And stormy clouds oft shroud the day,
There lies a lonely isle, well known
As Flannan Isle, or Isle of Grey.
Seven brave souls dwelt on that rock,
And watched the lighthouse flame on high,
A guiding star to those who dared
To sail along the rugged sky.
But once a wondrous tale befell,
A tale that fills with awe the mind,
For on that isle so strangely wild,
Were three brave men whom none could find.
The lighthouse burned, its gleam undimmed,
No cries were heard across the foam,
But when their mates on mainland scanned,
Their hearts turned cold. Those men were gone.
They searched, they called across the waves,
No answering voice the silence broke,
They climbed the lighthouse steps in vain,
And found not one faint mark or spoke.
The beds lay neat, the food untouched,
The log, untouched, lay at their side,
And yet those men with faces pale,
Had sailed across that restless tide.
Were wraiths from out the ancient land
Been seeking souls along the sea?
They searched to land or searched to sky,
No trace, they had just ceased to be.
And so from age to present tale,
The mystery weaves it's haunted spell,
Flannan Isle stands silent guard,
Its secrets deep within the swell.