Skerryvore Lighthouse

19th C. engraving

[much as I would like to, I have not visited Skerryvore to take my own photographs - it's rather remote !)

 

An sgeir mhòr – the great rock stands

In mid-Atlantic far from shore.

It’s claimed the lives of many hands

From sailing vessels by the score.

And how the winds and waves did roar

Around the rock of Skerryvore.

 

There came a man called Stevenson,

From watery grave brave souls to save,

To build a lighthouse, he’s the one,

Long battling with wind and wave.

And how the winds and waves did roar

Around the rock of Skerryvore.

 

With granite from the Ross of Mull

He manufactured giant blocks,

Transported them when storms would lull

To land them on the murderous rocks.

And still the winds and waves do roar

Around the rock of Skerryvore.

 

His team worked hard in every weather

Assembling blocks, dressed to perfection;

With dovetailed joint they locked together –

Precisely engineered, each section.

And still the winds and waves do roar

Around the rock of Skerryvore.

 

For thirty months o’er six long years

They laboured seventeen hours a day,

With common aim and conquered fears

And mainland safety far away.

All day the winds and waves would roar

Around the rock of Skerryvore.

 

Completed eighteen forty three,

Immortal and immoveable,

A lonely tower in lonely sea,

Her light still shines – immutable.

For aye the winds and waves will roar

Around the light of Skerryvore.

 

Poem by

Mike Jones

 

Done