Sing me a song of a lad that is gone, Say, could that lad be I? Merry of soul he sailed on a day Over the sea to Skye. Mull was astern, Rum on the port, Eigg on the starboard bow; Glory of youth glowed in his soul: Where is that glory now? Sing me a song of . . . .

Give me again all that was there, Give me the sun that shone! Give me the eyes, give me the soul, Give me the lad that's gone! Sing me a song of . . . . Billow and breeze, islands and seas, Mountains of rain and sun, All that was good, all that was fair, All that was me is gone.

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