown his bugle-horn. | 20 |
| Sing mournfully, O, mournfully, | |
| The solitude of Binnorie! | |
| |
| Beside a grotto of their own, | |
| With boughs above them closing, | |
| The seven are laid, and in the shade | 25 |
| They lie like fawns reposing. | |
| But now, upstarting with affright, | |
| At noise of man and steed, | |
| Away they fly to left, to right;— | |
| Of your fair household, father-knight, | 30 |
| Methinks you take small heed! | |
| Sing mournfully, O, mournfully, | |
| The solitude of Binnorie! | |
| |
| Away the seven fair Campbells fly, | |
| And over hill and hollow, | 35 |
| With menace proud, and insult loud, | |
| The youthful rovers follow. | |
| Cried they, “Your father loves to roam: | |
| Enough for him to find | |
| The empty house when he comes home; | 40 |
| For us your yellow ringlets comb, | |
| For us be fair and kind!” | |
| Sing mournfully, O, mournfully, | |
| The solitude of Binnorie! | |
| |
| Some close behind, some side by side, | 45 |
| Like clouds in stormy weather; | |
| They run, and cry, “Nay, let us die, | |
| And let us die together.” | |
| A lake was near; the shore was steep; | |
| There never foot had been; | 50 |
| They ran, and with a desperate leap | |
| Together plunged into the deep, | |
| Nor ever more were seen. | |
| Sing mournfully, O, mournfully, | |
| The solitude of Binnorie! | 55 |
| |
| The stream that flows out of the lake, | |
| As through the glen it rambles, | |
| Repeats a moan o’er moss and stone, | |
| For those seven lovely Campbells. | |
| Seven little islands, green and bare, | 60 |
| Have risen from out the deep: | |
| The fishers say, those sisters fair | |
| By faeries all are buried there, | |
| And there together sleep. | |
| Sing mournfully, O, mournfully, | 65 |
| The solitude of Binnorie! | |
| |
