An Cuilithionn / The Cuillin
by Sorley Maclean

Far, far distant, far on a horizon,
I see the rocking of the antlered Cuillin,
Beyond the seas of sorrow, beyond the morass of agony,
I see the white felicity of the high- towered mountains.

Who is this, who is this on a bad night,
Who is this walking on the moorland?
The steps of a spirit by my side
And the soft steps of my love:

Footsteps, footsteps on the mountains,
Murmur of footsteps rising,
Quiet footsteps, gentle footsteps,
Stealthy mild restrained footsteps.

Who is this, who is this on a night of woe
Who is this, walking on the summit?
The ghost of a bare naked brain,
Cold in the chill of vicissitude.

Who is this, who is this in the night of the spirit?
It is only the naked ghost of a heart,
A spectre going alone in thought,
A skeleton naked of flesh on the mountain.

Who is this, who is this on the night of the heart?
It is the thing that is not reached,
The ghost seen by the soul
A Cuillin rising over the sea.

Who is this, who is this on the night of the soul,
Following the veering of the fugitive light?
It is only, it is only the journeying one
Seeking the Cuillin over the ocean.

Who is this, who is this on the night of mankind
It is only the ghost of the spirit,
A soul alone going on mountains,
Longing for the Cuillin that is rising.

Beyond the lochs of the blood of the children of men,
Beyond the frailty of the plain and the labour of the mountain,
Beyond poverty, consumption, fever, agony,
Beyond hardship, wrong, tryanny, distress,
Beyond misery, despair, hatred, treachery,
Beyond guilt and defilement, watchful, heroic,
The Cuillin is seen
Rising on the other side of sorrow.