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| The dramatic Black Cuillins, a volcanic range on the Isle of Skye, seen across a meadow of buttercups. Photo John S Gilbert C1980 |
| Oh, the far Cuillins are pullin' me awa', As take I wi' my cromack tae the road. The far Cuillins are puttin' love on me As step I wi' the sunlight for my load. Sure by Tummel and Loch Rannoch And Lochaber I will go, By heather paths wi' heaven in their wiles. And if it's thinkin' in your inner heart The braggart's in my step, You've never smelled the tangle o' the Isles. Oh the far Cuillins are puttin' love on me As step I wi' my cromack to the Isles. | It's the blue islands are pullin' me awa', Their laughter puts the leap upon the lame. The blue islands from the Skerries to Lewis Wi' the heather honey taste upon their name. [This traditional folk song was given the title "The Road to the Isles" during WWI] |
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