Merrily rocks the boat,
The Bell-buoy tosses and twirls,
And the bubbles that shoreward float
Are as full of colour
All the hues of the prism they show—
glitter of crimson dyes,
The orange of sunset glow,
purple of morning skies.
The sands are a silver sheet,
the waves a revel of light,
Where motion and music meet,
colour and form unite.
From the black cliffs perilous steeps,
The grass in the gale swings free;
The sea in the sunlight
And the great clouds dip to the sea.
again has not, like Mr. David Gow, felt the spell of Arran's
waters, sparkling and flashing with a million white crests,
breaking sharp and clear as crystals on rock and shingle, or
rolling creamily like liquid amber on some smooth stretch of
pink-white sand. Its seas, too, have a thousand shades of green,
from fairest olive to deepest emerald; its burns a thousand
tones of brown, from that of a dark cairngorm stone to the
yellow of a cornelian. And just so the mists and distances vary
in shades of grey and blue as delicate as that of the mantle of
Queen Maev herself, famous in Keltic story. The passing shower
or the passing cloud coming down from the narrow seas to
northward, or up over Pladda and Ailsa Craig; or the storm-wind
from the Atlantic that breaks on the shores of her old kinsman
in legend and in blood, Kintyre; all these reflect jewellery of
rare colours upon Arran seas and burns and hills. Lying prone
between sky and water, it vibrates and reflects like a sensitive
maid all the moods of nature —smiles, storms, tears. Certainly
if it is monotony that kills, then one should live longest in
Arran,changeful as sweet seventeen herself, least monotonous of
lands. There Nature's hand never stays, is never idle. Compare
it to an Italian coast, where she dawdles and languishes under a
sky of perpetual blue and a blazing sun. East is not more remote
from west, or north from south, or the gorgeous wardrobe of the
Queen of Sheba from that of a London scullery-maid.
THE HOLY ISLAND
Another of Arran's charms is
certainly cast by the Holy Island in the famous bay of Lamlash.
There gathered the fleet that fought the Saxon King Athelstan at
the great battle of Brunanburh, made famous in the finest of
early English poems; there too, many centuries later, came Hakon
of Norway with his ships, which, tempest aided, the Scottish
king defeated utterly. Thus Arran was made the scene of the last
act in the Norse incursions on the western coast, as it not
improbably had been of the first, for it must have tempted all
comers by its exposed position and the wealth of the industrious
plain of Shisken and Machrie. To the Holy Island came also St.
Molios, who lived in the cave associated with his name, on the
walls of which have been deciphered some runic characters. These
were once held to refer to Nicolas, a priest of Argyll; but a
writer in The Book of Arran now states that they refer to a
prosaically named Norseman, possibly a mere trader, one Uilaeikr
Stallr; much as the white stone which was discovered by Mr.
Pickwick was proved to bear' the words " Bill Stumps, his mark."
The island, like in shape to a lion couchant, forms a most
picturesque outpost to the southern end of the great bay of