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DICTIONAHV OF OLD ENGLISH

THE GAELIC SONGS OF DUNCAN MACINTYRE

Grain Ghaidhealach

LE

Donnchadh Macantsaoir

AIR AN EADAR-THEANGACHADH AGUS AIR AN CUR A MACH

LE

DEORSA CALDAIR

DUN-EIDEANN: IAIN GRANND

31 GEORGE IV. BRIDGE 1912

The

Gaelic Songs

OF

Duncan Maclntyre

EDITED WITH TRANSLATION AND NOTES

BY

GEORGE CALDER

EDINBURGH: JOHN GRANT

31 GEORGE IV. BRIDGE 1912

S>0

ALMA BAINTIGHEARNA BHRAID-ALBANN

NIGHEAN CINN-FEADHNA NAN GREUMACH

^0

ALMA MARCHIONESS OF BREADALBANE

DAUGHTER OF THE CHIEFS OF THE GRAHAM

EDITOR'S PREFACE

The editor has been for a long time familiar with the name of Duncan Maclntyre, a name which is indeed famed throughout the Highlands — and far beyond. But owing to the fact that Gaelic is read by few of those who speak it, and that the language of the poet is admittedly difficult, the knowledge of him is for the most part confined literally to his name, or to a few lines of his poems. Even in the district where he was born and bred, the same ignorance, with little abatement, though happily with some notable exceptions, prevails. The editor, having settled in the Duncan Ban country, conceived that it reflected little credit on his intelligence to share in the general ignorance of one so widely re- nowned. He therefore studied the bard's poems, visited the places with which his name is connected, and read the compositions with persons to whom the language and the locality are alike familiar. On the occasion of a visit to the late Rev. James M'Dougall of Duror, the editor chanced to mention that he had some thoughts of attempting a new edition of the poefs works with a metrical translation. The genial old Highland gentle- man hailed the suggestion with such genuine warmth

ix

EDITOR'S PREFACE

and undisguised heartiness that the editor began the work that very day. It has been continued with little interruption till the result is at last, and not without many misgivings, laid before the public.

In editing the text he has been conservative. The peculiarities of the leading early editions may be clearly traced in this revised edition. In translation he has endeavoured to give, if not a literal, at all events a line by line rendering, and to preserve in the English versification some resemblance to the Gaelic original. Within these severe limits all poetical embellishments have beeen rigorously confined.

In writing the notes, while he has received information from most of his friends residing in the neighbourhood, and can gratefully recall many a pleasant meeting and many an interesting conversation, he has also the pleasure of acknowledging the kindness and courtesy of many correspondents, among whom are the Marchioness of Tullibardine, Mrs Campbell of Dunstaffnage, and Andrew Ross, Esq., Ross Herald, who were consulted on military affairs ; the Hon. Niall D. Campbell, Sir Duncan Campbell of Barcaldine, Bart., C.V.O., Mr John MacGregor, W.S., Mr N. B. M'Kenzie, Mr Duncan Maclntyre, Edinburgh, and Rev. Hector Maclean of Kilfinichen, on genealogy; Dr M'Diarmid, late of Killin, on local traditions; Mr Duncan Maclntyre, London, on all the above subjects ; Rev. Farquhar M'Rae of Glenorchy, and Rev. J. W. Maclntyre of Kilmonivaig, on some difficult readings in the text ; Dr W. J. Watson, on place names ; and Rev. William Simpson, D.D., on legal terminology.

Thanks are also due to Rev. A. E. Robertson for the photograph of Ben Dorain ; to Dr Gillies of Easdale for

EDITOR'S PREFACE

lending his water-colour of John Campbell of the Bank ; to Mr Thos. Ross, LL.D., for sketches of the poet's monument and tomb, and to Mr T. M. Logan for the sketch of the gun ; to the late Mr Duncan M'Isaac for reading with his well-known kindness and accuracy a proof of the text and translation ; and, above all, to Rev. C. M. Robertson for reading a proof of the whole book (with the exception of the Note on the Metrics), and for making many corrections and useful suggestions. The editor now parts with this book, the labour and recreation of years, in the hope that, whatever its limitations, it may be found in some degree worthy of the poefs genius, and helpful to those who wish to study Highland Gaelic in its purest and noblest form.

G. C.

August 1912.

XI

AN CLAR-INNSIDH

Oran do Chlaidheamh mhic an Leisdeir agus do Bhl^r na h-Eaglaise Brice ....

Oran do Thailbeart a fhuaradh o Bhan-righ MMri

Oran do'n Mhusg .

Oran do'n Righ

Oran do Mhorair Ghleann Urchaidh

Coire a' Cheathaich

Cumha Coire a' Cheathaich

Oran Seacharan Seilge

Oran do lain Caimbeul a' Bhanca

Oran Ghleann Urchaidh .

Oran an t-Samhraidh

Oran do Chaiptean Donnchadh Caimbeul an Geard Dhun eideinn .

Oran do charaid T^illeir air son Cuairt Shuirghe

Oran do'n Tailleir an eirig Orain a rinn esan an aobhar

a Charaid Cumha Ghilleasbuig Achaladair Cumha Chailein Ghleann lubhair Oran do'n Bhriogais Marbh-rann Coilich Oran, mar gu'n deanadh Nighean e do Nighin eile

Moladh Beinn-dorain ....

xii

2

10 16 20 30 42 52 62 66 78 82

98 108

112 122 130 142 148 156 160

CONTENTS

PAOB

Song to the Sword of Fletcher and the Battle of Falkirk . 3

Song to a Halbert which was got from Queen Mary . . 11

Song to the Musket ...... 17

Song to the King ....... 21

Song to Lord Glenorchy ...... 31

The Corrie of the Mist . . . . . .43

Dirge for the Misty Corrie ..... 53

Song on Missing at Hunting ..... 63

Song to John Campbell of the Bank . . . .67

Song on Glenorchy . . . . . .79

Song to the Summer

Song to Captain Duncan Campbell in the Edinburgh Guard . 99

Song to a Friend, a Tailor, for a Courting Trip . . .109

Song to the Tailor in reply to a Song which Friend of his .

Lament for Archibald of Achallader

Lament for Colin of Glenure

Song to the Breeches

Elegy for a Cock .

Song such as one Maid would make to Another

Praise of Ben Dorain

xiii

he made for £	I
	. 113
	. ]?.3
	. 131
	. 143
	. 149
	. 157
	161

AN CLAR-INNSIDH

Oran d'a Ch^ile nuadh-poste	.	. 196
Oran do Leanabh-altrom ....	.	. 206
Oran GaoU ......	•	. 210
Oran Sugraidh .....	.	. 216
Oran do Chaora a fhuaradh a' Ghibht o Mhnaoi uasail araidh	. 222
Oran Luaidh .....		. 236
Oran do Ghunna d'an ainm Nic Coiseam		242
Oran Duthcha .....		. 248
Oran Alasdair .....		. 252
Oran do'n t-sean Fhreiceadan Ghaidhealach		. 254
Oran do Reisimeid Earra-ghaidheal		264
Cumha larla Bhraid-albann		272
Oran do'n Eideadh Ghkidhealach .		. 278
Oran nam Fineachan a fhuair am Fearann air ais o'n Righ 's a
Bhliadhna, 1782 ....		286
Oran a' Bhotail . . • . .		296
Oran a' Bhranndaidh ....		302
Rainn do'n Phadhadh ....		306
Rainn Gearradh-arm ....		308
Moladh do'n Ghaidhlig, 's do'n Phiob Mhoir 's a' Bhliadhna 1781	312
»» »» »»	1785	5 318
»» »» ♦♦	178?	I 324
>» >» «>	1784	328
»» »» »»	178S	334
»» >» »»	178S	340
Aoir Uisdean Phiobair ....		344
Aoir Anna ......		852
Rainn a ghabhas Maighdean d'a Leannan		356
Rainn I Chalum Cille ....		858
An Comh-dhunadh ....		360
Oran nam Balgairean .....		366
Oran Dhun-eideinn .....		370
Oran do dh'Iarla Bhraid-albann ....		378

CONTENTS

Song to his newly wedded Wife . Song to a Foster-child Love Song ..... Courting Song .... Song to a Ewe which was received as a Gift Fulling Song ....

Song to a Gun named Cosham's Daughter A Birth-place Song .... Song to Sandy .... Song to the old Black Watch Song to the Argyll Regiment Lament for the Earl of Breadalbane Song to the Highland Garb

Song to the Highland Clans who got back King in the Year 1782

Song to the Bottle ....

Song to the Brandy

Verses on Thirst ....

Verses on Arms ....

Praise to Gaelic and the Great Bagpipe in

Satire on Hugh the Piper .

Satire on Anna ....

Verses which a Maiden sings to her Lover

Verses on lona ....

The Conclusion ....

Song to the Foxes ....

Song to Edinburgh

Song to the Earl of Breadalbane .

XV

			PAOK
.	197
.	207
.	211
.	217
from a certain Lad;	' 223
.	237
.	243
.	249
.	253
.	255
.	265
.	273
.	279
their Land from the
.	287
,	297
.	303
.	307
.	309
the Year 1781	313
1782	319
1783	325
1784	329
1785	335
1789	341
.	345
			353
			357
			359
			361
			367
			371
			379

AN CLAR-INNSIDH

PAOK

Oran do Reisiraeid Bhraid-albann .... 388

Oran na G^said ....... 392

Oran a' Champa 's a' Bhliadhna 1798 . . . . 394

Oran do'n Inbhear ....... 898

Cead deireannach nam Beann ..... 406

Rainn Claidheimh . . . . . . .412

Rainn do'n cheud Cheaird ..... 416

Marbh-rann an Ughdair dha fein . . . . .418

Appendix I. —

Aoir Iain Fhaochaig ...... 428

Marbh-rann do Chu a chaidh troimh 'n Eigh 's a' Mhaigh-

each tarsuinn 'na Bheul ..... 436

Oran eile do Bhlar na h-Eaglaise Brice . . . 488

XVI

CONTENTS

PAOl

Song to the Breadalbane Regiment . . . . 389

Song on the Gazette ...... 393

Song to the Camp in the Year 1798 . . . . 395

Song to the Inver ....... 399

The last Farewell of the Bens . . . . .407

Verses on a Sword . . . . . . .413

Verses on the First Craft . . . . . .417

The -A uthor's Epitaph on Himself .... 419

Appendix I. —

Satire on John Wilkes (Whelks) . . . .429

Elegy on a Dog that went through the Ice with a Hare in

his Mouth ....... 487

Another Song to the Battle of Falkirk . . . 439

Appendix II. —

Notes on the Text . . . . . .446

Appendix III. —

Historical and Explanatory Notes .... 481

Appendix IV. —

Note on the Metrics ...... 513

Glossary ........ 521

Names of Persons ....... 524

Names of Places ....... 528

xvii

LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS

Full-page

FACE PAGE

Ben Dorain (from a photograph) . . . . xl

John Campbell of the Bank ..... 66

The Poet's Monument ...... 360

The Poet's Grave ....... 424

'The Poet's Discharge from the Breadalbane Fencibles . 510

In Text

[The Poet's Gun (according to tradition) .The Arms of Maclntyre .

PAGK

246 812

XIX

EXPLANATION OF NUMERALS

Numerals coming first in a series, or following a semicolon, refer to the page of the Gaelic text; numerals following a comma, refer to the line on the page.

LIST OF ABBREVIATIONS

A B C D E Each letter denotes one of the first five Editions of

the poet's works. ^n. The Irish ^Eneid, Irish Texts Society, vol. vi.

Arms. Armstrong's Gaelic Dictionary.

A . U. The Annals of Ulster.

O. C. Q. Caithreim Cellachain Caisil, by A. Bugge.

C. B. The Celtic Review.

H. B. A Gaelic Dictionary, published at Heme Bay.

H. S. D. A Dictionary of the Gaehc Language, by the Highland

Society of Scotland. Ir. 01. Irish Glosses, a Tract on Latin Declension, Wh.

Stokes. Ir. T. Irische Texte, by Windisch and Stokes.

/. T. S. Irish Texts Society.

M'B. An Etymological Dictionary of the Gaelic Language,

by Alexander MacBain. ML The Milan Glosses on the Psalms.

O'Cl. O'Clery's Irish Glossary, Revue Celtique, iv. , v.

O'D. O'Donovan's Supplement to O'Reilly.

O'R. An Irish-English Dictionary, by Edward O'Reilly.

O.S. Ordnance Survey.

Sg. Glosses on Priscian (St Gall).

Wb. Glosses on the Pauline Epistles (Wiirtzburg).

Z^. Grammatica Celtica, editio altera, by Zeuss.

XX

BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION

The Scots Magazine and Edinburgh Literary Miscellany^ for October 1812, contains the following notice: —

" Oct. 6. At Edinburgh, in his 88th year, Duncan M'Intyre, alias Donncha-han nan-Oran, the celebrated Highland bard. This veteran, and venerable poet, was born in Druimliaghart, Glenorchy, Argyllshire, 20th March 1724. He fought at the memorable battle of Falkirk, on the 17th of January 1745 (under the command of the gallant Colonel Campbell of Carwhin), where he had the misfortune to lose his sword (Claidh- eamh ceannard chloin an Leasdair\ of which he has given such a minute description in his admirable song to that memorable day. Being a most excellent shooter, he was afterwards appointed forester to the Right Hon. the Earl of Breadalbane in Coire Cheathaich and Bein Dourain, and thereafter to his Grace the Duke of Argyll, Buachill- Eite. He afterwards served in one of the Earl of Breadalbane''s fencible regiments, raised in the year 1793, wherein he continued until he was discharged in 1799, and from that period till his death, he has lived a retired life, rendered not uncomfortable by the beneficence of that nobleman. The chief amusements of his youth were fowling and fishing. In his young days he was remark- ably handsome, and, throughout his whole life, possessed a very easy and agreeable disposition. Although when

xxi

BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION

provoked, his enemies generally felt the effects of his pride and resentment, yet to his benefactors he was equally grateful. He was, like aU the rest of the poets, very fond of company, and a cheerful glass, and was not only very agreeable over his bottle, but also very circumspect. Although M'Intyre discovered an early inclination to poetry, he never produced anything worthy of much notice till the memorable battle of Falkirk, a description of which composes the first song in the valuable collection published by him. The collection contains lyric, comic, epic, and religious compositions, of such merit, as renders it difficult to say in what depart- ment of poetry this writer most excelled. At a period less remote than that in which this celebrated author was born, public schools were but thinly established in the Highlands of Scotland, he therefore had not the benefit of any education, nor the advantage of reading the productions of other authors ; yet, notwithstanding, the whole poems and songs contained in the admirable collection published by him, are solely of his own com- position, unassisted by anything but the direction and power of his own genius. His poetical talents, therefore, justly entitle him to rank among the first bards of the world, for all good judges of Celtic poetry agree, that nothing like the purity of his Gaelic, and the style of his poetry, has appeared in the Highlands of Scotland, since the days of his countryman, the sublime Ossian. It is of Donncha-ban it might justly be said,

Ifa'n leabhadh ea'soig gach oroid is Sgevl^

Nail cuireadh heo no marbh glasghairm air a bhevl" *

1 If every speech and tale he had studied in his youth, Neither dead nor living had put muzzle on his mouth, xxii

BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION

Such is the earliest attempt to write the poet's Life. But it had been thought of before. The preface to the Third Edition, 1804, announced that "a gentleman of learn- ing and abilities has already undertaken that task."" And the next Edition, that of 1834, commenting on the above announcement, says: "Whether this was ever published we have not been able to learn, but think that if it had appeared we would have been able to find it. Subjoined are a few particulars collected from various sources, and upon which reliance may be placed." The sources are, however, confined to the above notice in the Scots Magazine, from which the statements in the Fourth Edition are taken verbatim, and on which the same but not greater reliance is to be placed, for the account has gained nothing by repetition.

Whatever may have been the reason, this notice of the poet's death was delayed for some months. It is clear from Brown's Monumental Inscriptions that he died on the 14th May, and from the MS. Record of Interments in Greyfriars Churchyard that he was buried on the " 19th May, three paces east of Bertram's tomb." There his grave may be seen marked by a square monument, erected in 1855, with a suitable inscription on one face, and on another the first eight lines of Marbh-rann an Ughdair dha fein, p. 418, while the pjrramid above is adorned with weapons and trophies of war and of the chase.

Drumliaghart, where the poet was born, is a spur of land stretching athwart the valley that lies toward the west end of Loch Tulla, and is visible from the West Highland Railway. Favourable to some extent for culti- vation, it was in the early part of the 18 th century

occupied by a crofting community, one of whom was the

xxiii

BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION

poet's father. Now the deer graze by the grass-grown hearths ; and the scene all around is a magnificent solitude. To the north tower the peaks of the Monadh Dubh ; to the south and east are " Glenorchy's proud mountains,'"' prominent among which are Mam Charaidh and Ben Dorain, the subject of his songs. A region in summer beautiful as the land of dreams, in autumn raucous with the belling of stags ; while in winter the mountains assume and pass through all shades of colour from deepest indigo to virgin white. Duncan Maclntyre had looked on these things with a poet's eye, and learned what there was to learn from them. For church and school were situated at Clachan-an-diseirt, now known as Dalmally, fifteen miles down the glen, and education in the accepted sense was quite beyond his reach. But he had drunk deep from the well of traditional song and story, and when the time came he could himself touch the harp with a master's hand.

When he left this quiet haven, a youth of twenty-one, it was to take service with the King. The troubles of the '45 were felt in the wilds of Glenorchy. The Royal Warrant to the Duke of Argyll as Lord-Lieutenant of the County ran ; " You are hereby ordered and directed to call out such part of the Militia and Fencible men of the Shire of Argyll which you shall find most necessary or expedient for our Service and the Public Peace." Among such fencible men was Archibald Fletcher, tacksman of the Crannach, that part of the farm of Achallader which lies a little more than a mile upstream from the old castle of the same name. Himself unwilling, or as the poem broadly hints, afraid to go, Fletcher engaged Maclntyre as his substitute, promising him 300 merks

XXIV

BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION

and the use of a sword. How the Royal troops behaved at Falkirk all the world knows. The poet, at heart a Jacobite, not only ran away like the rest, but lost his employer's weapon. When the regiment was disbanded, on or about the 1st September 1746, he, nothing daunted, returned to his native place ; but his reception was of the coldest. Fletcher refused to pay the fee, alleging as a reason the loss of his sword. Duncan had only a poet's remedy. Facit indignatio versus (Indignation makes verses). The poet, for the first time realising his gifts, made a song about Fletcher which in its way set the heather on fire. It certainly roused the ire of the tacks- man to such a pitch, that the next time they foregathered he struck the poet over the back with his stick, remarking : Dean oran air sin, a ghille : " Make a song on that, my lad.*" On hearing of the matter, Breadalbane interposed, saw justice done, and caused payment to be made to the poet, who thus came by his own. He had his cash in hand^ and his revenge beforehand. And we note with pleasure that notwithstanding all this, it was one bearing the name of Fletcher who did in after years act a very friendly part towards the poet, striving, though ineff'ectually, to secure for him the appointment of Bard to the High- land Society of Scotland.

Soon afterwards his noble patron appointed him forester in Coire Cheathaich and Ben Dorain. The locality was already rich in associations, but the light of his genius has made it classic ground. Here in his youthful prime, in a good position which was assured, combining light duties with ample leisure, he composed the two poems which have raised his name highest in the temple of fame. Tradition says he lived in a cottage near Bad-

BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION

odhar, the ruins of which are still visible, and every hill and dale in the neighbourhood is sung — every mountain between his home and Auch, which was then the seat of power, is named with pride and affection. The Corrie itself is dwelt on with a minuteness of detail which only genius could render interesting. It remains as he left it, save for the disappearance of the wood, and the glugan- phimbach, p. 46, 61. The latter was, according to tradi- tion, a spring rising out of the mountain to the height of a foot or two. So it was a delight to others besides the poet, till a Sasunnach wandering in these parts, and moved by what spirit it is not easy to say, rammed his stick into the orifice and stopped the jet for ever.

After a time and probably owing to promotion he removed to Dalness, which lies under the shadow of Buachaill Eite. The ruins of his cottage, situated on a level space between two streams, and shaded by old ash trees, must always be a sacred spot to the admirers of genius. Tradition has it that he looked after Breadal- bane's deer on Ben Starabh. The notice says he was forester to Argyll, presumably to Archibald, third Duke. The estate of Dalness, however, was in posses- sion of the Macdonald family long before Maclntyre"'s day. In 1608 Angus Macdonald got a Tack thereof from Archibald Campbell of Inverawe, and it remained in the tenure of the family till, in 1694, the same superior granted a proper wadset to Alexander Macdonald of the lands of Dalness, who the same year became absolute owner of the estate, obtaining a feu-charter which for greater security he deposited with the Chief of Glen- garry, where it remained till Glengarry's house was

burned down by the Duke of Cumberland in 1746, and

xxvi

BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION

the charter was destroyed or lost. In 1764 the lands were feued of new by Mrs Janet Campbell of Inverawe to John Macdonald of Dalness. The presumption that it was this family and not Argyll, to whom the poet was forester, is strengthened by a reference in his Song to a Ewe. A lady named Susan had presented him with a ewe bred in Coire Uanan, p. 222, 9. Alex- ander Macdonald of Dalness married Jean, daughter to Dugald Maclachan of Corrounan. They had four sons, and after Iheir father's death in 1726, three of them, including the successor to the property, lived for some time with their grandfather at Corrie. What is more likely than that some young relative of his employer should present the poet with a ewe in the same spirit in which he received it ?

Probably it was to his first home that he brought his bride, Mairi Bhan Og. A relation of the poet, as tradi- tion says, intermarriage in the crofting community being frequent and close, she was in a somewhat better social position than her lover. Her father, a petty bailiff as well as keeper of a small wayside inn, which was later replaced by Inveroran Hotel, was named Nicol Maclntyre, and she inherited not only his cajving kine but his Christian name, being known as Mairi Nighean Neacail (Mary, daughter of Nicol), to distinguish her from the other Maries of the Clan. A handsome woman according to all accounts, she became a dutiful and affectionate wife. The husband being a poet and admittedly of an easy disposition, the wife required to be practical, as the following anecdote will show. One rainy day as he lay in bed composing his poems, the wet began

to make itself disagreeably felt. Addressing her by the

xxvii

BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION

classic title she then enjoyed and has ever since retained, A Mhairi Bhan Og, ars esan, hifalhh a mach agus cuir tugha air an tigh, tha snigh a"* tighinn a stigh : " Fair Young Mary,'' quoth he, " go forth and thatch the house, the ooze comes in." Yet he would hear nothing in her dispraise. An admirer of the poems, fascinated by the description of her charms, but disappointed by her actual appearance, hinted to the poet that she was not so very beautiful after all : Cha n-fhaca tusa i lets na suilean agamsa : " You have not seen her with my eyes.'"' Reading the songs, we are charmed by her as she appeared in her youth to loving eyes in the Highlands. Later glimpses show her ever the same comely and efficient helpmeet to her husband. She bore him his children, and saw some of her daughters settled in life, one married to Dr Mac- Naughton, known as Dr MacVicar, Killin ; another, Elizabeth, to Joseph Hutcheson, who had shipping interests in the Western Isles. Of both these unions representatives survive. After they left the Highlands, the legend runs that when he was cook to the regiment, she presided in the canteen ; that latterly she kept a shop in the Lawnmarket ; that she was a good distiller and that her husband, called upon to answer for this part of the housekeeping, satisfied the court by declaring that he had drunk more whisky than he had ever made. Duncan Stewart, the man who collected the money where- with to erect the tombstone in the Greyfriars Churchyard, often — so he told my informant — saw her when she lived in the West Port, and wore a sowhack. She accompanied her husband in his journeys to the Highlands ; and two years after his death she followed him to the same grave

in the Greyfriars Churchyard.

xxviii

BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION

The following document, given to the editor by James MacNaughton, Edinburgh, whose father, son to Dr MacNaughton of Killin, wrote it, summarises the family history : —

[Duncan] Maclntyre alias Donnacha

[Ban nan] Grain and his wife

[Mary] Maclntyre alias Mari bhan

Gg [lie bu]ried in the Greyfriars

Churchyard Edinr. — They lie

side by side in front of Bertram's

stone a grave's length being between

them and it — Their 3 sons James,

Peter and Donald and 2 of their

Daughters Mary and Elizabeth also

3 of their grandchildren James, James

and Duncan M* Naught on are all buried

at the same spot as near each

other as circumstances at the time

of their decease would admit.

They also had

1 son named Donald and one daughter named

Christina buried at Clachan an Diseirt

[ ] Peter buried at Killin

[ ] Cohn ? at Coldstream

and

[Ar]chibald died in England

[place?] unisnown.

1 Daughter named Ann bu[ried at]

Kenmore.

After Maclntyre left the Highlands he joined the Edinburgh City Guard. When this event took place is uncertain, but beyond question he had abandoned Nic Cbiseam, his stalking gun, p. 16, 17, and shouldered Sebnaid, the weapon of the Guard, p. 16, 12, before the first edition of his songs appeared in 1768. " A humble Highlander,'* says Chambers, " considered it as getting a

xxix

BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION

berth when he was enlisted into the Edinburgh Guard. Of this feeling we have a remarkable illustration in an anecdote regarding the Highland bard, Duncan Maclntyre, usually called Donacha Bhan [sic]. This man, really an exquisite poet to those understanding his language, became the object of a kind interest to many educated persons in Perthshire, his native county [sic]. The Earl of Breadal- bane sent to let him know that he wished to befriend him, and was anxious to procure him some situation that might put him comparatively at his ease. Poor Duncan re- turned his thanks, and asked his Lordship's interest to get him into the Edinburgh Town Guard — pay sixpence a day." Tradition adds that he had besides a cow's grass on the Castle Esplanade !

Of his life in Edinburgh little is known. It is not surprising that Burns, who came and went like a meteor in 1786, should never have heard of the Highland bard, then resident in the city ; but it does seem strange to have to look in vain through subscription lists for the name of Scott, who was interested in everything Scottish, Lowland or Highland, and who loved the Highlanders so well that he even knew a good deal of Gaelic. A glance at the minutes of the Highland and Agricultural Society of Scotland will suggest an explana- tion. The members set before them as a definite aim the encouragement of Gaelic poetry, for which doubtless they deserve great praise. Yet their outlays on this great object were small, their applause stinted and halting, their judgment such that it will not be upheld by posterity. If this be true of educated and influential Highlanders, what could be expected of Lowlanders, even though they were men of genius, like Burns and Scott ?

XXX

BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION

The Society's Records begin in the year 1784, and narrate how the pipe-playing competition, hitherto held in connection with the Tryst at Falkirk, was removed to Edinburgh. To a request by the London Society that their brethren in the northern Capital should take charge of and give judgment in the competitions, they acquiesced, and deputed John Clerk of Elden, one of their members, to proceed to Falkirk for this purpose. Attended by the secretary and by the Society's piper and officer, who carried with them the Prize Pipe and money sufficient for the prizes, he reached Falkirk on the 12th October, the day on which by the Almanack of the year the Tryst was to hold. But they found that they had arrived a couple of days too soon. Despairing of a successful gathering, they decided that they would not again meet at Falkirk, but appointed the gathering to take place in Edinburgh on 20th October that year, and in succeeding years after the races, between the hay season and the harvest. Sixteen pipers assembled and took part in the programme, which was previously arranged in two parts. "The first consisted of various kinds of ancient Highland music, particularly Salutes, Laments, Marches, and Gatherings, made choice of by the different candidates on the order of their names previously fixed by ballot, after which the Bard Maclntyre rehearsed an occasional Gaelic poem. The second part consisted of the Glasmheur prescribed to them by the judges, and was concluded with a piece [of pipe music] by the Professor, and a Gaelic song by the Bard Campbell in praise of the Pipe, Gaelic Language, and Highland dress in which the candidates and bards appeared."

The six pieces beginning on p. 312 are the successful xxxi

BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION

prize poems composed by Duncan Ban for the Highland Society in London, in the years denoted by their respective titles. These fine poems amply merit the honour which the poet attained by them, though he did not meet with the same success in his own country.

At a meeting of the committee held on 28th Decem- ber 1784, "Duncan Maclntyre sung his poetical Gaelic composition On the Restitution of the Forfeited Estates, and distributed printed copies among the members. The committee were much pleased with the bard's performance, and at his request recommended to the Secretary to transmit a copy of his song to the Secretary of the Highland Society of London, and to acquaint him that Maclntyre desired to be a candidate for the prizes offered by that Society for poetical compositions in Gaelic On the Restitution of the Highland Dress and the Forfeited Estates.''^

Early in the following year Donald Shaw sung to the committee his Gaelic song On the Restitution of the Fojfeited Estates, which was also transmitted to London. In September the " meeting delivered to the Bard Duncan Maclntyre the prize of 50 merks" for the above song. Alexander Cameron from Lochaber and the Bard Shaw received a part of the collection arising from tickets and admissions. Cameron had applied for funds to publish his MS. in 1786. Next year the committee recommended the purchase of the MS. He was afterwards appointed Bard to the Society, and his death is referred to at a meeting on 13th January 1789, when Dr Grant moved that Donald Shaw be employed as the Society^s Bard in place of Cameron now deceased. Shaw remained the only candidate till 1st August, when "Duncan Maclntyre,

xxxii

BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION

being mentioned as a candidate with Shaw for the office of bard, and the convener [Mr Fletcher] having produced a small volume of poems composed by the said Maclntyre to which he appealed as evidence of Maclntyre's poetic merit, the sub-committee resolved to take a comparative trial of the merit of the competitors, and for the purpose recommended to each of them to prepare a poem On the Warlike Exploits of the 42nd Regiment, or Moladh na sean Reisamid duith, and to have their poems in readiness to rehearse viva voce before the sub-committee on Friday, the 24th July next, at two o'clock p.m., and the committee expect that the competitors will be ready to say on oath, if desired, that they have received no assistance from any person in the composition of the subjects of trial.''

The eventful day arrived, and "Donald Shaw and Duncan Maclntyre, the only competitors for the office of bard, rehearsed in presence of this committee poetical compositions On the Military Exploits of the 42nd Regi- ment, being the subject prescribed to them at a former Meeting of this Committee, and Mr Maclntyre gave in a printed copy of his performance ; resolved as the opinion of this Committee that the Society should indemnify the expense of printing both compositions, and declared that they will fix their opinion on Friday, the 31st inst., at 12 o'clock, so as to be reported to the General Meeting on the 1st of August next, and copies of both compositions to be sent to the Members of Committee before the day of Meeting, Mr Macfarlane to be employed to write Shaw's composition previous to printing, and to be allowed some consideration for his trouble."

On the 31st July the sub-committee again met, and xxxiii c

BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION

"having read and considered the compositions of the respective candidates, and having heard the same again rehearsed by them viva voce, declare it as their opinion that these performances are both compositions of very considerable poetic merit, but that on the whole when the nature of the subject and the manner in which it has been treated by each of the candidates is taken under view, the Poem composed by Donald Shaw appears to them to possess the highest [sic] degree of comparative merit, and therefore they humbly report that in their opinion Donald Shaw ought to be elected Bard of this Society with the established emoluments of the Office. At the same time the Committee are called upon from a sense of justice, to declare that Duncan Maclntyre''s poetic genius as appears from his present and other compositions, deserves encouragement, and in particular that his Eulogy on the Miisic of the Pipe, containing a masterly description of that instrument, is a performance of singular merit, and therefore the Committee beg leave to suggest to this Society to consider his case to recommend him to the liberality and patronage of the Highland Society of London, as well as to bestow on him some mark of their own approbation.

" On hearing the above report the same was unanimously approved of, and a Precept ordered to be issued on the Treasurer in favour of Duncan Maclntyre for 100 merks.""

So ended Duncan Ban's hopes of becoming Bard to the Highland and Agricultural Society of Scotland. In ten years, however, Nemesis overtook his judges. It will be better to hear the sentence from their own

mouth.

xxxiv

BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION

6th December 1799. — "Upon resuming the consider- ation of a matter frequently in view of the Directors, resolved to recommend to the ensuing General Meeting to discon- tinue the offices of Gaelic Professor and Bard, as totally unnecessary and a misapplication so far of the funds, neither of these men answering the purpose of their appointment, and that their names shall be left out of the establishment for the present year ; at same time that it would be proper, considering the severity of the season, to allow them a year's salary each when their names were struck off the Roll/'

When the Breadalbane Fencibles were raised during the Revolution scare in 1793, he joined the ranks and re- mained in them till the Battalion was disbanded six years later. The current narrative says that when he was left as cook in charge of the mess he sometimes entirely forgot his duties, till, admonished by the arrival of his hungry companions, he successfully exerted his powers to make them forget that they had not dined. He himself tells us that in camp they did not spare the dram ; and doubtless to that period his convivial songs are to be assigned. Till his enrolment in the Fencibles he had been serving in the City Guard, and to their ranks he returned (p. 406, note), retiring finally about the year 1806. There is no indica- tion of where or how he spent his last few years, except that, we are assured, he lived in comfort from his savings and the small income derived from the Third Edition of his poems.

Once or twice he revisited the Highlands on business connected with his poems. He was accompanied by his wife, and when the report spread that they were to pass through a district, the interest was great. It is still

XXXV

BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION

remembered that at Benderloch the children were let out of school for an hour or two in order to see the famous pair. Several persons are still living who recaU that their parents saw and conversed with him on these occasions ; but we must depend on three brief records as to his personal appearance. "I knew a Highland lady,'"* says Principal Shairp, " who remem- bered to have seen him in her childhood on one of these occasions, when he visited her father's house in Mull. He was wandering about with the wife of his youth, Fair Young Mary, still fair though no longer young. He then wore, if I remember aright, a tartan kilt, and on his head a cap made of fox''s skin. He was fair of hair and face, with a pleasant countenance and a happy, attractive manner. An amiable, sweet-blooded man, who never, it is said, attacked anyone unprovoked ; but when he was assailed he could repay smartly in that satire which came naturally to most Highland Bards."

The Rev. Mr M'Callum of Arisaig " saw him travelling slowly with his wife. He was dressed in the Highland garb, with a checked bonnet over which a large bushy tail of a wild animal hung, a badger's skin fastened by a belt in front, a hanger by his side, and a soldier's wallet was strapped to his shoulders. He had not been seen by any present before then, but he was immediately recognised. A forward young man asked him if it was he that made Ben Dorain ? ' No,' replied the venerable old man, ' God made Ben Dorain, but I praised it.' (An tusa a rinn Beinn-dorain f ''S e Dia a rinn Beinn-dorain, ach is mise a mhol i.) He then inquired if I would buy

a copy of his book ? I told him to call upon me, paid

xxxvi

BIOGKAPHICAL INTRODUCTION

him three shillings, and had some conversation with him. He spoke slowly. He seemed to have no high opinion of his own works, and said little of Gaelic poetry ; but said that officers in the army used to tell him about the Greek poets, and Pindar was chiefly admired by him."

The most recent account by anyone who had actually seen the poet is that given by Rev. John Maclntyre. Himself minister at Kilmonivaig, he was the son of Rev. Duncan Maclntyre, minister at Kilmallie, and of Jean, daughter of James the poefs chief. On the occasion of the Festival, 2nd September 1859, when the monument to the poefs memory was raised on Creagan-chaorach, near the Beacon Hill to the E. of Loch Awe, he said : —

" Perhaps there are not many here who have seen the bard. It was my privilege when very young to have seen him at my father's house, accompanied by Mairi Bhan Og. I remember the warm and even respectful welcome with which the venerable bard and his Mary were received by my father, and how he placed them on either side of him at the dinner table. Duncan Ban was then an old man of eighty years, but stalwart still, hale and hearty. He was dressed in full Highland costume. Mairi Bhan Og wore a most becoming and beautiful scarlet mantle of fine cloth. She appeared so gentle and amiable ; and retained much of that personal beauty which the bard so happily and sweetly described.

" As to the moral character of Duncan Ban Maclntyre, I never heard a whisper of disparagement ; and, whilst taking a limited survey of the productions of the gifted poet in honour of whom so large an assemblage has met this day, and who so happily described the material

xxxvii

BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION

workmanship of the great Architect of the world, it is truly pleasing to find him tune his lyre to loftier strains, and finally giving proof that a good work had been wrought upon and in himself From The Conclusion and The Author's own Epitaph we learn that he possessed clear views of Divine truth, putting his whole trust for attaining a blessed immortality in the finished work of his crucified Saviour. Thus have we seen the glorious summer sun, which during a long day had warmed and illumined every object around us, in the evening throw out a brighter and sweeter effulgence than the fierce blaze of noon, and that when about to disappear and sleep in the lap of ocean, as we hope and trust this our gifted fellowman has gone to sleep in Jesus — even to his rest in Him who is the bestower of every good and perfect

gift."

Duncan Maclntyre was in many ways representative of the Highland Celt. A tall fair man, in him was united a healthy vigorous body with an alert and well- balanced mind, which was as full of shrewd common sense as his heart was full of feeling. A keen observer of nature, in his time a great traveller, expert with his weapons, fair spoken but quick at repartee, ostentatious as far as good taste allowed, leisurely and self-possessed, fond of country and of kin, fuU of humour and of good humour, transparently simple in his poems and in his character, profoundly sympathetic, and with a sure touch alike for description, praise, and satire, with a quick ear and exceUent judgment, and a clear lyrical simple style which was always copious, sometimes thoughtful, he had in him the elements of greatness. It is now acknowledged

by the many, what was at once evident to the few,

xxxviii

BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION

that he was gifted with all the qualities to make him a successful wooer of the muse — the Celtic muse who is "quivering with life, golden with love, brimming with kindly humour, and explosive with bursts of Homeric laughter."

Nature having fashioned her poet, gave him his opportunity. He was born in time to lisp poetry in its sweetest numbers, to hear the nightly sgeul with its wit, pathos, and marvellous adventure, while as yet his mother tongue was spoken in purity, and had barely entered upon that life and death struggle with the English language which increasingly curtails the power of Gaelic and its audience. Even in the form which Gaelic poetry took, it was then at its best and most musical period. The trammels of the old syllabic metres were broken, the tame and featureless imitation of English measures had not begun, the mellifluous system of vowel cadences was in its pristine vigour. He had the education which, leaving him undistracted by alien influences, drew forth his best powers. His abilities, intrinsically of the highest order, were so aided by upbringing and environment that he has produced unrivalled poetry, and won himself a name, Fair Duncan of the So7igs, which proclaims him the darling of a whole people. Seen in truer perspec- tive at the end of a hundred years, his stature has not diminished.

He has been called the "Burns of the Highlands," and with some truth. Duncan Ban is the best loved (Highlander as Burns is the best loved Scot. Both were patural and spontaneous singers, both sang of human life [as they saw it with their own eyes, and each is the poet of

lis own people. Each of them, too, was unrivalled in his

xxxix

BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION

conversational powers. Where they sat was the head of the table. In the ale-house with the horned moon hanging in the corner of the window Burns was supreme : in the canteen Duncan Ban had no competitor. Here, however, the likeness ends. On the intellectual side, in wealth of ideas of practical utility, the advantage lies with the Lowlander : in consummate mastery of his own tongue — and this is a great deal to say — the advantage belongs to the Highlander. He was besides clean-minded and whole-hearted, knowing nothing of wounded pride, disappointed ambition, of free love, or constitutional melancholy — for of Celtic gloom not a trace is discernible either in his songs or in his character. In minor details he resembles other English poets — Milton and Words- worth in his powerful memory for his own lines, Scott in his descriptions of natural scenery, Cowper in his theology, and Burns and Scott in thinking little of his own works. Among the ancients he most resembles Horace. The Highlander lost his sword; the Roman threw away his shield. With the same cheery outlook on human life both of them write poems manifestly intended to please or to amuse. While dealing occasionally a shrewd blow, they neither of them cultivate the gentle art of making enemies ; and their satires, though using at times a regrettable freedom, for the most part end in laughter.

Of the poefs own works his greatest effort. The Praise of Ben Dorain, is the most original, standing alone in design and execution ; and the mountain, though greatly changed since the poet looked upon it, owing to the loss of the wood that clothed it sides, is worthy of his

xl

[To face p. xl.

BIOGRAPHICAL INTRODUCTION

efforts. Its charms, as has been pointed out, are of a feminine cast, depending less on height and rugged grandeur than on the clear and graceful sweep of its outline, in which it is perhaps unrivalled among Scottish mountains. As long as the poet's words are known and understood, the mountain will be his monument. May time deal gently with the bond that unites the name of Duncan Ban to Ben Dorain.

BEN DORAIN.

Majestic Mountain ! On whose graceful side Fair Duncan of the Songs, in days now old As three half centuries, a hunter strolled

In freedom : from his passionate heart a tide

Of song the rocky corries glorified, Pourtrayed the charm of stag, bird, wood, and wold ; And Fair Young Mary listened when he told

The wondrous tale that won his winsome bride.

Long since thy poet sang his " Last Farewell,"

A " thousand blessings " on the mossy dell,

The modest heath-flower, and sweet woman's smile,

The moorland breezes, and the crystal well ;

Still rests the benediction on thy pile,

And o'er the scene his spirit broods the while.

G. a

ORAN DO CHLAIDHEAMH MHIC AN LEISDEIR AGUS DO BHLAR NA H-EAGLAISE BRICE.*

Latha dhuinn air Machair Alba,

Na bha dh'armailt aig a" Chuigse,

Thachair iad oirnne na reubail,

'S bu neo-eibhinn leinn & chuideachd ;

'N uair a chuir iad an ratreud oirnn, 6

'S iad 'nar deidh a los ar murtadh,

'S mur deanamaid feum leV casan,

Cha tug sinne srad le'r musgan.

'S a"* dol an coinneamh a' Phrionnsa

Gu"'m bu shunntach a bha sinne, 10

Shaoil sinn gu'm faigheamaid cuis deth

'S nach robh dhuinn ach dol g'a sireadh ;

'N uair a bhuail iad air a cheile

'S ard a leumamaid a** tilleadh,

*S ghabh sinn a mach air an abhainn 16

■"S dol g'ar n-amhaich anns an linne.

'N am do dhaoine dol 'nan eideadh

Los na reubalaich a thilleadh,

Cha do shaoil sinn, gus na gheill sinn,

Gur sinn fein a bhidhte ^g iomaiu ; flO

* 'S e so ceud oran an Ughdair.

2

SONG TO THE SWORD OF FLETCHER AND THE BATIXE OF FALKIRK.*

Once when in the Scottish Lowlands,

We, the whole Whig army, rested. On us chanced to come the rebels.

Company that we detested ; When they forced us to retreat

And followed with intent to murder, If we had not used our feet

We never had with guns burnt powder.

"fwas to meet the Prince advancing

We were in a cheerful spirit. For we thought we'd get the advantage

And had but to go seek for it ; But when they struck one another

High we should have leaped returning. And we sprang into the river

To our necks the deep pool churning.

When our men went in their war-gear

To turn back the rebel gentry, Little thought we, till we yielded.

We'd be hounded round the country ;

* This is the Author's first song. 3

BLAR NA H-EAGLAISE BRICE

Mar gu'n rachadh cu ri caoraibh, ■"S iad 'nan ruith air aodann glinne, 'S ann mar sin a ghabh iad sgaoileadh Air an taobh air an robh sinne.

Sin 'n uair thainig each 's a dhearbh iad 25

Gu'm bu shearbh dhuinn dol 'nan cuideachd,

'S e 'n trup Gallta g'an robh chall sin,

Fhuair iad am marbhadh 's am murtadh ;

'S ann a theich sinn as na cianaibh

An deidh trian againn a thuiteam, 30

'S cha teid mi tuille gu dilinn

Chuideachadh le Rlgh na Cuigse.

Bha na h-eich gu cruidheach, srianach,

Girteach, iallach, fiamhach, trupach ;

'S bha na fir gu h-armach, foghluimt', 36

Air an sonrachadh gu murtadh.

'N uair a thachair riu Clann Domhnuill,

Chum iad comhdhail air an uchdan,

'S lionar spoldaich a bha leonta

Air an Ion an deidh tuiteam. 40

Dh'eirieh fuathas anns an ruaig dhuinn, 'N uair a dh"* aom an sluagh le leathad ; Bha Prionns"' Tearlach le chuid Frangach, 'S iad an geall air teachd 'nar rathad : Cha d' fhuair sinn focal comannd 46

A dh'iarraidh ar naimhdean a sgathadh ; Ach comas sgaoilidh feadh an t-saoghail, 'S cuid againn gun f haotainn f hathast. 4

THE BATTLE OF FALKIRK

As a dog might rush at sheep-stock

While theyVe scurrying on the glenside,

It was so they got a scattering,

Those that were upon our men's side.

Then came all of them and proved

We'd find it hard to face them further, 'Twas a Lowland troop had that loss.

They experienced death and murther ; When a third of us had fallen,

We fled from them a great distance ; And 111 go no more for ever

To the King of the Whigs'* assistance.

Shod and bridled were the horses.

Girthed, thonged, skittish, in troop order ; Armed and disciplined the forces.

Specially set apart to murder. When Clan Donald on them bounded,

On the knoll they held a mauling, Many's the carcase that lay wounded

On the meadow after falling.

In the rout fear broke us fairly

When the enemy moved downward. With his Frenchmen was Prince Charlie

Settled our way to come onward ; No command did e''er we get

Requiring us our foes to shatter, But, what some of us lack yet.

The power throughout the world to scatter. 5

BLAR NA H-EAGLAISE BRICE

Sin 'n uair thainig mise dhathaigh

Dh** ionnsuidh Ghilleasbuig o'n Chrannaich, 50

'S ann a bha e 'n sin cho fiata

Ri broc liath a bhiodh an garaidh ;

Bha e duilich anns an am sin

Nach robh ball aige r'a tharruing,

'S mdr an diubhail na bha dhith air, 66

Claidheamh sinnsireachd a sheanar.

Mdran iaruinn air bheag faobhair,

Gu'm b'e sud aogas a** chlaidheimh ;

'S e gu lubach, leumnach, bearnach,

'S bha car cam ann anns an amhaich ; 60

Dh' fhag e mo chruachann-sa bruite

Bhi 'ga ghiulan feadh an rathaid.

'S e cho trom ri cabar fearna,

'S mairg a dhT hairdeadh an robh rath air.

'N uair a chruinnich iad 'nan ceudan 65

'N la sin air Sliabh na h-Eaglais,

Bha ratreud air luchd na Beurla,

'S ann doibh fein a b' eiginn teicheadh ;

Ged a chaill mi anns an am sin

Claidheamh ceannard Chloinn an Leisdeir ; 70

Claidheamh bearnach a' mhi-fhortain,

'S ann bu choslach e ri greidlein.

Am ball-teirmeisg a bha meirgeach, Nach dVinn seirbhis a bha dleasnach ; 'S beag an diubhail leam r'a chunntadh 76

Ged a dh' ionndraich mi mu f heasgar, 6

THE BATTLE OF FALKIRK

Then when I had homeward wended

To Gillespie of the Old Wood, There he raged as savage-minded

As a grey brock in his hold would ; At that time he was right sorry

Weapon to draw he none at hand had, At his loss great was the worry,

The heirloom claymore of his granddad.

Mickle iron with edge full little,

Such the sword'^s delineation. Bending, starting, and fell brittle,

At its neck a bent curvation ; Bruised it left my hip e'er after

With carrying it along the highway, 'Twas heavy as an alder rafter, —

Who would ask if luck came my way ?

When they gathered in their hundreds |

On the Falkirk Slope that day, |

'Twas the English folk retreated —

They that had to run away ; Though I lost on that occasion

The chief of Clan Fletcher's sword. The notched claymore of ill-luck,

'Twas like a bannock -turning board.

The tool, rusty and mischancy,

That performed no service rightful —

Little loss to me, I fancy.

Though I missed it about nightfall ;

7

BLAR NA H-EAGLAISE BRICE

An claidheamh dubh nach d'f huair a sguradh

'S neul an t-suith air a leth-taobh ;

'S beag a b'f hiu e, 's e air lubadh,

'S gu'm b'e diugha de bhuill-deis e. 80

An claidheamh braoisgeach bh'aig na daoine

Nach dVinn caonnag 's nach tug buillean,

Cha robh aogas air an t-saoghal,

'S mairg a shaothraich leis an cuimeasg ;

An claidheamh dubh air an robh an t-aimhleas 85

Gun chrios, gun chrambait, gun duille,

Gun roinn, gun f haobhar, gun cheann-bheart,

'S mairg a tharladh leis an cunnart.

Thug mi leam an claidheamh bearnach,

■"S Vole an asuinn e 's a' chabhaig, 90

Bhi 'ga ghiulan air mo shliasaid,

'S mairg mi riamh a thug o'n bhaiP e :

Cha toir e stobadh na sathadh,

'S cha robh e laidir gu gearradh ;

Gu'm b'e diugha de bhuill airm e, 96

'S e air meirgeadh air an fharadh.

Chruinnich uaislean Earra-ghaidheal,

Armailt laidir de Mhilisi,

'S chaidh iad mu choinneamh Phrionns' Tearlach,

'S duil aca r'a champ a bhristeadh ; lOO

'S ioma fear a bh' anns an ait ud

Nach robh sabhailt mar bha mise,

Ged tha mo chlaidheamh air f hagail

Ann am Blar na h-Eaglais Brice.

THE BATTLE OF FALKIRK

The black sword that had no scouring, One side stained a sooty colour,

Little worth with bends and clouring, Worst of pointed tools of valour.

The indented sword the men had

Who nor strove, nor fell blows hurled, Pity him that toiled in fray with it,

For its like was not in the world ; Sheathless, crampetless, and beltless.

Black sword wedded to disaster. Without point, or edge, and hiltless,

Pity him in peril its master.

With me brought I the notched claymore,

Wretched weapon, in the hurry. Slung upon my hip from hame o'er —

Thence I brought it, but Pm sorry ; Stab it would not deal, or thrust.

To cut it was not to be trusted. Of brands of war the very worst.

For it had on the rafters rusted.

The gentry of Argyllshire mustered

Militia, a powerful make-up. And they went to meet Prince Charlie

In the hope his camp to break up. And in yon place many a man was

Who was not saved, as I find me, Though upon the Field of Falkirk

Is my claymore left behind me.

ORAN DO THAILBEART

ORAN DO THAILBEART A FHUARADH O BHANRIGH MAIRI.

Deoch slainte Righ Deorsa

Gu'n olainn air thus,

Le onoir 's le buaidh

Nan daoin'' uaisP tha 'na chuirt,

Le Seanalair Hallaidh 5

Is Maidsear Cothun,

Gun di-chuirnhn"* air M^iri,

Bean mhalda mo ruin.

Mo bheannachd gu brath

Aig a' Bhan-righ nach beo ; 10

'S ann aic^ a bha Mairi

G'a h-arach 's i 6g ;

Bean shiobhalta, shamhach,

'S i narach gu leoir ;

""N uair theid mi'n tigh-thairne, 16

'S i phaigheadh na stoip.

'S tu chumadh an cothrom

'S an onair ud rium,

'S a chuireadh am sporan

Na dolair 's na cruin : 20

Ged a dh' olainn leann laidir,

Fion Spainteach is rum,

'S tu b' urrainn a phaigh

'S tu 'n ait air mo chul.

SONG TO A HALBERT

SONG TO A HALBERT WHICH WAS GOT FROM QUEEN MARY.

A HEALTH to King George

I would drink at the start, With honour and luck

To the nobles at court, With General Hawley

And Major Colquhoun, Forgetting not Mary,

Mild darling my own.

My blessing for aye

On the Queen that's not living ; 'Twas she had young Mary

Her upbringing giving ; A quiet kind woman,

And modest enough ; When I go to the tavern,

She'd pay for the stuff.

You'd keep that position

And honour for me. Which would put in my purse

Crowns and dollars in fee : Though strong ale I drank.

Wine of Spain and rum spirit, You in place at my back.

It is you could pay for it. II

ORAN DO THAILBEART

'N uair thiginn leat dathaigh 26

Bharr faich an rabhiu,

"•S tu sinf ann am bhreacan

Bu taitneach learn thu ;

Gu''n deanainn do thasgaidh

Far am faicinn do ghnuis, 30

Mo Mhairi dhonn mhaiseach

Air ""n do leag mi mo run.

'S ann do nighean na Ban-righ

Thug mi gradh is mi og^

O'n a fhuair mi air laimh i, 35

Cha robh faillinn am Ion ;

Fhuair mi coir ort o'n Chaiptean

Nach tugainn seachad air or,

'S ged a rachainn am blar leat,

Cha n-fhagainn thu beo. 40

""S ann a fhuair mis'* an toiseach,

Leis an fhortan a bh' ann,

A' bhean as diriche pearsa

Theid a mach 's a' chomannd ;

'S a dh"'aindeoin na h-aoise 45

Cha dean i h-aogas a chall,

Cha chaolaich a casan,

'S cha mho ghlasas a ceaim.

Tha Mairi cho boidheach

Ri mnaoi oig tha 'san tir, 60

'S i gun uireasbhuidh foghluim,

Uasal, moralach, grinn ;

12

SONG TO A HALBERT

Home with you when I reached

From the Park of Review, In my belted plaid stretched

Fond was I of you ; I would lay you up where I

Your face at a glance see, My bonnie brown Mary,

On whom IVe set my fancy.

It is the Queen's daughter

I loved with young passion By the hand since IVe got her

Ne'er failed my provision ; From the Captain IVe right to you

Which for gold Fd not give. In the field though I fight with you

I'll not leave you and live.

I at first got as mate

By good fortune in hand, Wife in person most straight

Figures in the command ; And in spite of old age

Her looks will not impair, Her limbs become slender.

Or whiten her hair.

My Mary is fair

As young maid in the land. She has no lack of lear,

Noble, dignified, bland ; 13

ORAN DO THAILBEART

'S e m"' aighear 's mo sholas

Gu'm bheil i posda rium fhein,

'S ged a theirig dhuinn storas, 66

Gheibh sinn or aig an Righ.

Bidh sinn mV aig Righ Deorsa,

'S cha ghoraiche dhuinn ;

O 's ann aige tha 'n storas

Is coir air a' chrun ; 60

Bheir e 'm paigh 'nar dorn duinn,

'S cha n-iarr e oirnn dad g'a chionn ;

Gheibh sinn anart is aodach

Cho saor ris a* bhurn.

Cha n'eil trioblaid r'a chunntadh 65

Air muinntir an Righ,

Ach mireag is sugradh,

"'S bhi gun churam do ni ;

Ged a dh' olainn na galain

A h-uile car a theid diom, 70

Cha trodadh mo bhean rium,

'S cha leig i an t-aran am dhith.

'S ann agams' tha an leannan

Nach 'eil feamach na brein,

'S i 'n uaisF tha 'na mala 76

Tha cur a ceanail an ceill,

'S tha mi fad ann am barail

Nach 'eil a coimeas fo'n ghrein ;

'S ni mi porsan di daingean.

Ma bhios i maireann am dheidh. 80

14

SONG TO A HALBERT

Tis my joy and my solace Wed to me she will cling,

And though riches fail us, We'll get gold from the King.

We'll be all for King George,

'Tis no folly to own ; For 'tis he has the wealth

And the right to the crown; In our hand he'll put pay.

And ask nought in return ; Well get linen and clothes

Free as water in burn.

There's no trouble worth reckoning

On the folk of the King, But mirth and enjoyment

And no care for one thing ; Though I should drink gallons

Every turn that I made, My wife would not scold me,

Or let me want bread.

It is I have a sweetheart

Not dirty or smelling ; 'Tis the arch of her eyebrow

Her high birth is telling, I am firm of opinion

Her like's not alive ; I'll safe make her portion.

If me she survive.

IS

ORAN DO'N MHUSG

ORAN DO'N MHUSG.

'S lOMADH car a dh'fhaodas tighinn air na fearaibh, Is theag' gii'n gabh iad gaol air an te nach faigh iad ; Thug mi fichead bliadhna do'n cheud te ghabh mi, Is chuir i rithisd cul rium, is bha mi falamh.

Is thainig mi Dhun-eideann a dh'iarraidh leannain, 5

Is thuirt an Caiptean Caimbeul, 's e "n geard a' bhaile, Gu'm b'aithne dha banntrach an aite falaich, 'S gu'n deanadh e aird air a cur am charaibh.

Rinn e mar a b'abhaist cho maith 's a ghealladh, Thug e dhomh air laimh i, 's am paigh mar ri ; 10

Is ge b'e bhios a' feoraich a h-ainm no sloinneadh, Their iad rithe Seonaid, 's b' e Deorsa a seanair.

Tha i soitheamh, suairce, gun ghruaim, gun smalan

Is i cho ard an uaisle ri mnaoi 'san fhearann ;

Is culaidh am chumail suas i, o'n tha i mar rium, 16

Is mdr an t-aobhar smuairein do'n fhear nach faigh i.

Leig mi dhiom Nic Coiseam ged tha i maireann.

Is leig mi na daimh chrocach an taobh bha 'n aire.

Is thaobh mi ris an 6g-mhnaoi, 's ann leam nach aithreach,

Cha n'eil mi gun storas o'n phos mi 'n ainnir. 20

i6

SONG TO THE MUSKET

SONG TO THE MUSKET.

There's many a change of fortune the men folk may beset, Perhaps they'll love the lady that they will never get ; A score of years I gave to the first that me had taken, She turned her back on me again, and I was forsaken.

I came to Dunedin to seek for a sweetheart, [guard)

Then said Captain Campbell (he's in the Town street- That he knew a widow who in a secluded place was. And means he would take to put her in my embraces.

He performed as usual as well as he stated ; He put her in my hand, and the pay with her equated. And whoever will be asking her name, or surname rather, Ifs Janet that they call her, and George was her grand- father.

She's gentle, and pleasant, and without gloom or sadness. She is as high in rank as any lady in the land is ; The means of my upkeep, she's my mate and there's no better, [not get her.

And great the cause for grief is to the man that will

I quitted Cosham's daughter although she still existed, And I let the antlered stags go any way they listed,

^; And I drew to the young woman, and it's I that don't

^ regret it.

For 1 am not without wealth since the maiden IVe mated.

17 B

ORAN DO'N MHUSG

Bheir mi fhein mo bhriathar gu bheil i ro mhaith,

Is nach d'aithnich mi riamh oirre oron am falach,

Ach gu foinneamh, f inealta, direach, fallain,

Is i gun ghaoid, gun ghiomh, gun char fiar, gun chamadh.

Bithidh i air mo ghiulain, ''s gur maith an airidh, 25

Ni mi fhein a sguradh gu maith 's a glanadh ; Chuirinn ri an t-uille g'a cumail ceanalt", Is cuiridh mi ri m' shuil i 's cha diult i aingeal.

^N uair bhios cion an storais air daoinibh ganna,

Cha leigeadh nighean Deorsa mo phoca falamh ; 30

Cumaidh i rium 61 anns na tighibh-leanna,

'S paighidh i gach stopan a ni mi cheannach.

Ni i mar bu mhiann leam a h-uile car dhomh, Cha n-innis i breug dhomh, no sgeul am mearachd Cumaidh i mo theaghlach cho maith **s bu mhaith leam, 35 Ge nach dean mi saothair no obair shalach.

Sgithich mi ri gniomh, ge nach dVinn mi earras,

Thug mi bdid nach fhiach leam bhi ann am sgalaig,

Sguiridh mi g'am phianadh, o'n thug mi 'n aire

Gur e 'n duine diomhain as f haide mhaireas. 40

"■S i mo bheanag ghaolach nach dean mo mhealladh, 'S foghnaidh i dhomh daonnan a dheanamh arain ; Cha bhi faillinn aodaich orm no anairt,

"'S chaidh curam an t-saoghail a nis as m"'aire.

i8

SONG TO THE MUSKET

I myself will give my word that she is quite excelling, And that I've never seen in her a secret fault or failing, But she is fine and handsome and straight, she wants no

mending, She's flawless and faultless, with no perverse twist or

bending.

She will be carried by me, and worthy her demeanour, I myself will scour her well, and well will I clean her ; I would put oil upon her to keep her beauty peerless, And to my eye FU put her, and she will never fire miss.

When there is want of riches to men that are scanty, George's daughter ne'er would let my pocket be empty ; And in the alehouses with drink she'll supply me. And she'll pay every stoupie that I'll ever buy me.

She'll do as I desire her at every juncture for me. No lie will she tell me, and no misleading story ; She'll maintain my family as well as I'd wish to. Although I'll do no labour, or dirty work rush through.

I wearied with exertion, though riches I secured none,

I vowed not to demean me to become a farmhand ;

And I shall cease to plague myself, because I have

observed That 'tis the idle man who the longest is preserved.

She's my dear little wifie that never will deceive me, And aye she will suffice to make bread to relieve me ; Of clothes on me or linen there will be no slackening. And now worldly care has gone out of my reckoning.

19

I

ORAN DO'N RIGH

ORAN DO'N RIGH.

'S I DEOCH slainf an Righ as aill leinn,

Sin an ioc-shlainf alainn, uasal,

Bhi 'ga h-61 de dh'fhion na Spainte,

Na de phuinnse laidir, uaibhreach ;

'N uair a bhios i air a stracadh 5

Cho Ian 's a chumas na cuachan,

Ge Ve lamh an dean i tachairt

'S coir gu'm faiceadh e mu^n cuairt i.

'S mdr an sonas th' anns an rioghachd

Cn chaidh an Righ so chrunadh, 10

Anns an ait a bh' aig a shinnsreachd,

An d''£huair a sheann-seanair coir-dhuthchais ;

Albainn, is Sasunn, is Eirinn,

Nis ag geilleachdainn do'n aon fhear,

Mar nach fhacas iad riamh roimhe 16

O'n a chothaicheadh air thus iad.

'S mor an t-agh a tha air an oigear,

An treas Deorsa shuidh 's a' chathair.

Cha n'eil righ anns an Roinn Eorpa

Chumas comhrag ris le claidheamh ; 20

'S 6g a thoisich e ri cruadal,

'S tha bhuannachd gu trie 'na lamhan,

Fearann chaich 'ga shior-thoirt uapa,

'S a h-uir aite fhuair e ghleidheadh.

20

SONG TO THE KING

SONG TO THE KING.

Here's the health of our loved Sovereign,

Thafs the splendid, noble cordial, In the wine of Spain to drink it,

Or in punch, a heady ordeal ; When it's filled to overflowing.

Primed as full as cups will carry, Round he ought to see it going

In whose hands it chanced to tarry.

Great the weal that's in this kingdom

Since this King got crowned possession, Here his line ruled, his great grandsire

Had secured right of succession ; Scotland, England, Ireland, e'en to

One man yield, and now are mated. As they ne'er before were seen to.

Since they first were subjugated.

Great success has the young prince had,

George the Third who on the throne sat, There is not a king in Europe

Can with sword meet him in onslaught ; He began his young powers testing.

In his hands remains the profit. Land of others from them wresting.

He aye kept what he got of it.

ORAN DO'N RIGH

'S iomadh ait an robh chuid armailt, 25

Cliiiiteach, ainmeil 'n uair a thairnf iad ;

A choisichean luthor, calma,

Is trup meanmnach nan each laidir ;

Bha Eireannaich, Goill, is Sasnaich,

'Nan gaisgich an tir an namhaid, 30

'S mairg a thachradh air na fearaibh

'N uair a theannadh iad ri lamhach.

Anns a h-uile cas is cunnart,

'S mdr an t-urram fhuair na Gaidheil,

'S bhathas greis 'gan cur an duileachd, 35

Mar nach buineadh iad do'n phairtidh ;

Ach 'n uair fhuair iad meas is creideas,

'S a chreideadh nach deanadh iad faillinn,

'S iad bu sheasmhaich' air an onair

A thug lann-sholuis a sgabart. 40

Bha iad bras a h-uile latha,

Ri am catha dol 'sna blaraibh ;

Chaidh gach duine dhiubh air chruadal,

'S ann orra bha buaidh gach larach :

Bha commisean aig gach oigear, 46

'S e toirt ordugh d'a hhataillean^

'S iad cho tairis do Righ Deorsa,

""S a bhiodh na leomhain dh'an cuid alaich.

Bha chairt-iuil is cuibhP an f hortain,

Bha seoid sC chogaidh gu leir leat ; 50

Anns a h-uile blar a bh' aca,

Rinn Mars na bu choir dha fein deth :

22

SONG TO THE KING

Many's the place where was his army,

Famed, renowned, the marshalled forces ; Vigorous and brave his footmen.

Mettled troops of powerful horses ; They were Irish, Scots, and English,

Heroes, hostile lands invading. Pity him who them encountered

When they took to enfilading.

In aU crises and all dangers.

Great distinction the Gael there got ; Albeit for a while suspected,

As they of the party were not ; When they gained esteem and credit,

And no doubt of them was harboured, The most steadfast they in honour

That drew blade of light from scabbard.

Every day they were impetuous,

Going in war to fields of battle ; In each field was victory with them.

For each man went on his mettle ; A commission had each youthful

Hero, ordering his battalions. To King George they were as faithful,

As the lions to their young ones.

The compass, wheel of fortune,

With you all the gods of wars were ;

Every battle-field they fought in. His own part of it did Mars bear ; 23

ORAN DO'N HIGH

'N am do loingeis bhi 'gan gluasad,

Chuir jEoIus fuaim le d' bhreidean ;

Thug Neptune cothrom a' chuain duit — 55

""S CO bha uait a dheanadh feum dhuit ?

Bha iia gearasdain cho daingean

'S gu'm b'' amaideach dol g'an seisdeadh,

Aghaidh laidir air gach balla

Chum nam Barag a bhi gleidhteach ; 60

Rampair ard nach rachta thairis,

Batraidh 's canain, orra gleusta,

Bu mhairg a bhiodh roimh an anail

'N uair a theannadh iad ri geisgil.

Gach righ a thoisich at aghaidh, 66

Ghabh iad mar roghainn an diugha,

'S ionann sin 's mar dh'eirich dhaibhsan,

'S mdr a chaill iad air a' chuis ud ;

Thug thu tarruing bharr an Fhrangaich,

^S fhuair thu ceanglaichean is cumhnant 70

Nach togadh e rithisd fangar,

Mu'n eireadh aimhleas ni bu mho dha.

Bha Ban-righ Hungaraidh gorach, 'N uair a thoisich i ri stri riut ; 'S cha bu ghhce Righ na Spainte, 76

Thoisich e gu dana miomhail : Ged a bha an dithisd ud laidir, 'S righ no dha a bh'anns na h-Innsean, Fhuair thu dhiubh gach cuis a dh'iarr thu, 'S tha na fiachan air an dioladh. 80

24

SONG TO THE KING

When you set your ships in motion, In your sails was ^Eolus panting ;

Neptune gave fair-play on the ocean — Who could serve you and was wanting ?

And the garrisons so strengthened

That 't were foolish going to take them, On each wall strong faceworks, lengthened

Round the barracks safe to make them ; Ramparts high could not be passed o'er,

Batteries, cannon on them looming. Pity him before the breath of them

When they were set a-booming.

Each king that began against you

Made the choice and got the worst o' it Even so it fared with them, too.

Therefore much they lost that durst do it ; You a pull got o'er the Frenchman,

You got bonds and undertaking He'd again not rouse your anger.

Lest worse harm for him was making.

The Hungarian Queen was foolish.

She began to strive against you ; And the King of Spain, no wiser.

Bold, unmannerly, commenced too : Although yon two proved high-handed

As a king or two in the Ind did. You got all points you demanded.

And the debts are all refunded. 25

ORAN DO'N RIGH

Tha an Righ a nis mar as aill leis,

'S sabhailt a dh' fhaodas e laighe,

Tharruing e gu tir a chabhlach,

'S cha n'eil feum air camp a ghleidheadh :

Gach duine bha dha 'nan naimhdean, 85

Chinn iad da 'nan cairdean matha,

'S tha iad uile dha cho dileas,

'S dh' fhuirich an t-siochadh sin fhathast.

An ceithir airdean an t-saoghail

Tha fearann is daoin' aig Deorsa : 90

'S tha chinn-eaglais anns gach aite

Chum an sabhaladh o dho-bheairt ;

Tha lagh is parlamaid aca,

Chumail ceartais riu is corach ;

'S tha mheirr an deidh a casgadh, 95

Sguir na creachan is an torachd.

Bidh a h-uile diuc is iarla

Mar as miann leo am fad as beo thu ;

'S gheibh gach morair, is gach tighearn\

A h-uile dligheadh as coir dhaibh ; 100

Tha daoin-uaisF, is tuath an fhearainn

Mar as maith leo thaobh an storais ;

Tha luchd-ciuird a"* faotainn cosnaidh,

'S cha n'eil duine bochd gun phorsan.

Tha toradh am fas na talmhainn, 105

Gu miosach, arbharach, porach ; Chinn an spreidh gu bliochdach, bainnear Sona, sliochdar, sailleach, feolmhor : 26

SONG TO THE KING

Now the king is as he would be.

Safe as could be he's remaining, He his fleet to land has drawn up,

Camp there's no need for maintaining ; All the men that were his foemen

Have to him become his friends good, They are all so faithful to him

That that peace has still all strain stood.

In the wide world's four quarters

George has land as well as brave men : And in each place heads of churches

From iniquity to save men ; They have law and parliament, too.

Justice, right, for them maintaining ; Thieving has been put a stop to.

Plunder, pillage — none remaining.

All the Dukes and Earls will flourish

As they wish while you are living ; To each Viscount, Baron, all duty,

As befits them, will be given ; And the gentlemen, and tacksmen.

As they would, enjoy their fortune; Artizans are getting wages.

No poor man without a portion.

There is increase in the earth's growth. Fruits, corn, seed abundant, fresh, full ;

Kine grown rich in milk and cream rowth, Happy, fat, prolific, fleshful ; 27

ORAN DO'N RIGH

Tha sitheann air sliabh gach garbhlaich, Sealgairean a' faotainn sporsa, 110

'S tha tighinn air iasg na fairge, ■"S pailt an t-airgiod ri linn Dheorsa.

'S mdr a rinn e dh' fhearas-tighe,

Sgaoil e h-uile maitheas oirnne,

Chuir e drochaid air gach alltan, 115

'S reitich e na raidean-mdra ;

Chuir e sgoil 's a h-uile gleann,

A los gu'm faigheadh ar clann foghlum ;

'S gheibh sinn airm is eudach Gaidhleach,

O 's e "'s fhearr leinn gu bhi sporsail. 120

'S e as airde de na flathaibh,

'S am mac-ratha o thus oige,

Ceannard laidir 's a h-uir ionad

Air gach fine, 's air gach seorsa ;

Tital Bhreatuinn is na Frainge, 125

Tha na banntan sin 'na phoca,

Staoile Eireann, Steigh a' Chreideimh,

G'a chumail creideasach an ordugh.

Gu meal thu do chrun 's do chathair,

T'uinein, do chlaidheamh, 's do mhorchuis, 130

'S do theaghlach mdr, rioghail, cliuiteach,

'S an luchairt a bheil thu chomhnuidh ;

Ge b'e uair a thig an aois ort,

Na chaochlas tu bharr an t-sedil sin,

Gu'm bi do mhac-oighre sabhailt, 135

Ann at kite mar as coir dha.

28

SONG TO THE KING

Venison is on each rough slope,

Finding good sport is the killer, And the fish of the sea are taking.

In this reign is scouth of siller.

Much of home reform he accomplished,

Every good on us bestowing, Put a bridge on every streamlet,

Turnpikes opened for smooth going ; Every glen he put a school in.

That our bairns get education ; We'll get arms and Highland clothing.

For we're fond of ostentation.

He's the highest of the princes,

Son of grace from childhood inbred, A strong ruler in all places

Over every tribe and kindred ; Title both of France and Britain —

In his pocket are these pledges, Style of Ireland, Faith Defender,

Keeping him faithful to the lieges.

May you enjoy your crown, and throne.

Your orb, your sword, and your great calling. Your great family, royal, famous.

And the palace where you're dwelling ; And whene'er old age comes on you.

Or you change from that condition. May your heir- male be securely,

As he should, in your position.

29

MORAIR GHLEANN URCHAIDH

ORAN DO MHORAIR GHLEANN URCHAIDH.

Sgeul a b'ait learn r*a innseadh Mu'n 6g aigeannach, riomhach, Laoineach, bhasdalach, phriseil, Chaoimhneil, mhacanta, shiobhailt, A rinn gach heart a bha rloghail, 5

Ann an ceartas 's am firinn, O thoiseach na stri so thainior : O thoiseach na stri so, &c.

'S iomadh ait a bheil cliu ort

Nach robh 'm pairtidh do dhuthcha, 10

Sheas thu dana gun churam,

Gun fhaillinn, gun lubadh

Gu neo-sgathach le durachd,

Anns an aite bu run leat,

Far na gheall thu o thus a bhi cairdeach. 15

'S an am gluasaid, na carraid,

Bha thu cruadalach, fearail,

Mar bu dual duit o d' sheanair,

Choisinn buaidh ann an Gallaibh,

'N uair a bhuannaich e 'm fearann, 20

Bha na Tuathaich gun anam,

'N deis an ruagadh 's an gearradh ''san araich.

Laoich ghleusda gun tioma, Bu mhdr feum anns an iomairt, Nach geilleadh le gioraig, 25

Fhuair iad reite le milleadh, 30

SONG TO LORD GLENORCHY

SONG TO LORD GLENORCHY.

A TALE I'd gladly be telling Of a youth bright, excelling, Handsome, gay, dear, refined. Mild, and courteous, and kind. Has all loyal deeds done. In truth and justice each one, Ever since this fell strife first begun : Ever since this fell strife, &c.

Many a place knows your fame,

Where your clansmen ne'er came.

You took bold dauntless stand.

Without failing or bend.

Undaunted, not blindly.

In the place you loved kindly

Where you pledged yourself first to be friendly.

In time of conflict, or move,

Manly, brave, did you prove.

From your grandsire your way,

Who won in Caithness the day.

When their land he possessed.

Were the Northmen depressed.

Cut down in the field, or thence chased.

Heroes trim sans dismay. Of great deeds in the fray. Who would not yield through skaith, But got concord by death, 31

MORAIR GHLEANN URCHAIDH

'S cha b"* i **n eucoir a shir iad ;

'S mdr V fheums"* air bhi sgileil,

O ^s tu fein a tha 'n ionad nan armunn.

Sar cheannard gach fin'' thu, 30

Deagh mhaighstir nan gillean,

'S an comanndair gun tioma

An tus aimhreit no iomairt,

Nach dean parladh a shireadh

Le d' lanntaibh geur, biorach, 35

Bhiodh calldach is iomain air namhaid.

'S bidh do chinneadh mdr fhein leat

Anns gach cunnart an teid thu,

'S iad gu fuileachdach, feumail

Bhualadh bhuillean is speicean ; 40

'S honmhor curaidh ""na eideadh

Bhios ullamh gu eirigh,

An am dhuit a bhi 'g eigheach crois-taraidh.

'S iomadh caraid mu''n cuairt duit

Eadar Bealach is Cruachan, 45

Leis ""m bu mhaith thu bhi "'n uachdar

Le neart tein' agus luaidhe,

'S nan lann tana, geur, cruaidhe,

Rachadh mar riut g'am bualadh,

'N uair a thogadh tu suaicheantas arda. 50

■^S 'n uair a sgaoilte do bhratach Ri crann caol, direach, snaidhte, Os cionn dhaoin' air an fhaiche, Chluinnte gleadhraich nam marcach 32

SONG TO LOKD GLENORCHY

No injustice they willed ;

You've great need to be skilled,

Since the place of the leaders you filled.

Noble chief of each clan

You, good master of men.

And their head sans dismay,

Come disorder or fray,

Who would never ask terms.

With your sharp-pointed' arms

On the foe would fall loss and alarms.

Your kin will not fail you.

Though perils assail you.

Bloody, valiant are those

To deal fell thrusts and blows ;

Many brave in war-guise

Will be ready to rise

At the time when your fiery cross cries.

Round you many a friend o'er 'Tween Cruachan and Ken more Wishing you to be head By dint of fire and of lead. And of thin, sharp steel brands. Goes with you, these in hands. Where lofty your standard upstands.

When your banner is spread At slim straight staff well-sned. O'er men on the sward Horsemen's clang would be heard 33

MORAIR GHLEANN URCHAIDH

Bu ghreadhnaiche tartar ; 55

Na cinn-fheadhna 's na gaisgich

Le maoim bheirf a mach leo buaidh-larach.

Reachdar, ardanach, rnorchuis',

Duineal, ceannsalach, seolta,

Marcach ard nan each mora, 60

Bu mhdr srann, 's bu mhaith foghlum ;

Fasan Gallda gu leoir ort,

'S maith thig ad a' bhil oir dhuit,

Air chul clannach bu bhoidhche ""measg Ghaidheal.

Aghaidh mhacanta, chaoimhneil, 65

Mhalda, mheachair mar mhaighdein ;

Dana, smachdail mar shaighdear,

Cridhe soilleir gun fhoill

Anns a' chom as glaine na 'n daoimein,

T' aigneadh uile le soisle, 70

Mar ghrian choimhneil a' boisgcadh air fairs.

Suairce, siobhalta, fearail,

Suil liontach, ghorm, mheallach,

Bu chaol, finealta mala,

Gruaidh ghris-dhearg, channach, 75

Beul bith a bu taine,

Cneas min-gheal mar chanach,

Cha n'eil ti a thug barrachd air t' ailleachd.

Fhuair thu urram gach cuise

O'n a V urrainn thu ghiulan ; 80

'N am suidhe na cuirte Far 'm bu lionmhora diucan, 34

SONG TO LORD GLENORCHY

With the jolliest din ;

The chiefs, the brave kin,

With a rush would the stricken field win.

Robust, lofty, goodly.

Manly, imperious shrewdly.

Rider of the steeds proud.

Well broke, snorting loud ;

You've enough Lowland style.

Gold-rimmed hat suits you well

On the fairest curled locks 'mong the Gael.

Face gentle and kind

As a maid's, mild, refined ;

Bold soldierly mien.

Heart flawless and clean

In a frame diamond-bright.

All thy nature in light

As the kind sun on horizon height.

Courteous, polished, manly,

A full blue winning eye.

Eyebrow slender and sleek,

Red and white pretty cheek.

Very small quiet mouth.

Fine skin, mossdown-like, smooth,

None has bettered thy beauty in sooth.

You got fame in each thing Whence fame you could bring ; When at sitting of Court Many dukes did resort, 35

MOKAIR GHLEANN URCHAIDH

Bu riomhach do dhiilti

Bhi caradh a' chruin

Air an righ 'gam bheil duthchas an aite. 85

Sar chuirtear na maise

'Gan robh cliu air gach fasan,

Fhuair iul ann an Sasunn

Air na cuiseanaibh tagraidh,

'S e do thur a bha beachdail, 90

Tha 'n duthaich Ian aitis

O'n a thai nig thu dhathaigh le failte.

Sar phoitear an fhion' thu,

'S tu dh' oladh 's a dhioladh

Fhuair thu foghlum gach rioghachd, 95

Meoir as grinne ni sgriobhadh ;

Bu tu sealgair na slthne

Le d' chuilbheir caol, direach,

'N uair a tharladh tu 'm frith nam beann arda.

An am dhuit a bhi tadhal 100

Anns a' bheinn am bi 'n fhaoghailt,

Leat bu mhiannach a** ghreadhan,

Fuaim mhiosar ri h-adhairc,

Gunna glaice do roghainn,

Gairm ghallanaich gadhair, 105

'N uair a rachadh e 'n deidh fir craice.

'S ""n uair a loisgeadh tu 'm fudar

Leis a' ghunna nach diultadh,

Bhiodh na peileirean dubh-ghorm,

Le teine 'gan stiuradh 110

36

SONG TO LORD GLENORCHY

'Twas your post of renown

To set the king's crown

On whoe'er had the place handed down.

You, arch courtier dashing,

Had fame in each fashion,

England gave education

On law disputation.

Keen your wits' penetration ;

The land's in elation

Since home you have come with ovation.

Of wine the arch quaffer.

Which, drinking, you'd pay for.

You have every realm's lear.

Fingers writing neat, clear.

Hunter of venison

With your slender straight gun.

When you chanced forest peaks to be on.

At the time of your foray

On the peak where's the quarry.

You loved the herd furry.

Click on horn measures hurry.

Gun in grasp, your choice glory,

Deerhounds' loud bay of fury.

When behind the horned stag he would scurry.

When you powder ignited. With the gun that aye lighted. Were the dark blue balls flighted, By fire that them righted 37

MORAIR GHLEANN URCHAIDH

Ri h-eilid na stuice,

'S bhiodh a ceithreannan bruite,

Is do ghillean 'ga giulan a fasach.

'S 'n uair a thearnta gu d' bhaile

Mu oidhche le farum, 115

Bu ghleadhrach an talla,

Tur greadhnach sin Bhealaich ;

Mdr chaoimhneas air t'aire,

Bhiodh loinn air luchd-ealaidh

Leis an seinnte gach caithream a b"* aill leat. 120

Mu chromadh na greine

'N uair a dhonnadh na speuran,

Gheibhte sollain is eibhneas

An tigh soilleir na feile,

Gach ceol bu bhinne r'an eisdeachd, 125

Co-fhreagairt a cheile,

An fhiodhuU, ""s na teudan, ""s a"* chlarsach.

Maduinn shoilleir ag eirigh,

Gheibhte chomaine cheudna,

Piob am follais 'ga speiceadh, 130

Feadain loma ""gan gleusadh,

Dosa donna ri beus daibh,

Ceol loinneil bu reidhe,

Sior-chaitheamh na feisd' ann at aros.

'S i an trompaid "'s na h-orgain, 135

Bu ghlan pronndol is monmhor, "■N uair a lomta gach corra-mheur Nach bu trom air an t-sorchan,

38

SONG TO LORD GLENORCHY

At the hind on crag sighted,

Whose quarters were blighted,

And your lads from the wilds bore delighted.

When at night to your home

Down with noise you would come,

Stirring hall was and bower,

Taymouth, that festal tower,

Great joy at your sight,

'Mong musicians delight —

Every measure was played you thought right.

At the sun's going down

When the heavens turned brown,

Joy and gladness conjoining

In the festive house shining.

To list all strains most sweet.

Harmonising complete —

The viol, the strings, the harp meet.

Bright morn breaking round.

The same welcome was found,

Pipe i' the open o'er arm.

Chanters bare tuned to charm,

Brown drones to them belling.

Smoothest strains all-excelling

Aye the feast celebrate in your dwelling.

The trumpet, the organs. Drone murmuring pure tones. When was stop by stop lowered That lay light on key-board, 39

MORAIR GHLEANN URCHAIDH

Bu phuncail an torman,

Gu fonnmhorach, foirmeil, 140

Ann an teaghlach aC Mhorair ri abhachd.

Talla flathasach, rioghail,

An robh maitheas, gun mhi-run,

Gheibht"* ann tathaich gu lionmhor

De mhaithibh na rioghachd, 145

Seol air caitheamh an fhlona,

Uisge-beatha ann am piosan,

A"* sior-ghabhail sios nan deoch-slainte.

Mar bu mhiannach leat fhaicinn

Bhi gu fialaidh mar chleachd thu, 150

Miosail, miadhail, gun airceas,

Uaisr is riomhadh is fasan ;

Or lionmhor g'a sgapadh,

Cluiche dian g'a chur seachad,

Air dhisnean, air chairtibh, "s air thaileasg. 155

Beus nach h' ainneamh le d' theaghlach,

Bhi gu farumach, greadhiiach,

Ceol is aiteas gach oidhche,

Seomar laiste le coinnlibh ;

'S e Gleann Urchaidh do staoile, 160

'S thu air Bealach at oighre,

Gu meal thu do ghreim air an aite.

40

SONG TO LORD GLENORCHY

Distinct the notes rolled, Tuneful, lively, and bold. All to please in your Lordship's household.

Princely royal palace.

Goodness there with no malice.

Numbers found to o''erwhelm

Of the peers of the realm.

Means for quaffing the wine.

Drams in silver cups fine.

Ever washing down healths all combine.

As you loved to appear

Free with wonted good cheer.

Praised, esteemed, with profusion,

Rank, elegance, fashion ;

Gold scattered in mass.

High play made it pass.

On dominoes, cards, and on draughts.

A custom goes with your race

To be genial with noise,

Joy and music each night.

Room with candles alight ;

Glenorchy's your style,

Heir of Taymouth the while.

May you come to your claim on the soil.

41

COIRE A' CHEATHAICH

COIRE A^ CHEATHAICH.

'S E Coir' a' Cheathaich nan aighean siubhlach,

An coire runach as urar fonn,

Gu lurach, miad-fheurach, min-gheal, sughar,

Gach lusan fluar bu chubhraidh leam ;

Gu molach, dubh-ghorm, torrach, luisreagach, 5

Con'ach, pluranach, dluth-ghlan grjnn,

Caoin, ballach, ditheanach, cannach, misleanach,

Gleann a' mhilltich, ""s an lionmhor mang.

Tha falluing dhuinte, gii daingean, dubailf,

A mhaireas uine, mu^n ruisg i lom, 10

De'n fheur as cul-fhinne dh"* fhas na h-urach,

'S a bharr air lubadh le druchda trom,

Mu choire guanach nan torran uaine,

A"* bheil luibh is luachair a suas g'a cheann ;

'S am fasach guamach an cas a bhuana, 15

Na'm b' aite cruaidh e, 'm biodh tuath le'n suim.

Tha trusgan faoilidh air cruit an aonaich

Chuir suit is aoibh air gach taobh ad chom,

Min-fheur chaorach is barra bhraonan,

'S gach lus a dh' fhaodadh bhi 'n aodann thorn 20

M'an choir' as aoigheala tha r'a fhaotainn,

A chunna"* daoine an taobh so 'n Fhraing ;

Mur dean e caochladh, b' e 'n t-aighear saoghalf

Do ghillean aotrom bhi daonnan ann.

42

THE CORRIE OF THE MIST

THE CORRIE OF THE MIST.

The Misty Corrie of the hinds vagrant, The darling corrie of the freshest land, (Each flowering herblet to me most fragrant) Full grassy, smooth-white, sappy, bland ; Shaggy, dark green, and fruitful, herbous. Steep, with flowers thick and pure like lawns. Mild, spotted, and flowery, pretty, with sweetgrass. Glen of the arrow grass, the numerous fawns.

A fastened mantle, secure and doubled. Which lasts a season, till it strip bare. Of grass the loveliest of the soiFs increase. The top of it bending with dews not spare, Girds the glad corrie of the green hillocks. Up to its head herb and rush are there ; And the smiling pasture in trim for reaping. Were it a hard place for farmers' care.

The raiment blithe on the back o' the moorland Put routh and joy on each side o' thy breast. Tender sheepgrass, the flower o"* the earth-nut — All herbs a hill-face that might have graced Are round the kindliest found of corries. Which men can, this side of France, compare ; Unless it change, it were long-lived gladness For merry lads to be always there. 43

COIRE A' CHEATHAICH

'S ann mu^n Ruadh Aisridh dh'fhas na cuairteagan, 25

Clumhor, cuachanach, cuannar, ard,

A h-uile cluaineag ""s am barr air luasgadh,

'S a' ghaoth ^gan sguabadh a null 's a nail :

Bun na cioba is barr sl mhilltich,

A' chuiseag dhireach, 's an fhiteag cham ; 30

Muran brloghor, 's an grunnasg llonmhor,

Mu''n chuile dhiomhair, am bi na suinn.

Tha sliabh na Lairig an robh MacBhaididh,

'Na mhothar fasaich, 's 'na straca trom ;

Slios na Ban-leacainn, cha n-i as taire, 35

'S gur trie a dh' araich i 'n lan-damh donn :

'S na h-aighean dara nach teid do^n bha-thaigh,

A bhios le 'n alach gu h-ard 'nan grunn,

'S na laoigh gu h-uiseil a la 's a dh'oidhche,

'S na h-uiread cruinn diubh air Druim-clach-fionn. 40

Do leacan caoimhneil, gu dearcach, braoileagach,

Breac le feireagan as cruinn dearg ceann ;

An creamh 'na chathraichibh, am bac nan staidhrichean,

Stacan fraoidhneasach nach bu ghann :

Am bearnan -bride, 's a' pheighinn rioghail, 45

'S an canach min-gheal, 's am mislean ann ;

'S a h-uile mlr dheth, o'n bhun as isle

Gu h-ionad cirean na crich' as aird'.

'S riomhach cota na Creige Moire,

'S cha n'eil am folach ad choir 'san am, 50

Ach meanan-coinnich, o 's e bu nosaire,

Air a chomhdachadh bhos is thall :

44

THE CORRIE OF THE MIST

Round Ruadh Aisridh have grown the grass tufts,

Cosy and cup-shaped, neat, and high,

Each small green pasture, its surface waving.

And the wind sweeping it far and nigh :

The root o' the moor-grass, the top o" the arrow-grass,

The straight stem, the stalk bent crookedly ;

The strengthening bent and the plenteous groundsel.

Round the hid nook where the heroes be.

The slope of the pass, where dwelt Mac Baady, Is a ruin run wild, rank swathes bent down ; Ban-leacainn's flank, it is not the meanest, And oft has it reared the prime hart brown : The pairing hinds that no fold will enter. They dwell high up in groups with their young. And snug are the calves by day and by night there. And as many gathered on Drum-clach-fionn.

Thy kindly hill-side with whortle and cow berries.

With cloudberries chequered, their red heads round ;

The garlic in tufts at the top of the stairs.

Fringing precipices which abound :

The dandelion and the penny-royal.

The soft white moss-down, the sweet grass round ;

In every bit from its base profoundest

To the site of the crests of its highest bound.

Oh ! lovely is the Great Crag's vesture, 'Tis now no rank grass is thee before. But delicate mosses — and they of the sappiest — On this side, that side, coating it o'er : 45

COIRE A' CHEATHAICH

Na lagain chomhnard am bun nan sroineag,

Am bi na sobhraichean, 's neonain fann,

Gu bileach, feoirneanach, mills, roineagach, 55

Molach, romach, gach seors' a th' ann.

Tha mala ghruamach de'n bhiolair uaine

Mu''n h-uile fuaran a th'' anns an fhonn ;

Is doire shealbhag aig bun nan garbh-chlach,

'S an grinneal gainmhich'^ gu meanbh-gheal pronn ; 60

'Na ghlugan-plumbach air ghoil gun ain-teas,

Ach coilich buirn tighinn a grunnd eas lorn,

Gach sruthan uasal 'na chuailean cul-ghorm,

A' ruith 'na sputa, 's 'na luba steoU.

Tha bradan tarr-gheal 's a' choire gharbhlaich, 65

Tha tighinn o'n fhairge bu ghailbheach tonn,

Le luinneis mheanmnach ag ceapadh mheanbh-chuileag

Gu neo-chearbach le cham-ghob crom :

Air bhuinne borb, is e leum gu foirmeil,

'Na eideadh colgail bu ghorm-glas druim, 70

Le shoislean airgid, gu h-iteach, meanbh-bhreac,

Gu lannach, dearg-bhallach, earr-gheal sliom.

'S e Coir"* a' Cheathaich an t-aithir priseil,

'S an t-aite rioghail mu'm bidht' a** sealg,

Is bidh feidh air ghiulan le lamhach fudair 75

Ag cur luaidhe dhubh-ghorm gu dluth 'nan calg :

An gunna gleusda, 's an cuilean eutrom,

Gu fuileach, feumanach, treubhach, garg,

A' ruith gu siubhlach, ag gearradh shurdag,

'S a" dol g'a dhubhlan ri cursan dearg. 80

46

THE CORRIE OF THE MIST

And the smooth dells at the base of the cliffs, Where the primroses are, and weak daisies, They are leafy, rushy, and sweet, and bushy. Shaggy, and tressy — each sort there lies.

A gloomy eyebrow of the green cresses

Is round each spring-well that's in the land ;

A sorrel grove at the foot of the rough stones,

The gravel pounded to fine white sand ;

In plunge and gurgle without heat boiling.

But jets a-toiling from bare falls' end.

Each noble streamlet in blue-backed swirling

In rapids curling and cataracts' bend.

White-bellied salmon is in the rough corrie, Which comes from the stormy billowy sea. With mettlesome playfulness capturing small flies In his bent hooked beak, not awkwardly : On the fierce current 'tis he leaps briskly. In his sword-like mail, with back blue-grey. With gleams of silver, finny, fine-speckled. Scaly, red-spotted, white-tailed, slippery.

The Misty Corrie, retreat beloved, The royal spot where they'd hunting be. And deer are whelmed with a shot of powder Sowing dark lead in their fur thickly : The well-trimmed gun, and the dog light-footed. Bloody, keen-scented, strong, and dread. Running swiftly and cutting gambols In challenge going against courser red. 47

COIRE A' CHEATHAICH

Gheibhte daonnan mu d"* ghlacaibh faoine

Na h-aighean maola, na laoigh, 's na maing ;

Sud bu mhiann leinn am maduinn ghrianaich,

Bhi dol g' an iarraidh, 's a' fiadhach bheann :

Ged thigeadh siantan oirnn, uisg is dile, 85

Bha se6l g'ar dldean mu'n chrich 'san am,

An creagan losal am bun na frithe,

'S an leaba-dhiona, 's mi 'm shineadh ann.

'S a' mhaduinn chiuin-ghil, an am dhomh dusgadh

Aig bun na stuice b' e 'n sugradh learn ; 90

A' chearc le sgiucan ag gabhail tuchain,

'S an coileach cuirteil a' durdail crom ;

An dreathan surdail, 's a ribheid chiuil aige,

Ag cur nan smuid deth gu luthor binn ;

An druid 's am bru-dhearg, le mdran uinich, 95

Ri ceileir sunntach bu shiubhlach rann.

Bha e6in an t-sleibhe 'nan ealtainn gle ghlan

Ag gabhail bheusan air gheig 's a** choill ;

An uiseag cheutach, 's a luinneag fein aice,

Feadan speiseil gu reidh a' seinn : 100

A' chubhag, 's an sme6rach, am barr an 6gain,

Ag gabhail orain gu ceolmhor binn :

'N uair ghoir an cuanal gu loinneil guanach,

'S e 's glain* a chualas am fuaim 's a' ghleann.

'N uair thig iad c6mhla na bheil ad ch6ir-sa 105

De a h-uile se6rsa bu choir bhi ann, Damh na croice air srath na m6intich,

'S e gabhail cronain le dreocam ard ;

48

THE CORRIE OF THE MIST

Ever were found round thy hollows lonely The calves, the fawns, and the hornless hind ; There fain would we be on sunny morning The peaks to stalk going them to find : Though blasts and rain and flood assailed us, On the bounds meantime was means for our lair, 'Neath the low rock at the base of the forest In the Bed of Shelter — I stretch me there.

In the calm bright morn when I awakened,

At the base of the crag, it was joy for me ;

The grouse with her cackle, a hoarse song singing.

The courtly cock crooning brokenly ;

The sprightly wren, and the musical pipe of him.

Sending the notes from him vigorous, sweet ;

The starling and red-breast, with much bustle,

And cheery warble of verse most fleet.

The mountain birds were in flocks so pretty,

Melodies singing on sprays in the wood ;

The peerless skylark with her own ditty

Smoothly sings a love interlude :

The cuckoo, the blackbird, on top of the branches.

Pipe a melodious musical strain :

When the songsters are calling joyously, lightly.

Their song was the purest heard in the glen.

When all that are near thee come together Of every sort that ought to be nigh. The antlered stag in the strath of the moorland, Giving a croon with a loud deer-cry ;

49 i>

COIRE A' CHEATHAICH

A*' dol 'san fheithe gu bras le h-eibhneas, A** mire-leumnaich ri eildeig dhuinn ; 110

B' i sin an ribhinn a dh'fhas gu mileanta, Foinneamh, finealta, direach, seang.

Tha mhaoisleach chul-bhuidh' air feadh na duslainn

Aig bun nam fiuran 'gan rusgadh lorn,

'S am boc gu h-udlaidh ri leaba chuirteil, 115

'S e 'ga burach le rutan crom ;

'S am minneain riabhach bu luime cliathaich,

Le chuinnean fiata, is fiadhaich"* ceann,

■•Na chadal guamach an lagan uaigneach

Fo bharr na luachrach 'na chuairteig chruinn. 120

Is lionmhor cnuasach a bha mu'n cuairt duit,

Ri am am buana, bu luaineach clann,

Ri tionnal guamach, gu fearail, suairce,

'S a' roinn gu h-uasal na fhuair iad ann ;

Ceir-bheach 'na cnuacaibh, 's an nead 'na chuairteig, 125

'S a' mhil 'ga buanachd air cruaidh an tuim,

Aig seillein riabhacha, breaca, srianach,

Le'n cronan cianail as fiata srann.

Bha cus r'a fhaotainn de chnothan caoine, 'S cha b' iad na caochagan aotrom gann, 130

Ach bagailt mhaola, bu taine plaoisg, A' toirt brigh a laodhan nam maoth-shlat fann : Srath nan caochan 'na dhosaibh caorainn, 'S 'na phreasaibh caola, Ian chraobh is mheang ; Na gallain ura, 's na faillein dlutha, 135

'S am barrach duinte mu chul nan crann.

50

THE CORRTE OF THE MIST

Into the mire with joy going rashly, Merry he skips to a brown young hind ; That was the queen that has grown up stately. Handsome, and clean-flanked, straight, refined.

The yellow-backed doe is amid the thicket

At the foot o** the saphngs stripping them bare,

The buck at a courtly bed works darkly.

As he digs up the earth with bent hoof there ;

The brindled kidling of barest ribsides,

With timidest nostrils, and wildest head.

Snugly it sleeps in a secret hollow

""Neath the crop o' the rush in a small round bed.

Many's the hoarding that grew around thee, At harvest time would the children bound To a snug gathering, pleasantly, manly, And sharing nobly what there they found ; In lumps bees' wax, and their nest a wee ball. From hard knoll-side is the honey laid by From the bees streaked, and spotted, and brindled, With their mournful buzzing and humming high.

There to gather was plenty of ripe nuts, And no light scanty shells were they. But clusters bare with husk o' the thinnest Take pith from the sap o' the tender spray : Strath of the rills, with clumps o' the rowan. With bushes slim, full of boughs, twigs these ; The saplings fresh, and the shoots thick growing. And the foliage closed round the top o' the trees 51

CUMHA CHOIEE A' CHEATHAICH

Gach aite timchioll ""nam fasach iomlan,

Mam is Fionn-ghleann 's an Tuilm 'ga ch6ir

Meall-tionail laimh ris, gu molach, tlathail,

B'e chulaidh dh'arach an alaich oig ; 140

Na daimh 's na h-cildean am maduinn Cheitein

Gu moch ag eirigh air reidhlean fe6ir,

Greighean dhearg dhiubh air taobh gach leargain

Mu 'n choire gharbhlaich, d'an ainm an Ce6.

CUMHA CHOIRE A' CHEATHAICH.

Air Fonn, " The Flowers of Edinburgh.''''

^S DuiLiCH leam an caradh Th*" air coire gorm an fhasaich, An robh mi greis am aiach

'S a' Bhraighe so thall ; 'S iomadh fear a bharr orm, 5

A thaitneadh e r'a nadur, Na'm biodh e mar a bha e,

'N uair dh' fhag mi e nail ; Gimnaireachd is lamhach

Spurt is aobhar gaire, 10

Chleachd bhi aig na h-armuinn

A Vabhaist bhi ""s a' ghleann ; Rinn na fir ud f hagail — 'S Mac Eoghainn t'ann an drasda, Mar chlach an ionad cabaig 15

An aite na bh' ann. 52

DIRGE FOR THE MISTY CORRIE

Each place around is a teeming wasteland, Mam, and the Tuilm, and Fionn-gleann near, Meall-tionail at hand, both tufty and sheltered, 'Twas the means the offspring young to rear ; The stags and the hinds at morn in Maytide Are early on grassy plains uprist, Red herds of them on every brae-side, Round the rough Corrie named of the Mist.

DIRGE FOR THE MISTY CORRIE.

AiE, " The Flowers of Edinburgh,''''

At the usage I am sorry

Of the wilderness' green corrie,

A while of my rearing where I

In the Brae lived o'er there ; There's many a man forbye Whose soul 't would gratify Were it as in days gone by.

When I left it for here ; Musketry and shooting craft were. With sport and food for laughter. By heroes practised oft there

Who woned in the glen ; Yon men have from it gone — Now MacEwen's there alone. As, instead of cheese, a stone.

In place of what was then.

CUMHA CHOIRE A' CHEATHAICH

Tha 'n coir"* air dol am faillinn, Ged ithear thun a' bhlair e, Gun duin* aig am bheil cas deth

Mu'n ait amis an am ; 20

Na feidh a bh' ann air fhagail, Cha d' f huirich gin air aruinn, ""S cha n'eil an aite-tamha

Mar bha e 's a' ghleann. Tha 'm baran air a sharach"*, 25

Is dh'*f hartlaich air an taladh, Gun sgil aig** air an nadur

Ged thainig e ann : B'fhearr dha bhi mar b' abhaist, Os cionn an t-soithich chatha, 30

'S a lamhan a bhi Ian di, 'Ga fasgadh gu teann.

'S e mughadh air an t-saoghal,

An coire laghach, gaolach,

A dhol a nis air faondradh, 35

'S am maor a theachd ann : 'S gur h-e bu chleachdainn riamh dha Bhi trusadh nan cearc biata, Gur trie a rinn iad sianail,

Le pianadh do lamh ; 40

Is iad 'nam baidnibh riabhach, Mu V amhaich 's ann ad sgiathan, Bhiodh itealaich is sgiabail

Mu t' fhiaclan 'san am : Bu ghiobach thu ri riaghailt 45

Mu chidsin tigh an larla, Gar nach b'e do mhiann

Bhi cur bhian air an staing. 54

DIRGE FOR THE MISTY CORRIE

The corrie's failing, wearing, Though cropt to ground unsparing. And no man is for it caring

In the place as it was then ; The deer that browsed it fled, In the forest none have staid. Nor their resting-place have made

As they used in the glen. Great's the bailiffs discomfiture. Bafiled to entice a creature, With no skill as to their nature

Hither though he came : Better he, as usual, standing O'er the sowan-vat superintending. Full his hands of streams unending.

As tight he squeezed them.

There's a change upon creation. The corrie, dear sweet station. Is gone now to ruination.

The steward there commands : And it was his practice ever The fat hens to deliver. Often did they screeching quiver

With pain at your hands ; In brindled flocks, poor things. They are round your neck in rings, Feathers shed and fluttering wings —

Now among your teeth they are : Surveillance you were rich in About the Earl's kitchen. Though never were you itching

To put skins upon the spar. 55

CUMHA CHOIRE A' CHEATHAICH

Ged tha thu nis 's a"* Bhraighe,

Cha chompanach le each thu, 50

'S tha h-uile duine tair ort

O'n thainig thu aim ; 'S eiginii duit am fagail Na ""s miosa na mar thainig, Cha taitinn thu ri 'n nadur 55

Le cnamhan 's le cainnt : Ged fhaiceadh tu ghreigh uallach, 'N uair rachadh tu mu'n cuairt daibh, Cha dean thu ach am fuadachadh

Suas feadh nam beann ; 60

Leis a^ ghunna nach robh buadhor. 'S a"" mheirg air a toU-cluaise, Cha n-eirmis i na cruachan.

An cuaille dubh, cam.

'S e 'n coire chaidh an deis-laimh, 65

O'n tha e nis gun f heidh ann, Gun duin' aig am bheil speis diubh,

Ni feum air an cul ; O'n tha iad gun fhear-gleidhte, Cha n-fhuirich iad r'a cheile, 70

'S ann a ghabh iad an ratreuta

Seach reidhlean nan lub. Cha n''eil pris an ruadh-bhuic, An coille no air fuaran, Nach b' eiginn da bhi gluasad 75

Le ruaig feadh na duthch' ; ""S cha n'eil a nis mu'n cuairt da Aon spurt a dheanadh suairceas, Na thaitneadh ri duin''-uasal

Ged fhuasgladh e chu. 80

56

DIRGE FOR THE MISTY CORRIE

In the Brae though now they've placed you, No companion for the rest you. Every mortal does detest you.

Since there you have come bragging ; And worse you needs must leave them Than e'en you did receive them. Since to the soul you grieve them

With girning and with nagging : The proud herd, if you scout them. When you would come about them, You'U nothing do but rout them

The tops up among ; With a gun that was not trusty, It's touch-hole being rusty. The big stacks it missed aye.

The black crooked rung.

The corrie's fallen behindhand, With not a deer or hind, and Not a man for them inclined, and

Who will after them avail ; For without a keeper, they Together will not stay. They have beat retreat away

Past the windings of the vale. Not a roebuck e'en is spared. In woodland, or weU sward. But must move with driving hard

In flight through the country ; There is round now within sight Not one sport that gives delight, Or would gentleman requite.

Though he his dog should free. 57

CUMHA CHOIRE A' CHEATHAICH

Tha choille bh' anns an fhrith ud, Na cuislean fada, direach, Air tuiteam is air crionadh

Sios as an rusg ; Na prisein a bha brioghor 85

'Nan dosaibh tiugha, lionmhor, Air seacadh mar gu'n spiont' iad

A nios as an uir ; Na failleanan bu bhoidhche, Na slatan is na h-6gain, 90

'S an t-ait am biodh an smeorach

Gu mothar a"* seinn ciuil, Tha iad uil' air caochladh, Cha d' fhuirich fiodh na fraoch ann ; Tha 'm mullach bharr gach craoibhe, 96

'S am maor 'ga thoirt diubh.

Tha uisge Srath na Dige,

'Na shruthladh dubh gun sioladh

Le barraig uaine li-ghlais

Gu mi-bhlasda grannd ; 100

Feur-lochain is tachair An cinn an duilleag-bhaite, Cha n'eil gne tuille fas

Anns an ait ud 'san am ; Glumagan a' chathair, 105

'Na ghlugaibh domhain, samhach, Cho tiugh ri sughan catha,

'Na lathaich 's 'na phlam ; Sean bhurn salach ruadhain Cha ghlaine ghrunnd na uachdar, 110

Gur coslach ri muir ruaidh e,

'Na ruaimle feadh stang.

58

DIRGE FOR THE MISTY CORRIE

In yon forest all the timber, The lengthy stems and limber, Are fallen down, succumbed there,

Withered from their rind ; The shrubs with pith that sprouted, In thickets many-shooted. Are dried as if uprooted

Out of the ground ; The bonniest sapling bush, The bough and the young brush. And the place where was the thrush

Softly singing melody, Changed are they altogether. Bided has not wood or heather ; The top's off every tree there,

The steward takes it away.

The Srath na Dige water Is a black unfiltered gutter With a yellow-green scum, utter

Ill-tasting nasty slime ; In marsh and current stiUy, Where grows the water-lily. Grows no sort more gracefully

In yon place meantime ; The pools o' the mossy hill Are bog-holes deep and still, And thick as sowen-swill

Roll in puddle and pitch ; Old water, foul and rusty. Depths and surface alike musty, Is like a red sea fusty,

AH stirred up in a ditch. 59

CUMHA CHOIRE A' CHEATHAICH

Tha 'n t-ait an robh na fuarain

Air fas 'na chroitean cruaidhe,

Gun sobhrach, gun dail-chuaich, 115

Gun lus uasal air earn ; An sliabh an robh na h-eildean, An aite laighe 's eirigh Cho lorn ri cabhsair feille,

'S am feur, chinn e gann : 120

Chuir Alasdair le gheisgeil A' ghreigh ud as a cheile, 'S ar learn gur mc5r an eucoir

An eudail a chall ; Cha lugha 'n t-aobhar miothlachd, 125

Am fear a chleachd bhi tiorail, A' tearnadh is a' direadh Ri frith nan damh seang.

Ach ma's duine de shliochd Pharuig

A theid a nis do'n aite, 130

'S gu'n cuir e as a laraich

An tacharan a th' ann, Bidh 'n coire mar a bha e, Bidh laoigh is aighean dar' ann, Bidh daimh a' dol 'san damhair, 135

Air fasach nam beann ; Bidh buic 'sna badan blatha, Na brie 'san abhainn laimh riu, 'S na feidh an Srath na Lairig'

Ag araeh nam mang ; 140

Thig gaeh uile ni g' a abhaist, Le aighear is le abhaehd, 'N uair gheibh am baran bkirlinn

Sud fhagail gun taing. 6o

DIRGE FOR THE MISTY CORRIE

The place where wells to brim rose, To hillocks dry and grim grows, With not a violet, primrose,

Or cairn-grown noble plant ; The slope where hinds were saucy. There they lie not, rise not, gaucie, 'Tis as bare as market causeway,

And the grass grown scant : Sandy, with his bellowing thunder. Has put yon herd asunder. And great methinks the blunder

The stock should depart ; And a cause not less heart-rending. One has, wont to be descending Cheerily, or ascending

The forest of the hart.

But were it one of Patrick's race That now came to the place. And did from its ruins chase

The changeling there that keeks — As it was will be the corrie, There will calves be, hinds that marry, And the stags to peat-holes hurry

On the wilds of the peaks ; Bucks will lie in thickets warm, Burn-trout nigh without alarm. Deer in Srath na Lairig swarm,

A-rearing their fawn ; To its usual each thing brought is With joy and gaudetotes. When the bailiff' will get notice

WiUy nilly to leave yon. 6i

ORAN SEACHARAN SEILGE

ORAN SEACHARAN SEILGE.

LuiNNEAG.

Chunna mi ^n damh donn ''s na h-eildean.

Direadh d hhealaich le chfile :

Chunna* mi ''n damh donn ''s na h-eildean.

'S mi tearnadh a Coir*' a' Cheathaich,

'S mor mo mhighean 's mi gun aighear, 5

Siubhal frithe re an latha,

Thilg mi 'n spraidh nach dVinn feum dhomh. Chunna"" mi V damh donn^ etc.

Ged tha bacadh air na h-armaibh, Ghleidh mi ""n Spainteach tliun na sealga, 10

Ged a rinn i orm de chearbaich, Nach do mharbh i mac na h-eilde.

'N uair a dh'eirich mi \s a' mhaduinn, Chuir mi innte fudar Ghlascho, Peileir teann is tri puist Shas'nach, 15

Cuifean asgairt air a dheidh sin.

Bha 'n spor ur an deis a breacadh, Chuir mi liille ris an acfhuinn, Eagal druchd bha mudan craicinn

Cumail fasgaidh air mo cheile. 20

62

ON MISSING AT HUNTING

SONG ON MISSING AT HUNTING.

Lay.

/ saw the dun stag and the hinds Ascending the pass together: I saw the dun stag and the hinds.

I'm down from Misty Corrie trailing, Great's my chagrin and joyless me ;

I fired the shot me not availing, Treading all day the forest free.

/ saw the dun stag and the hinds, etc.

Though upon arms is laid a veto, I kept the Spaniard for the hill,

Despite the trick she treated me to, Tlie son o' the hind she failed to kill.

Up in the morning I at once got.

In her I put Glasgow powder, A tight ball, three English swan-shot.

Then with wad of tow I stowed her.

Fresh the flint was on renewing,

And oil I put into the spring, A skin-case was, for fear of dewing.

On my companion ward keeping. 63

ORAN SEACHRAN SEILGE

Laigh an eilid air an fhuaran, Chaidh mi farasda mu'n cuairt di, Leig mi 'n deannal ud m''a tuairmse, Learn as cruaidh gu'*n dVinn i eirigh.

Rainig mise taobh na bruaiche, 25

'S chosd mi rithe mo chuid luaidhe ; ""S 'n uair a shaoil mi i bhi buailte, Sin an uair a V aird' a leum i.

'S muladach bhi siubhal frithe Ri la gaoith', is msg\ is dile, 30

'S ordugh teann ag iarraidh sithne. Cur nan giomanach 'nan eiginn.

'S mithich tearnadh do na gleannaibh O'n tha gruamaich air na beannaibh, 'S ceathach duinte mu na meallaibh, 35

Ag cur dalladh air ar leirsinn.

Bidh sinn beo an dochas ro mhath, Gu''m bi chuis ni''s fhearr an t-ath la ; Gu'm bi gaoth, is grian, is talamh,

Mar as maith leinn air na sleibhtibh. 40

Bidh an luaidh ghlas 'na deannaibh, Siubhal reidh aig conaibh seanga ; 'S an damh donn a' sileadh fola,

'S abhachd aig na fearaibh gleusda !

64

ON MISSING AT HUNTING

The hind, she lay down by the well, And I went round about her easy,

Let off at her yon shot so fell —

That she arose, it did not please me.

The side of the steep bank T won. At her my charge of lead I spent it ;

And when I thought she was undone. That was the time she highest sprinted.

'Tis sad to be in forest gone

In day of wind when rain-floods rattle — Strict orders to seek venison

The hunters putting on their mettle.

To the glens 'tis high time to go down, Since on the peaks there's gloomy plight.

And mists closed in the hills around, A blindness causing on our sight.

That next day better will befall us

We shall live in best of hopes. That wind, sun, landscape will be all as

We desire upon the slopes.

Grey lead will fly in lightning flood.

To clean-flanked dogs a smooth course clear ;

And the dun stag is dripping blood. And to the active men good cheer.

65

DO CHAIMBEUL A' BHANCA

ORAN DO IAIN CAIMBEUL A' BHANCA.

Iain Chaimbeul a** Bhanca,

GvCm faiceam thu slan,

Fhir a chumail na daimh, 'Gam buineadh bhi mor : Le d' chridhe fial, fearail, 5

A thug barrachd air each,

An iomadaidh cas

A thuilleadh nan slogh. Fhuair thu meas, nach 'eil bitheant'

Am measg Bhreatunnach, 10

Banc an oir bhi fo d' sgoid

Ann an coir dhleasdanaich ; Na th' ann, cha n-e 'm beagan,

Is e 'm freasdal ri d' stait,

Fo leagadh do lamh 15

'S gu freagradh do bheoil.

■"S tu marcach nan srann-each Bu stannardach ceum, Le 'ni falaireachd fein

Gu farasda foil : 20

Air diollaid nan cursan Bu dubailte srein, 'S tu bhuidhneadh gach reis, A shiubhlabh an rod. 66

v^

from a Photo, by M'Isaac & Riddel of a water-colour, the property of Dr Gillies, Easdale. JOHN CAMPBELL OF THE BANK.

[To face p. 66.

TO CAMPBELL OF THE BANK

SONG TO JOHN CAMPBELL OF THE BANK.

John Campbell of the Bank,

I greet you well, man

To uphold kith and clan, Who behoved to be great : Who, with heart kind and manly,

Surpassed all the rest.

In many a plight pressed Beyond common folk's fate. YouVe an uncommon role

In all Britons'* sight. Bank of gold in control

By legitimate right ; All that's there — 'tis not small —

Your state doth uphold.

By your hands is controlled.

Your mouth's bidding doth wait.

You ride snorting horses Of the mincingest pace, With their own, ambling grace. Easily and softly : In the saddle of coursers With double bridle rein. Every race you would gain That would traverse the way. 67

DO CHAIMBEUL A' BHANCA

Na h-eich bhearrcasach, chalma, 25

Bhiodh garbh, cumachdail, Is iad gu h-anmadail, meanmnach,

Le 'm falbh gruilleumach, Cruidheach dluth-thairgneach,

Mear, aineasach, fuasgailteach, 30

Ceannardach, cluas-bhiorach, Uallach gu leoir.

B'e do roghainn de dh'armachd,

An targaid chruinn ur,

Gu meanbh-bhallach dluth, 35

Buidhe, tairgneach, cruaidh, seolt' ; Is claidheamh chinn-airgid

Cruaidh, calma nach lub,

Lann thana gheur-chuil

Gu daingean ad dhorn ; 40

Mar ri dag ullamh, ghrad,

A bhiodh a snap freasdalach, Nach biodh stad air a sraid

Ach bhi mach freagarrach ; Fudar cruaidh sgeilcearra 46

Am feadan gle dhireach.

Ad lamhan geal, mine, 'S cuilbheir caol, gorm.

Bu cheannard air feachd thu

'N am gaisge no feum, 60

Fear misneachail treun A b' fhiosrach gach seol ; A fhuair foghlum is fasan, Is aiteas g'a reir,

Tur pailte le ceill 65

Ag cur aignidh am moid. 68

TO CAMPBELL OF THEiBANK

The brave steeds and restive

Would fierce be and shapely, They were spirited active,

With their curvetting stately, Well shod and attractive.

Loose, lusty, well fed,

Prickeared, with high head. And proud enough they.

Of armour your choice was

The targe round and new.

Bosses fine not a few.

Yellow, nailed, hard, well planned ; And a sword silver hilted,

Hard brave stiffly made,

A thin sharp back blade

Firmly grasped in your hand ; With pistol quick banging,

Trigger answering at once. Of the sparks there's no hanging.

But report in response ; Powder crisp and unlagging

In straightest tube stands,

In your white and soft hands Blue slim gun at command.

You'd be chief o'er an army In time of daring or need. Bold brave man indeed. Who every wile knew ; Who had training and fashion And blitheness to suit. Sense and prudence to boot. Your spirit adding to. 69

DO CHAIMBEUL A' BHANCA

An am suidhe na cuirte,

No dubladh an t-seisein, An uchd barra no binne,

'S i ffhirinn a sheasadh : 60

Deagh theangair gu deasbut,

Bu fhreagarrach cainnt,

A bhuidhneadh gach geall 'S a chumadh a' choir.

'S e do shugradh bha earailteach, 65

Ceanalta, suairc,

An am tional nan uaislean Mar riut a dh' 61 ; Gu failteachail, furanach,

Ag cuireadh a suas 70

Gach duine de'n t-sluagh G'am buineadh bhi 'd choir : Na diucan bu riomhaiche

A chit' ann am Breatunn, Is bu chompanach righ thu 75

Le firinn 's le teisteanas, Fhir ghreadhnaich bu sheirceile

Sheasadh air blar,

Fo 'n deise bhiodh Ian

De lastainean oir. 80

'S maith thig dhuit 'san fhasan

An ad is a"* ghruag,

Air an dreasadh a suas Am fasan an t-sl6igh ; Gu camagach daithte, 85

Lan chaisreag is chuach,

Gu bachullach mu'n cuairt

Le maise ro mhor : 70

TO CAMPBELL OF THE BANK

At the sitting of the court,

Or doubling the session, At bar or report,

Your truth made impression : Speaker good at retort

Of speech apt and free,

Who would win every plea And uphold the right too.

'Twas your mirth that was guarded,

'Twas pleasant and sweet,

When the gentry would meet With you round the bowl ; With blithe hearty welcome

You forward would place

Every man of the race

Who place near you should hold : Of the Dukes the most rare

Who in Britain were seen. Nay, a King's peer you were

For truth and esteem, Man most kind, debonair,

That on plain took his stand

In full dress and grand With lace all of gold.

Well become you in fashion The hat and the wig. Finely dressed up and trig In fashion folk's state ; All ringleted, dyed.

Full of loops, and of whorls, With, all around, curls, In beauty so great ; 71

DO CHAIMBEUL A' BHANCA

Tha gach ciabh mar do mhiann,

Air an sniamh cuniachdail, 90

Fiamh dhonn, torrach, trom,

Gun bhonn uireasbhuidh, Amlagach, cleachdach,

Cruinne, cas-bhuidh, tlath,

Cho gasda ri barr 95

Th' air mac ""san Roinn E6rp\

'S i t' aghaidh ghlan, shoilleir

Bha caoimhneil ro shuairc,

Caol mhala gun ghruaim,

Suil mheallach bu bhoidhch' ; 100

Gnuis aillidh mar chanach,

Bu cheanalta snuadh,

Mln cannach do ghruaidh Mar bharra nan ros. Cha n''eil ailleachd air each, 105

Nach tug pairt urram dhuit ; Foinneamh, finealta, direach,

Deas, fior chumachdail, Calpa, cruinn, cothromach,

Corrach, gu d' shail, 110

Gun chron ort a' fas O mhulach gu broig.

Do smaointeannan glice, Le misnich ""s le ceill,

Do thuigse ghlan, gheur, 115

'S deagh thuiteamas beoil : Gun tuirsneadh, gun bhristeadh, Gun trioblaid fo'n ghrein A b** fhiosrach mi fein.

Is misd thu bhi 'd choir. 120

72

TO CAMPBELL OF THE BANK

As meant all the flocks

Twined gracefully, resting, Brown rich heavy shocks

No thinness suggesting, Tressy filleted locks

Smooth circling and yellow,

Nice as on head of fellow In Europe they sate.

Your pure and bright features

Were kind, most benign.

Eyebrow frownless and fine, The bonniest winning eye ; Countenance fair as moss-down,

Complexion unique.

Refined, pretty, your cheek Does with rose petals vie. There's no charm in the rest

But has part-honoured you ; Handsome, straight and well-dressed,

Very comely, smart too Rounded calf, fashioned best.

To your heel tapered going ;

No flaw's on you showing From crown unto shoe.

Your thoughts are sagacious. With courage and sense. Pure, sharp intelligence, And tactful discourse : With no sadness, downbreaking. Or grief 'neath the sun, Which I've known you as one, For possessing, the worse. 73

DO CHAIMBEUL A' BHANCA

'S ioma gibht a tha nis,

Lionmhor trie minig ort, lul is fios, muirn is mios,

Flur am measg finich thu, An uaisle le spiorad, 125

Air mhireadh ad chail,

'S tu iriosal, baidheil, Cinneadail, coir.

Gheibhte sud ann ad thalla,

Fion geal is maith tuar, 130

Deoch thana gun druaip, Is i fallain gu poit ; Bhiodh sunnt agus farum

Air aire an t-sluaigh,

Deagh ghean anns an uair, 135

A'' teannadh r'a h-61 ; Anns an tigh bu mhdr seagh,

Leis nach dragh aithnichean, Muirn is caoin, a bhios air fheadh,

Cupa ""s glain, canachan, 140

Coinnlearan airgid,

Dreois ghailtheach de^n cheir,

Feadh t'aitreibh gu leir, Is iad pailte gu leoir.

B' e do mhiann a luchd-ealaidh, 145

Piob sgalanta chruaidh, Le caithream cho luath, 'S a ghearradh na meoir ; Puirt shiubhlara mheara,

Is fior allail cur suas, 150

Ann an talla nam buadh Bu bharrail mu'n stor : 74

TO CAMPBELL OF THE BANK

Many gifts now beseem

You, with manifold power, Tact and skill, love, esteem ;

You're among kin a flower, Nobleness, spirit-gleam

In your temper combine.

You are humble, benign, Worthy, clannish of course.

In your hall were found yonder White wine, viands sound. Flowing draught without ground. Withal wholesome to pree ;

There were tumult and mirthfulness In the folk's mind. While in good humour kind To drink turning free ;

In the house of great routh,

Which guests deems no trouble.

Genial love lasts throughout, Cups, glass, can — ^all o'er bubble.

Silver candlesticks flout. Wax flares of bright hue. Your dwelling all through. In great plenty they be.

Your delight was in artistes, Shrill hard pipe music. With a welcome as quick As the fingers could streik ; Forth lively quick marches 'Tis noble to call In the triumphal hall For riches unique : 75

DO CHAIMBEUL A' BHANCA

Cruite ciuil, torman ur,

Is e gu dliith ruith-leumnach ; Feadain lorn, chruinne, dhonn, 155

Thogadh fonn mireanach ; Clarsach le grinneas,

Bu bhinn-fhoclach fuaim,

"'S cha tilleadh tu 'n duais,

'N uair a shireadh tu ceol. 160

'S iomadh ait am bheil do charaid,

Ad fharraid mu''n cuairt,

An deas is an tuath,

Cho dleasnach 's bu choir ; Diuc Earra-ghaidhleach ainmeil, 165

Ceann-armailt' nam buadh,

Leis na dhearbadh lamh chruaidh, Is ris an d''earbadh gu leoir ; An t-Iarla cliuiteach g'an duthchas

Bhi 'n Tur Bhealaich, 170

A chuir an ruaig le chuid sluaigh

Air na fuar Ghallaich ; Morair Loudon nan seang-each,

Ard sheanalair caimp,

Fhuair urram comannd 175

Far na bhuidhinn na seoid.

Tha iomadh cas eile Nach ceilinn 'san uair, Tha tar ruing ort buaidh,

A mhaireas ri d* bheo ; 180

Fuil rioghail air lasadh A mach ann do ghruaidh Cur t'aignidh a suas Le aiteas ro mhor ;

76

TO CAMPBELL OF THE BANK

Violins, a fresh sound,

A close allegro croon ; Bare brown chanter round

That would raise merry tune ; Harp for niceness renowned,

Tone sweet voiced indeed.

You'd withhold not the meed. When you music would seek.

Many's the place where your friend lives,

And asks for you forth,

In the south and the north. Duteous as befits kin ; Famous Duke of Argyll,

Of victorious command.

Who showed a hard hand And was much trusted in ; The famed Earl, with right

In Taymouth to reign. With his host put to flight

The cold Caithness men ; Loudon of the steeds light.

Field-marshal indeed.

Had the honour to lead Where the heroes did win.

There's many a cause else I'd not timely neglect. Which to you draws respect That will last till you're dead ; Royal blood flaming up

In your cheek and each feature Exalting your nature In joy great and glad ; 77

ORAN GHLEANN URCHAIDH

Tha bunntam is leirsinn, 185

Gu leir ann ad phearsain, Fhir shunntaich na feile,

Sgeul eibhinn a b" ait learn, Na 'm faicinn am maireach

Le abhachd 's le muirn 190

Bhi 'd charadh fo 'n chrun An aite Righ De6rs\

ORAN GHLEANN URCHAIDH.

Mu'n tig ceann bliadhna tuille,

Cha bhi sinn uil' an Torr-a-mhuilt ;

Theid sinn thar na bealaichean, Do''n fhearann an robh 'n tlus :

Far am bheil ar dilsean, 5

Anns an tir am bheil ar cnid ;

'S an t-ait an coir dhuinn criochnachadh 'S an tiodhlaicear ar cuirp.

Is ann an Clachan-an-diseirt

Bu ghrinn bhi ann an diugh, 10

Suidhe 'n eaglais mhiorbhailteich,

An dasg bu riomhach cur ; Ag eisdeachd ris na dh'innseadh dhuinn,

Am fear bu shiobhailt guth ; Is e toirt sgeul a"* Bhiobaill duinn, 15

'S a bhrigh a' tighinn gu buil. 78

SONG ON GLENORCHY

Steadfastness, insight thorough,

Combined in your person. Genial host with no sorrow,

Glad news would rejoice one, Should I see you to-morrow

With love and ovation

Placed by coronation In King George's stead.

SONG ON GLENORCHY.

Before a year's end more come,

All on Sheep-hill we'll not be ; We'll go across the passes.

To the genial warm country : Where abide our kindred.

In the land where is our own. In the place we ought to die

And where our corse will be laid down.

Oh ! it is in Glenorchy

It were sweet to be to-day Sitting in a wondrous church

In a pew curved elegantly, Listening to all was told us

In his voice that pleasing was ; While he told the Bible story,

And its burden coming to pass. 79

OEAN GHLEANN URCHAIDH

Gleannan blath na tioralachd,

An ro mhaith 'n cinn an stuth, Far am bheil na h-innseagan,

Am bheil an siol an cur : 20

Cinnidh arbhar craobhach ann

Cho caoin-gheal ris a' ghruth, Gu reachdmhor, biadhchar, brioghmhor,

Trom, torach, liontach, tiugh.

Bu chridheil bhi 's a' gheamhradh ann, 25

Air bainnsean gheibhte spurt ; Fonn-cheol reidh na piobaireachd,

Cha bhiodh sgios mu a sgur : Fuaim nan teud aig fidhleirean

A sheinneadh sios na cuir ; 30

'S an luinneag fein aig nionagan

Bu bhinne mhillse guth.

Gheibhte bradan fior-uisg ann,

A' direadh ris gach sruth ; Eoin an t-sleibh' gu lionmhor, 35

'S na miltean coileach dubh ; Earba bheag an sgriobain,

Na minnein chrion 's na buic, 'S a' ghleann am bheil na fritheachan,

'S na giomanaich 'nam bun. 40

O'n a thainig mi do''n f hearann so,

Cha n-fhaigh mi fiu an eoin, 'S cha n'eil fath bhi bruidhinn

Mu'n fhear bhuidh' air am bi 'n croc : 8o

SONG ON GLENORCHY

The warm and sheltered little dell,

Where crops right well will grow, And where the little patches are,

In which the seed they sow : Branching corn will ripen there

As pleasing-white as curd, And rank, abundant, juicy.

Heavy, fruitful, thick, full-eared.

It were heartsome there in winter.

Fun at weddings would be got ; The smooth stream of the piping.

For its close we'd weary not : The sound o' the strings of fiddlers

Who'd play off the movements choice And their own carol by girls

Of the truest, sweetest voice.

Found are salmon in fresh water.

Ascending every stream ; The hill birds in great numbers.

Blackcock in their thousands teem ; The small doe of the scraping.

The wee fawns, the roebuck race. In the glen where are the forests.

And the hunters at their base.

Since I have come to this land,

I get not so much as a bird.

And no use there is in speaking

Of the yellow-antlered lord : 8i

ORAN AN T-SAMHRAIDH

Cha b'ionann 's bhi mar Vabhaist domh

Aig braighe Doire-chro, Far am bi na laii-daimh,

Ni 'n damhair anns a' cheo.

Mo shoraidh do Ghleann Urchaidh

Nan tulchan glasa feoir, Far am bheil na sealgairean,

'S a fhuair iad ainm bhi corr ; A"* dhireadh ris na garbhlaichean,

Am biodh greigh dhearg 'na leoir 'S bhiodh gillean trom le eallachan

A dh'fhagadh tarbhach bord.

*S an uair a thigte dhathaigh leo,

Gu'm b'f hasanta bhur seol, A' suidhe 'san tigh-thairne,

'S bhi dannsa mar ri ceol : Cridhealas r'a cheile,

'S na bein a bhi 'gan 61 ; 'S cha n-fhaicte cuis 'na h-eiginn

An am eigheach air an stop.

ORAN AN T-SAMHRAIDH.

""N UAiR thig an samhradh geugach oirnn, Theid sian nan speur o'n ghruamaiche,

Thig tlus is blathas is aoibhneas,

Theid gach ni g'a reir am buadhalachd.

82

SONG TO THE SUMMER

It was not as I was used to

In the braes of Doire Chro, Where used to be the prime harts,

In the mist that wooing go.

My farewell to Glenorchy

Of the grassy hills and green, Where abide the hunters,

WhoVe the name of being keen ; Who would ascend the rough ground.

Where in plenty's the red herd, And lads weighed down with burdens

Which would leave a loaded board.

And when home was come to with them.

It was your accustomed way To be seated in the tavern.

And in dance with music stay : There was heartiness together ;

For the hides, o'er throats to coup ; And no affair seemed pressing

When calling for the stoup.

SONG TO THE SUMMER.

" When the days of leafy summer come. And the sky is cleared of gloom. Kindly rays of warmth and gladness Health restore and banish sadness.

83

ORAN AN T-SAMHRAIDH

Thig feart le neart na greine oirnn, 5

Ni 'n saoghal gu leir a chuartachadh ;

Thig teas o slios 'n uair dh'eireas i Ni feum, ""s cha treigear uainne e.

Bidh por ann an tir ghrainnsearan,

Chur sil aims an tim ghnathaichte ; 10

A^ toirt brigh as an uir nadurra,

O'n bhlar gu bharr a ghluaiseas e : Gu reachdmhor, breac, neo-fhaillineach,

Trom-choinnleineach garbh-ghraineanach, Gu diasach, riabhach, caileanach, 15

Gu biadhchar, Ian, *'n uair bhuainear e.

'S glan faile nan geug liomharra,

Mu gharadh nan seud lionmhora : Am biodh ailleagain gle rlomhacha

Le blatlias a slor-chur snuadh orra ; 20

Gu h-ubhlach, peurach, fioguiseach,

Glan, brioghmhor, diomhair, guamaiseach ; Gach sraid as aillidh grineachan.

Mar phaileas righ r'an cuartachadh.

'S ro ghreannar gach gleann fior-mhonaidh, 25

Cur lomhaigh ghrinn an uachdar air ; Gach lus le bharr cho mhiorbhailteach,

A' fas fo nihile suaicheantas ; Gu duilleach, lurach, ditheanach,

Glan, riomhach, lionmhor, cuachanach, 30

Gu ropach, dosach, misleanach,

Gu millteachail, min, uainealach. 84

SONG TO THE SUMMER

The sun comes forth in living strength

O'er the whole world's breadth and length,

Abounding life springs from his side In good and joy which shall abide/"'

There will be seed in grangers' clime

To sow at the appointed time, Drawing the pith from Nature's breast

Which moves from soil to the crop's crest : Unfailing, rank, of varied strain.

Of heavy stalk, and rough with grain. All brindled, husky, and well-eared.

Food-giving, full, when it is sheared.

Pure fragrance from smooth bough and stem

The garden round of many a gem : Where will be jewels passing fair.

Heat decks them aye with beauty rare ; With many an apple, pear, and fig.

Pure, sappy, well-concealed, and trig ; Each walk the beauteous green lawns bound

Like a king's court them fencing round.

Right shaggy is each Highland glade.

Its surface dons a lovely shade ; Each herb with crown so wondrous showing

Beneath a thousand streamers growing ; All leafy, lovely, blossom- draped,

Pure, fine, abundant and cup-shaped, Tangled, bushy, with sweet-grass seen,

And slender arrowgrass pale green. 8s

ORAN AN T-SAMHRAIDH

Bidh fonn air gach neach nadurra,

Bhi sealltainn gach ni gnathaichte, Am blar lorn ag ciir dreach fasaich air, 35

Gach la cur strac neo-thruaillidh air ; Gu molach, torrach, caiteineach,

Gu craobhach, crasgach, cnuasachdach, Gu h-urair, dubh-ghorm, aileanta,

Le frasan blatha, bruaidleanach. 40

Bidh gach frith gu liontach, feurach ;

'S theid na feidh 'nan eideadh suaicheanta Gu h-uallach, binneach, ceumanach,

Grad-leumanach, bior-chluaiseanach ; Gu crocach, cabrach, ceir-ghealach, 46

Gu mangach, eangach, eildeagach, ""Gan grianadh 's a' mhios Cheiteanach,

Air slios an t-sleibh' mu'n cuartaich iad.

Bidh laogh ri taobh gach aighe dhiubh,

'Nan laighe mar as coir dhaibh ; 50

Bidh gach damh is mang comh-aighearach,

'N uair thig Feill Sheathain Roid orra : Bu tuille loin is saoghail,

Do gach neach a ghabhadh gaol orra, Bhi trie ag amharc caol orra 55

'S ag eisdeachd gaoir an cronanaich.

Bidh maoisleach a' chinn ghuanaich,

Ag cur dreach is snuadh is tuar oirre,

'S i tilgeadh cuilg a"* gheamhraidh

A chuir gurt is greann is fuachd oirre : 60

86

SONG TO THE SUMMER

Each natural person's heart will sing

A-viewing every common thing, The bare moor donning wilding treasure,

And each day adding no mean measure ; Fruitful, hirsute, with shag and nap,

The branches swell with fertile sap. And fresh, dark green, their fragrant bowers.

From genial and refreshing showers.

Full grassy is each forest holm ;

The deer in banner garb will come, Proud and peaked, and pacing hard.

Suddenly -bounding, and quick-eared ; White-reared and horned in many tines.

With nimble-footed fawns and hinds. Sunning themselves in the month of May,

On the side of the slope round which they stray.

A calf beside each several hind,

All, as behoves them, snug reclined ; Each stag and fawn together play

When round comes John the Baptist's day : More of long life and food there were

To every one would for them care. Oft looking at them narrowly.

And listening to their crooning cry.

The giddy-headed doe will, too,

Put on her beauty form and hue ; The winter's wear away she throws

Which clothed her with cold gloom morose : 87

ORAN AN T-SAMHRAIDH

Cn thainig blathas an t-samhraidh oirnn,

Cuiridh ise mantal ruadh oirre, 'S tha inntinn ghrinn d'a reir aice,

Gu fallain, feitheach, fuasgailteach.

Bidh am minnein urair meanbh-bhallach, 65

Gros tioram air a' ghnuis bu sgeinmeile ; Gu mireanach, luthor, anmadail,

Ri sliniiean iia h-earb'' an guailleachan : Bu chlis feadh pris mu anmoch iad,

Gu trie fo iochd nam meanbh-chuileag, 70

Gu sgrideil, gibeach, gearr-mhasach,

An sliochd d'an ainm na ruadhagan.

Bidh gach creutair faillinneach,

A bha greis an cas na fuaralachd, A^ togail an cinn gu h-abhachdach, 75

O'n a thainig blathas le buaidh orra : Na h-eoin 's a' phunc a b'abhaist daibh,

Gu ceolmhor, fonnmhor, failteachail, P'eadh phreas is thorn ri gairdeachas,

Gun chas a dh'fhagadh truaillidh iad. 80

^S neo-thruaillidh am por lionmhor ud,

'S gur speiseil grinn a ghluaiseas iad ; Le'm beus a' seinn mar fhidhleirean,

Gur h-aoibhinn binn ri m' chluasaibh iad : 'S glan luinneagach, fior-inntinneach, 85

A" chanain-chinn thig uapa-san ; ""S iad gobach, sgiathach, cireanach

Gu h-iteach, dionach, cluaineiseach

SONG TO THE SUMMER

Since summer warmth to us has spread, She will put on her mantle red,

With her accords her lovely mind, Tis healthy, nervous, unconfined.

The fresh, small-spotted, kidlet race,

A dry snout on the comeliest face. Is vigorous, merry, sprightly shy,

At the doe's side but shoulder high : Active at e'en 'mong bushes, ridges,

Oft at the mercy of the midges, They lively, neat, and short-tailed go.

The generation named the roe.

And every frail created thing.

Which erst with cold was perishing. Will gaily raise their heads erect.

Since heat has reached them with effect Birds catch the note they used to sing,

Musical, tuneful, welcoming, 'Mid bush and knoll with glee right glad,

And no distress to make them sad.

Not mean yon numerous family prove,

And proudly finely do they move, Sing in their mode like viol-players,

They're sweet melodious to mine ears : Pure, choral, truly full of soul.

The speaking head-notes from them roll ; And beaked, and winged, and combed are they,

Feathered, close-clad, retired away.

OKAN AN T-SAMHRAIDH

Bidh an coileach le thorman tuchanach,

Air chnocana gorm a"* durdanaich, 90

Puirt fhileanta, cheolmhor, shiubhlacha,

Le ribheid a' dluth-chur seoil orra ; Gob crom nam puncan luthora,

'S a chneas le dreach air a dhublachadh, Gu slios-dubh, girt-gheal, ur-bhallach, 95

'S da chirc a"* sugradh boidheach ris.

Thig a' chubhag 's a' mhios Cheitein oirnn,

■"S bidh 'n uiseag 'na seuchdan comhla rith**, 'S an dreathan ag gleusadh sheannsairean

Air a' gheig as aird^ a mhothaicheas e. 100

Bidh choille gu leir 's na glean ntaichean

Air chrathadh le h-aoibhneas canntaireachd, Aig fuaim a"* chuanail cheannsalaich,

Feadh phreas, is chrann, is oganan.

Na doireachan coilP bu diomhaire, 105

'S na croinn mu'n iadh na smeoraichean Theid gach craobh an ceutaichead,

Bidh caochladh fiamh is neoil orra ; Gu meanganach, direach, sniomhanach,

Theid cridhe nam freumh an soghaireachd, 110 Le trusgan ur g'a mheudachadh,

Barr-guc air mheuraibh nosara.

Bidh am beith gu cuisleach, fiuranach,

Gu failleanach, slatach, ur-fhasach ; Thig snodhach fo 'n chairt is druisealachd, 115

Bidh duilleach is rusg mar chomhdach air : 90

SONG TO THE SUMMER

The cock with his hoarse clack will be

On hillocks green, and murmuring free Tunes eloquent, quick, musical,

His reed voice punctuating all ; A crooked beak with notes of power ;

His breast with beauty clothed twice o'er, Dark-sided, white-girthed, spotted new,

And prettily two hens him woo.

In the month of May will the cuckoo come.

And the lark in her doublet will with her roam. And the wren, tuning his chanter, cleaves

To the highest branch which he perceives. And all the woods and glens will be

Shaken with joyous melody. At the unrivalled songsters"* sound

On bush and branch and twig around.

The wood-groves' loneliest retreat.

The trees round which the thrushes meet. Each bough goes to perfection new.

With everchanging form and hue ; Branching, in straightness, crookedness.

The roots' core grows in sappiness. With mantle fresh to make it big.

And blossom on each juicy twig.

The veiny birch, a tendril mesh,

With sprays and saplings growing fresh ;

Sap, juice beneath the bark will spring. Rind, foliage as a covering : 91

ORAN AN T-SAMHRAIDH

Le bruthainn theid brigh na duslainn

Ann am barrach dluth nan oganan Gu pluranach, caoin, maoth-bhlasta,

Mo roghainn de shnaoisean sroine e. 120

'S sC bhiolaire luideach, shliom-chluasach,

Ghlas,chruinn-cheannach, chaoin, ghorm-neulach Is i fas glan, uchd-ard, gilmeanach,

Fo bharr geal, iomlan, sonraichte ; Air ghlaic bu taitneach cearmonta, 125

Le seamragan ^s le neoineanan ; 'S gach lus a dh'fheudainn ainmeachadh,

Cur anbharra dhreach boidhchead air.

Gur badanach, caoineil, mileanta,

Cruinn, mopach, min-chruthach, mongaineach 130 Fraoch groganach, dubh-dhonn, grls-dearg,

Barr cluigeanach, sin teach, gorm-bhileach ; Gu dosach, gasach, uainealach,

Gu cluthor, cluaineach, tolmagach ; 'S a' mhil 'na fudar gruaige dha, 135

'Ga chumail suas an sporsalachd.

■"S i gruag an deataich riomhaich i,

'S m6r a brigh 's is lionmhor buaidh oirre, Ceir-bheach nan sgeap a' cinntinn oirr',

Seillean breac feadh tuim 'ga chnuasachd sud ; 140 Gu cianail, tiamhaidh, srann aige

Air bharra nam meas a"* dranndanaich, Bhiodh miann bhan-6g is bhaintighearnan

^Na fhardaich ghreannar, ghuamaisich. 92

SONG TO THE SUMMER

With sultriness the thickets' pith

To the boughs' top foHage travelleth,

And flowery, mild, sweet-flavoured blows ; It is my favourite snuft* for the nose.

The ragged water-cress, sleek-eared,

Close-headed, mild, dark-hued, unseared. Pure, dainty, high-breasted grows she

'Neath pale top, nobly, perfectly ; In pleasant tidy dell she lies

With shamrock posies and daisies ; And all plants I might make my theme —

They beauty's aspect don supreme.

Heath-tufted, mild, and stately-craned.

Round, tasselated, slim-shaped, maned. And wrinkled, dark brown, white and red,

Bell-topped, blue-lipped and extended ; Bushy and scraggy, green and pale,

Cosy and rank on hill and dale ; With honey as powder for its tress.

Upholding it in stylishness.

Its is the beauteous perfumed hair,

Great pith, abundant virtue there, Beeswax of the skeps upon it scattered,

Brown bee 'mid knolls yon treasure gathered ; Eerie, dreary is his bumming,

Upon the top of the fruits a-humming, Young maids and ladies would delight

In his curious dwelling, snug and tight. 93

ORAN AN T-SAMHRATDH

Is e gu sriteach, riabhach, ciar-cheannach, 145

Breac, buidh', stiallach, srian-bhallach. Gobach, dubhanach, riasgach, iargalta,

Ri gniomh gu dian mar thuathanach : Gu surdail, grunndail, deanadach,

Neo-dhiomhanach 'na uaireannan ; 150

'S e faile lusan fiadhaiche

Bhios aige bhiadh 's a thuarasdal.

Gach tain as airde chruinnicheas

Do'n airigh uile ghluaiseas iad ; Thig bliochd is dair gun uireasbhuidh, 155

Craobh ard air cuman gruagaiche ; Na h-aighean as oige laidire,

Nach dYhiosraich trath nam buaraichean, Bidh luinneag aig ribhinn chul-duinn daibh,

'Gam briodal ciuin le duanagan. 160

'S fior-ionmhuinn mu thrath noine

Na laoigh oga choir na buaile sin, Gu tarr-gheal, ball-bhreac, botainneach,

Sgiathach, druim-fhionn, sroin-fhionn, guailleach ; Is iad gu li-dhonn, ciar-dhubh, caraideach, 165

Buidh\ gris-fhionn, cra-dhearg, suaicheanta, Seang, sliosrach, direach, sar-chumpach,

Min, sliogta, barr an suainiche.

Bidh foirm is colg air creutairean,

Gu stoirmeil, gleusf 'g ath-nuadhachadh ; 170 Le forgan torchuirt feudalach,

An trend, 's an spreidh, 's am buachaille ; 94

SONG TO THE SUMMER

He's greyish, brindled, dun of head.

Striped, speckled, yellow streaked, spotted, Beaked, hooked, of rasping churlish mien.

For action like a farmer keen : Thrifty, alert with busy powers.

And unremiss in labour's hours ; It is the odour of wild flowers

That him with food and wages dowers.

Whatever droves the highest meet,

Up to the shieling all retreat ; Milk, cattle-pairing do not fail.

High foam on maiden's milking-pail ; The youngest heifers and most prime.

That ne'er have known the shackle time, A brown-haired maiden sings their praise.

Lulling them quiet with her lays.

At noontide veritably dear

Are the young calves that fold a-near, White-bellied, well-hoofed, speckled-bright.

Well-shouldered, sides, backs, noses white ; Dun-coloured, dark grey, twinned are they.

Yellow, blood-red, conspicuous, grey, Clean, glossy, straight, well-shaped beside,

Smooth licked the surface of their hide.

On creatures there's good cheer and fling In brave trim them rejuvenating ;

With stir of jostling of the stock.

The herd, the herdsman, and the flock :

95

ORAN AN T-SAMHRAIDH

An gleann barrach, bileach, reidhleanach, Creamh, raineach, reisg, is luachai reach,

■"S e caoin, cannach, min-chruthach, ceutach, 175

Fireach, sleibhteach, feurach, fuaranach.

Bidh mionntainn, camomhil, 's sobhraichean,

Geur-bhileach, lonach, luasganach ; Cathair-thalmhanta, 's carbhainn chroc-cheannach

Gharg, amlach, romach, chluas-bhi orach ; 180

Subhan-laire, 's faile ghroiseidean ;

Lan lilidh 's rosan cuachanach, Is clann bheag a' trusadh leolaichean,

Buain chorr an cos nam bruachagan.

Bidh 'm blar fo strac le uraireachd, 185

Oidhch"' luchair bhruinceach, cheobanach, Gach srabh 's a barr air lubadh orra

Le cudthrom an druchd 's le lodalachd ; 'Na phaidearan lionmhor, cuirneineach,

Gu brioghmhor, sughmhor, solasach ; 190

Cuiridh ghrian gu dian 'na sniuidean e,

Le fiamh a gnuis' 'san og-mhaduinn.

'N uair a dhearsas a gnuis bhaoisgeil,

Gu fial, flathail, fiamh, geal, caoimhneil oirnn, Thig maitheas is gniomh le saoibhireachd, 195

Chuir loinn air an Roinn Eorpa so ; Le eibhneas greine soillseachadh.

Air an speur gu reidh a spaoileas i. Cur an ceill gach feum a rinn i dhuinn,

G'a fhoillseachadh 's g'a mhdideachadh, 200

96

SONG TO THE SUMMER

The glen teeming with crops, leaves, meads And garlic, bracken, rushes, reeds —

Mild, pretty, finely shaped, excels

In hill ground, grasses, slopes and wells.

Mint, primroses, and camomile,

Sharp-lipped, on meadows wave and smile ; Yarrow, and caraway's antlered head

Rough, hairy, sharp-eared, ringleted ; Gooseberries scent, strawberries strewn ;

Roses cup-shaped, lilies full blown ; And little children tulips fetch.

Dig hole in banks for bitter vetch.

Brimful of freshness the moor will be,

A dogday's night, drizzling, sultry. And each stem with its top bent o'er

By the dew's weight and load it bore ; Dew-spangled posies numerous.

Sappy and gladdening, full of juice — The sun soon makes it smoke away

With the sight of his face at break of day.

Whene'er will shine his dazzling face.

With generous, princely, bright, kind grace, Good work with richness will unite.

Which to this Europe have given delight ; With joy of the sun that shines undim.

In the heaven serene that drapeth him. What good he did us showing yet.

Revealing and confirming it.

97

DO CHAIPTEAN CAIMBEUL

ORAN DO CHAIFl'EAN DONNCHADH CAIM- BEUL AN GEARD DHUN-EIDEINN.

A' BHLiADHNA chruinnich an campa

'S a thainig an trioblaid, Bha Donnchadh 6g Caimbeul

Air cheann na Milisi ; Fear urramach, seolta, 6

Bu mhdr foghlum is misneach, G'an tarruing an ordugh

Ann an coireanaibh miosail.

'S mor do mheas aig na daoine

Bh'air do thaobh anns an uair sin, 10

A** dol air an adhairt

Ann an aghaidh an fhuathais ; 'N uair bu bhraise bha ''n teine,

Is fras pheileir mu'n cuairt dhuit, ■"S ann air thoiseach na h-armailt 15

A dhearbh thu do chruadal.

Ann an latha Chuil-lodair

A' dol an toiseach a' bhatailt, 'S mdr a b'fheairrd iad thu rompa,

A thoirt daibh brosnachadh focail ; 20

Fir Ghleann Urchaidh bha 'd dheidh,

'S bu tu roghainn de chaiptein, Ge bu sheanalair ard thu,

B' fhiach thu 'n t-aite bhi agad.

98

TO CAPTAIN CAMPBELL

SONG TO CAPTAIN DUNCAN CAMPBELL IN THE EDINBURGH GUARD.

The year came the trouble

And forces were banded, 'Twas young Duncan Campbell

The militia commanded ; A brave man and skilled,

Of great training and spirit, Drawing troops up in order

In corps of fine merit.

Great respect had the men

On your side at that hour. As forward advancing

They faced the dread power ; When the fire was the keenest.

Ball-drift round you flaring. In the van of the host

You gave proof of your daring.

On the day of Culloden

You headed the fighting ; Much the better they were of

Your words them inciting ; Men of Orchy behind

You, of captains the best ; Were you a high general.

You were worthily placed. 99

DO CHAIPTEAN CAIMBEUL

'S cha do smaointich thu gealtachd, 25

'S cha b"* fhasan leat curam, 'S ann a bha fin nt inn a"* togail

An am losgadh an fhudair : 'S nan geur lannan glasa

Bhi le braise Van rusgadh, 30

Bu tu ceannard an fheachda

Nach gabhadh feachdadh no lubadh.

Bu cheann-feadhna deas calm thu

Nach robh cearbach ad ghaisge, Tarruing suas do chuid daoine, 35

'N uair a sgaoileadh a"" bhratach ; Dh^irich leatsa buaidh-larach

Anns gach cas a chaidh seachad, 'S na fhuair thu de phairtidh

Rinn thu 'n aireamh thoirt dathaigh. 40

Ceann na ceiir is na cuideachd,

Bu mhor tuigs** agus reusan, Am fear misneachail cliuiteach,

Comhlann ur de shHochd Dhiarmaid ; Tha t' aigne mar leomhann, 45

Chuir thu moran an gniomh dheth ; Le d' chainnt bhunailteich, phuncail,

Sar chompanach iarla.

Dhearbh thu fein a bhi suairce

Ann an uaisF is an glaine, 50

'S ioma car air gach taobh dhiot

Air am faodainn do shloinneadh,

lOO

TO CAPTAIN CAMPBELL

You had no thought of fear,

And care ne'er was your fashion, Your courage was rising.

When powder was flashing : And the sharp blades and bright

To be suddenly baring. You were the war chief.

Not to bow or bend caring.

A trim and brave chieftain

Not awkward in valour You drew up your men.

When unfurled was the colour ; With you victory lay

In each crisis that came. What you got as your party

Full tale you took hame.

King of sense and good fellows.

Great your reason and clear wit, Man famed and courageous.

Scion fresh of Clan Diarmid : Lionlike is your nature.

Much you put it in peril ; With your sound, cultured speech

YouVe fit peer for an Earl.

You proved yourself gentle. With noble and pure grace.

From many strains round

Your descent I might sure trace,

lOI

DO CHAIPTEAN CAIMBEUL

Shliochd nan comMann bu chaoimhneile

O thigh Achadh-loinne, De'n fhuil as airde shliochd Dhiarmaid, 55

Tha *n dream cheutach g'am bheil thu.

'S e meud na h-uaisle tha ""d chorp,

Tha sior chur brosgladh at inntinn, Bu mhor ffheum anns a"* chogadh,

'N uair a b' oifigeach Righ thu : 60

Rinn thu gnothach do chairdean,

Gu nadurra dileas, 'S cliu a chosnadh o d' naimhdean,

'N uair a thainig an t-siochaint.

A' bhliadhna thogadh na creachan, 65

'S a loisgeadh aitreabh nan Garbh-chrioch 'S mdr a rinn thu g'am bacadh,

O luchd nan casagan dearga ; A liuthad beannachdan bhochdan,

A rinn thu chosnadh 'san am sin, 70

Tha gu siorruidh am freasdal

Ri bhi leasachadh f anma.

Cha b'e t' fhasan bhi 'n ti

Air cuid nam fior dhaoine bochda, Ach an leigeadh roimh d' lionaibh, 75

Anns gach tir air 'n do chroisg thu ; 'N uair bhiodh each anns na cuiltibh

Ri spuinneadh 's ri robadh, 'S ann a bhiodh tu le d' dhaoinibh

A mach air aodann nan cnocan. 80

I02

TO CAPTAIN CAMPBELL

Seed of heroes most kind Of the house of Auchlyne,

Clan Diarmid's best blood The good folk of your line.

Such high strain in your frame

In your mind aye puts vir, Great your service in war

As a king's officer : You stood firm by your friends

Lovingly, faithfully, Fame was won from your foes

When the peace came to stay.

The year spoils were lifted.

And burnt Roughbound farms. You did much to secure them

From red-coats' alarms. Poor folk's blessings so many

You won that occasion. Their effect must be ever

For your souPs salvation.

Not your way to show zeal

While the real poor the cost bore. But your nets through to let them,

Each land that you crossed o'er ; When the rest were in closets

To rob and to plunder.

You'd be with your men

On the hiU-face out yonder. 103

DO CHAIPTEAN CAIMBEUL

Bha thu teom' air gach fear-ghleus,

A shiubhal garbhiaich an t-sleibhe ; Bu tu roghainn an t-sealgair,

A dhol a mharbhadh na h-eilde ; Ann am fasach na coille, 85

Na 'n doire na geige, Bu tu namhaid a"* choilich

As moich"* a ghoireadh ""s a' Cheitein.

'S inaith thig feile cruinn uasal

Mu'n cuairt air do bhreacan, 90

Bonaid ghorm a' bhile shiod' ort,

'S peiteag riomhach de'*n tartan ; Brog theann air dheagh chumadh

Mu'n troigh as cuimeir air faiche, "•S air do chalpannan soilleir, 95

Osain ghoirid is gartain.

'S maith thig claidheamh geur cuil ort,

Lann ur nan tri chlaisean, Tana, faobharach, fuileach,

Aotrom, guineach, geur, sgai teach ; 100

Dias chuimeir de'n stailinn,

'S i spairrt' an ceann aisneach, Ann an iomchar iiallach,

'S an crios gualainn ""san fhasan.

Paidhir dhag air do ghiulan, 105

B'e do run a bhi 'd shiubhal. Mar ri cuilbheir deas, aotrom,

Gunna caol a' bheoil chumhainn, 104

TO CAPTAIN CAMPBELL

Apt at all manly craft,

To tread rough slope of hill ; The choicest of hunters

The hind to go kill ; You, in pasture of woodland,

Or grove of the spray, Were the foe of the cock

That crew soonest in May.

Well the brave circling kilt

Comes around on your plaid. Blue bonnet silk-rimmed.

Tartan jacket well-made ; Fitting shoe finely shaped.

Foot on green there's none smarter. And on your clean calves are

The short hose and garter.

Well the sharp back -sword suits you.

New blade of grooves three. Thin, keen-edged, and bloody,

Light, sharp, lopping free ; A trim braird of steel.

Fastened in a ribbed hilt. In a gay bearer hangs

At approved shoulder-belt.

Pair of pistols upon you

Abroad — your caprice. Trim and light culverin.

Narrow-muzzled fowling-piece.

DO CHAIPTEAN CAIMBEUL

Adharc chuimeir an fhudair,

Flasg chul-bhuidh 's beul luthaidh, 110

Sgiath bhreac nam ball dlutha,

Lann sgriubhta 'na h-ubhall.

Cha mhios'' thig dhuit biodag,

Cho maith 's a thigeadh o'n cheardaich, Sniomhan lionmhora, croma 115

Air a cois dhromanaich, chargnaich ; 'S i gu finealta, sgeanail,

Direach, tana, gle sgeanamhail, Eadar bhonn agus mhuineal,

An taoim 's an duille 's a' chrambait. 120

Bha thu uasal a" tighinn

Air gach slighe tha 'n taic riut, "*S cha do leig thu fhein a rithisd

Bonn de'n t-slighe ud seachad ; Fhir bu shiobhalta bruidhinn, 125

Bu tu breitheamh a' cheartais, Sar phoitear na dighe,

'Gan robh 'n cridhe fial, farsaing.

'S gach car a chaidh dhiotsa,

Ann an rioghachd na h-Alba, 130

Cha chualas do mhi-chliu,

Air do sgriob feadh nan Garbh-chrioch ; Aig feobhas do ghiulain,

Bha chuis ud duit ainmeil, Le barantas dubailt 135

Fhuair thu cliu na cliath-sheanchaidh.

io6

TO CAPTAIN CAMPBELL

Neat horn for the powder Yellow flask, measured os.

Spotted targe of thick studs, Spike screwed into its boss.

No worse suits yon dirk,

Good as comes from smith-craft, Twistings manifold, crooked.

On the gnarred knotty haft ; It is well-finished, polished.

Straight, thin, no stains damp it. Clean pommel and neck.

Weapon, scabbard, and crampit.

You were come of good strain

Every way you're connected. Inch of that way again

You ne'er let be neglected ; Man most civil of speech.

You were judge of the right. Princely quaffier of liquor,

Large-hearted and bright

Though you travelled all ways,

Scotland's kingdom around, Ne'er was heard your dispraise.

As you crossed the Roughbound ; With your excellent bearing

Yon cause spread your name. You got with double warrant

Genealogical fame.

107

DO CHARAID TAILLEIR

ORAN DO CHARAID TAILLEIR AIR SON CUAIRT SHUIRGHE.

Tha sinn triuir ghillean 's a' bhaile so,

Mis'* agus Alasdair, 's Padruig,

^S muinntir na tire ag ailis

Gu**!! deachaidh sinn baileach o stath ;

Na gruagaichean laghach bha mar ruinn, 5

An deidh am mealladh aig each,

Gach oidhehe bhios iad ri faire,

Cha bhi iad gun fhear air an sgath !

'S e Domhnull an t-6ganach giobaeh,

'S ann aige bha mhisneach a b'fhearr, 10

'S e ehuireadh an car dheth gu sgiobalt'

'S a rachadh a chlisgeadh 'nan dail :

'S ann a dh'iomaireadh e teadhair is cipean

Nach burrainn e bhristeadh gu brath

'S gu'n cumar e mar ris na boeaibh 16

O'n a bhios e ri sodradh gun tamh !

Tha fleasgach aig Para Mac Bheathain 'S e ""s braise as aitheant' domh 'm eolas, Tha e cho deidheil air mnathan 'S nach fheud e laighe 'na onrachd ; 20

Shiubhladh e 'n oidhehe gu latha Do dh' ait anns am faigheadh e pogan, 'S dheanadh e cluiche gu breugach Guide ri nighneagan oga. io8

TO A TAILOR FRIEND

SONG TO A FRIEND, A TAILOR, FOR A COURTING TRIP.

Three lads of us live in this township,

There's Alastair, Patrick, and me, And the folk of the country are saying

That quite gone to nothing are we ; The fair damosels that were with us

Were by the rest jilted each one, And every night they will be watching,

To squire them they'll not want a man.

'Tis Donald, the youth that was ragged.

Was of the best courage possessed, 'Tis he would bestir himself nimbly.

And forthwith to meet them would haste : But he would require peg and tether

That he never, never could break. And that he be kept with the he-goats.

For incessantly he's on the rake.

And Para Mac Vane has a youngster.

The briskest I know in my ken, He's so very fond of the ladies

That he can't rest a moment his lane ; He will walk all the night until daybreak

To a place where he kisses would find. And games he would play of flirtation

Along with the young womenkind. 109

DO CHARAID TAILLEIR

Gu briodalach, beulanach, cuirteil, 25

Ri sugradh gu siobhalta, baidheil,

Am mistear ag euladh 'sna cuiltean,

'S e rudhrach gu h-iosal fo mhagan ;

Le chriotachadh tearuinte, runach,

'S e dluthachadh rithe gu dana ; 30

'S ma chaidh e 'san am air a ghluinibh

Cha b'ann ris na h-urnuighean a bha e.

Ruigidh e bothan 'na fhaire,

'S e an t-ait am bu mhaith leis bhi tamh,

Laighidh e teann air a' bhanaraich, 35

'S i sud leannan a ghraidh ;

Dheanadh i chriotachadh tairis,

Is chuireadh i thairis a lamh,

'S 'n uair a theannas e rithe le farum

Gu'n cumadh iad caithris air each ! 40

'S e ludragan paiteach na bleide,

An ceigean maol, odhar, gun agh,

A thainig a shuirghe cho beadaidh

Do dh'ait an robh fleasgaich a b'fhearr ;

'S ann a thoill e chur air an t-seisean 45

Mu'n chleasachd o'n chaidh i os n-aird,

'S am brangas a theannadh mu pheircHbh,

'S gun odhar na h-eaglais thoirt da.

no

TO A TAILOR FRIEND

In wooer's words, fair spoken, courtly,

His quiet fond mirth he outpours. The cunning one, creeping in corners,

And groping about on all fours ; By his tentative secret caressing

He approaches her with his bold airs ; And if he went down on his knees then,

'Twas certainly not at his prayers.

He reaches the bothy so wary,

'Tis the place where he'd wish to take rest. Makes up to the maid of the dairy,

For yon is the lass he lo'es best ; Her hand she would stretch out towards him,

And over him fondling would make. And when he draws noisily near her.

They'd keep all the others awake.

He's the sloven hunchback of cajoling.

The brown luckless dwarf with no hair. Who came to woo with so much courage

Where much better bachelors were ; He ought to be put 'fore the Session

For the ploy, since it has come to light, And the branks round his jaws to have pressing.

While he's with the brown church gown bedight.

Ill

DO'N TAILLEAR AN EIRIG

ORAN DO'N TAILLEAR AN EIRIG GRAIN A RINN ESAN AN AOBHAR A CHARAID.

A Dh6mhnuill Bhain Mhic O Neachdain

Tha 'n droch nadur ad phearsa,

Cha ghnathaich thu 'n ceartas,

Gus am basaich thu 'n pheacadh,

'S mairg ait anns na thachair, 5

Am ball-sampuill gun chneastachd,

A rinn graineil an sgaiteachd ud oirnn :

A rinn graineil an sgaiteachd, &c.

Fhir a thoisich ri ealaidh, Bha thu gorach ad bharail, 10

'Ga seoladh am charaibh, 'S gun mi t' fheoraich, no V fharraid, Chuir thu sgleo dhiot is fanaid, Co dhiubh 's deoin leat no 's aindeoin, Tha mi 'n dochas gu'm faigh thu do leoir. 15

Uhomhsa b'aithne do bheusan ; Tha thu aineolach, beumnach, Is do theangadh mar reusar, Le tainead 's le geiread,

Thug thu deannal domh fhein dith, 20

O 's ann agad tha 'n eucoir, Com nach paighinn thu 'n eirig do sgeoil ?

112

TO THE TAILOR IN REPLY

SONG TO THE TAILOR IN REPLY TO A SONG WHICH HE MADE FOR A FRIEND OF HIS.

Fair Donald MacNaughton, In your person dwells Satan, Righteousness you'll not cherish, Unto sin till you perish. Curse the place where all fell out, The example unhallowed. Which yon slashing at us made overt.

You, who a song did commence. In your judgment lacked sense. It my way directing. Me not asking, expecting, Boast and jibe did you utter — Willy nilly, no matter, Tm in hope that you'll get your desert.

Your ways I well knew, sir. You're an ignorant bruiser. And your tongue's like a razor With its keen and sharp phrase, sir Me you've given a whang o' it Since you've done the wrang o' it. Pay you out for your tale should I not ?

113 H

DO'N TAILLEAR AN EIRIG

'S tu chraobh ghrodlaich air crionadh, Lan mosgain, is fhionag,

A dh'fhas croganach, iosal, 25

Goirid, crotach, neo-dhireach, Stoc thu togairt do'n ghriosaich, A thoill do losgadh mar iobairt, Leig thu 'n Soisgeul air di-chuimhn'' gu mor.

Bu bheag an diubhail e thachairt 30

An la thur thu na facail, Da phund agus cairteal De dh'fhudar cruaidh, sgairteil, A bhi ad bhroinn air a chalcadh, 'S bhi 'gad sgaineadh le maitse, 35

Gus am fasadh tu 't ablach gun deo.

""S blionach righinn gun fheum thu. Ge do bhitheadh tu 'm feithe, Coin is fithich ad theumadh, Cha bhiodh an diol beidh ac\ 40

'S trie thu teann air na h-eibhlean, Bhreac do shuimeir gu V eislich, Blath an tein' air do shleisean gu mor.

O nach taillear as fhiu thu,

Chuir each as a' chuirt thu ; 45

Bidh tu ghnath anns na euiltean,

Ag earadh nan luireaeh ;

Bu tu asuinn nan cludan,

'S trie a shuidh thu 'san smuraich

'N uair a bhithinns"* air eul fir nan croc. 50

114

TO THE TAILOR IN REPLY

Branch of tree rotten, blightful. Of dry rot and mites full, Which has grown low and scraggy, Short, crooked, and knaggy, You, stump emberwards turning. Sacrifice meet for burning. Much the Gospel have let be forgot.

Had it chanced, small the pity, That day you made the ditty. Two pounds and a quarter Of hard explosive matter In your inside were thrust And with match you were burst, Until dead carrion you became.

Useless lean flesh and tough. Though you lay in moss-trough, Dogs and crows at you riving. Were no full meal deriving. Oft you're close to the embers. Mottled, shanks to back members. Stamped red on your thighs is the flame.

You, no tailor of worth, man, Out of court all cast forth, man. You'll be aye in the corner. The patched clothes' adorner ; You're the clouting machine. Oft the dross you've sat in Whilst the antlered one I was pursuing.

115

DO'N TAILLEAK AN EIRIG

'S e do choltas r''a innseadh, Fear sop-cheannach, grimeach, Gun bhonaid, gun phiorbhuic, Gun bhad-mullaich, gun chirean, Lorn uir air a spionadh, 55

Carr gu t'uilinn a sios ort, Strac na dunach de'n sgriobaich mu d' cheos.

'S iomadh ait anns na thachair, An taillear MacNeachdain, Eadar Albainn is Sasunn, 60

Bailtean raargaidh is machair ; 'S trie a shealg thu air praisich, O nach d' fhalbh thu le clapa, Chaoidh cha mharbh e duin' aca de'n t-sl6gh.

'S duine dona gun mhios thu, 65

Dh'fhas gun onair gun ghhocas, Fear gun chomas gun bhriosgadh, Chain do spionnadh 's do mhisneach, Leis na rinn thu de'n bhidseachd, Bu tu 'n slaighteara misgeach, 70

'S cian o'n thoill thu do chuipeadh mu'n 61.

'S iomadh ceapaire romais, Rinn thu ghlacadh ad chrogan, Is bhi 'ga stailceadh le t' ordaig, Ann do chab-dheudach sgornach, 75

'S reamhar, farsaing do sgornan, Bru mar chuilean an otraich, Fhuair thu urram nan geoeach ri d' bheo. ii6

TO THE TAILOR IN REPLY

Such, your likeness to tell, a Grim wispheaded fellow, Without periwig, bonnet, Crowntuft, or crest on it. But the whole was plucked bare, Scurfed to elbow you were, The scab round your thigh, a waste of ruin.

In many a place met one The tailor MacNaughton, Both in Scotland and England, In fair towns and lowland ; Oft for hussies you hunted. Since you went thence undaunted Disease kills not one of the people.

A bad man, iU-reputed, Wisdom, praise, you'^re without it, And without power or mirth, YouVe lost courage and pith, In aU beastliness sunken, You, a sad rogue and drunken. Should have long since been whipped for your tipple.

Many a foul sandwich You clutched in your hand, which, You, with your thumb, stapped In your back teeth all gapped ; Fat, extended your throat gulps, Belly like midden dog whelp's.

You the gluttons' gree win while you live,

117

^.uof'DO'N TAILLEAR AN EIRIG

Bidh na mnathan ag raite 'N uair a rachadh tu'n airigh 80

Gu'n tolladh tu "'n t-aras Anns am bitheadh an caise ; 'N uair a dh'itheadh tu pairt deth, 'S a bhiodh tu air trasgadh, Anns a** mhuidhe gu'n sparr thu do chrog. 85

'S tu ''n toUaran cnaimhteach, Ge bu ghionach do mhaileid, Tha do mhionach air t' fhagail, Gun chrioman deth lathair ; CochuU glogach mu t'aruinn, 90

Tha do sgamhan is V ainean Lan galair, is faslaich, is chos.

Beul do chleibh air a thachdadh, Air seideadh 's air brachadh, 'S e gu h-eididh air malcadh, 95

'S mor V fheum air a chartadh Gach aon eucail ad phearsa, Caitheamh, eitich, is casdaich, Gus an d' eirich do chraiceann o V fheoil.

Tha do chreuchdan, 's do chuislean, 100

Lan eucail is trusdair,

'S thu feumach air furtachd,

Tha 'n deideadh ad phluicean,

'S thu ''t eiginn le clupaid,

T' anail bhreun, gu trom, murtaidh, 105

"'S mairg a dh'fheuchadh dhiot mochthrath do thochd. ii8

TO THE TAILOR IN REPLY

The wives are revealing That when you'd reach a sheiling, Through the dwelling you'd bore, To where cheese was in store ; When a part you would eat, And were parched with the heat, To the churn would you thrust in your neive.

You're the glutton voracious, Though your bag was capacious, Your bowels have left you. Every fragment bereft you ; Round your kidney cyst cover, And your lungs and your liver Of disease, hollows, sponge are one mesh !

Your windpipe is stuffed up. Fermenting and puffed up. To a web its ills suck it. You've great need to muck it. In your frame all diseases — Cough, hectic, and phthisis, TiU your skin s risen up from your flesh.

Your wounds and your pulse are

Diseased, full of ulcer.

You have great need of comfort.

Toothache cries in your gum for't.

You're distressed with swollen throat,

You're breath's rank, heavy, hot —

Pity him felt it off you at morn.

119

DO'N TAILLEAR AN EIRIG

Do dheud sgrob-bhearnach, cabach, 'Sam beil na sgor-fhiaclan glasa, Mosgain, cosacha, sgealpach, Luibte, grannda, cam, feachdta, HO

A null 's a nail air an tarsuinn, Cuid diubh caillf air dol asad, 'S na bheil ann diubh air sgapadh do bheoil.

Bidh na ronnan gu silteach, 'Nan tonnaibh gorm, ruithteach, 115

Ag gabhail toinneamh o d' liopan, Thar cromadh do smige ; 'S dorcha, doilleir, do chlisneach, Cho dubh ris a' phice, Uchd na curra, ceann circ' ort, 's gob geoidh. 120

Do mhaol chnuacach air faileadh, Gun chluasan, gun fhaillean ; Tha thu uainealach, tana, Cho cruaidh ris an darach ; 'S tu gun suaineach, gun anart, 125

'S aobhar truais thu ri d' ghearan, 'S gur fuair' thu na gaillionn an reot'.

Tha ceann binneach 'na stuic ort, Geocach, leith-cheannach, giugach, Aodann brucanach, grugach, 130

Sron phlucach na muire, Tha croit air do chulaibh, 'S moran lurcaich ad ghluinibh. Da chois chama, chaol, chrubach, gun treoir.

TO THE TAILOR IN REPLY

Your teeth scratch-notched, dented, Buckteeth 'mong them glinted. Musty, creviced, and riven. Ugly, looped, crooked, uneven. Transverse-wise, hither thither. Some lost, gone altogether. And your mouth is with what there are torn.

The slavers are trickling In blue waves and rippling, From your lips taking a spin O'er the bend of your chin ; Dark and sombre your carcase. As pitch tar black mirk is, YouVe a hen's head, hern's chest, goose's bill.

Bunkered pate, sloughed and smelling. With no ears, or ear-swelling. You are greenish and limber. As hard as oak timber, You, without plaid or linen, A piteous thing with your plaining, Than a storm in the frost are more chill.

Head to pinnacle peaked, you Wry-necked hanghead, high-cheeked you, Face wrinkled and smutted. Nose with leprosy knotted. On your back is a hump. In your knees much lame cramp. Feet crooked, narrow, crippled, unstrung.

GILLEASBUIG ACHALADAIR

Cha n'eil uiread nan sailtean 135

Aig a' phliutaire spagach, Nach 'eil cuspach is gagach, Tha thu'd chrioplach 's ad chraigeach, 'S lionmhor tubaist an taillear, Dh' fhag an saoghal "*na thraill e, 140

'S mairg a shaoithrich air V arach 's tu 6g.

Ma's ann de shliochd Adhamh thu, Cha choslach ri each thu, Aig olcas 's a dh** fhas thu, O thoiseach do laithean ; 145

Cha tig cobhair gu brath ort, Gus am foghainn am bas duit, 'S do chorp odhar a charadh fo 'n fhod.

CUMHA GHILLEASBUIG ACHALADAIR.

GuK muladach tha sinn

Mu Mhaidsear Achaladair,

E bhi dhith air an aireamh,

'N uair thainig each thairis oimn ;

Chaidh gaeh duine g'an aite, 5

'S an leth-paigh 'ga tharruing ac',

'S ann tha esan air fhagail

Anns an araieh gun eharaehadh.

Bu cheann-feadhna deas calm' thu,

"N am dhuit falbh as an fhearann so, 10

Air thoiseach na h-armailt'.

Far na dhearbh thu do cheannardachd ;

122

ARCHIBALD OF ACHALLADER

He has not even heel, The club splay footed chiel, But breeds kibes, hacks with raw root, You cripple and pawfoot, A huge mischance the tailor, Life has left him a thrall there, Twas a fool toiled and reared you when young.

To Adam''s seed if you're brother, You're unlike any other. So bad have you grown Since your natal day's dawn. Help will never come to you Till death will undo you, And your brown body's 'neath the sod flung.

LAMENT FOR ARCHIBALD OF ACHALLADER.

Our sorrow is daunting

About Major Achallader, From their number he's wanting.

When home the rest gathered are ; Each man to his place gone,

Their half-pay receiving it. While he's uninterred on

The field and ne'er leaving it.

You, a brave chief and splendid.

When you went from this land away,

At the head of the men, did

Your right to command display ; 123

GILLEASBUIG ACHALADAIR

Chaidh tu null air muir dhubh-ghuirm,

'S bhi 'ga stiuradh le maraichean,

Dol mu choinneamh nam Frangach, 15

Is iad 'nan camp air gach gearasdan.

Bha thu cruadalach, dana,

Anns gach cas a bhiodh barraichte ;

A' dol air t" adhairt 'sna blaraibh,

Bu neo-sgathach 'gan tarruing thu ; 20

Thug sin thu gu aite,

'S theireadh each gur tu b' airidh air,

Bha do mhisneach is f eolas

Mar a dh' f hoghnadh do sheanalair.

Bha V aigneadh mar leomhann 25

An am mdrchuis le fearachas ;

Brais"* is ardan le cheile

An am feuma no cabhaige ;

Lamh chruaidh air chul sgeithe,

Cho treubhach 's a b** aithne dhomh ; 30

'S an am bhualadh nan speicean,

Cha robh deisinn an ceangal riut.

B' e do mhiann na h-airm ghaisge, Bhi gu h-acfhuineach, farumach ; Cuilbheir caol, snaidhte, 35

Nach do dhiult a snap aingeal duit ; Lann thana, gheur, stailinn, Chruaidh, laidir gu gearradh, 'N deidh spionnadh do laimhe, Bhiodh do namhaid-sa gearanach. 40

124

ARCHIBALD OF ACHALLADER

The blue sea you crossed,

With marines navigating you, Going to meet the French host.

Camped in every fort waiting you.

You were bold and stout hearted

In all crises that pressed them there ; To the lines going outward,

You fearlessly dressed them there ; That brought you a place

Which all said you deserved so well, Your skill and address

For a general had served you well.

Lionlike was your nature

In grandeur with manliness ; Dash and hauteur together,

When need was, or storm and stress ; Hard hand behind shield.

Fell as ever I knew with you ; Time for weapons to wield

Well, no scruples had you with you.

Hero's arms your delight,

Harnessed clanking attire on you ; Gun shapely and slight.

Trigger ne'er missing fire on you ; A thin sharp steel brand.

Tempered hard, strong to cleave with it. After your might of hand

Would your enemies grieve with it. 125

GILLEASBUIG ACHALADAIR

Ann an latha blar Champaidh,

'N uair bhuail an tacaid an Seanalair,

Chaidh a lot anns an araich,

'S dh'fhag each ag call fola e,

Thug thu mach e air ghiulan, 45

Sin an turn nach robh aithreach dhuit,

'N am suidhe na cuirte,

'S gach aon chuis b' e do charaid e.

'S e la Phealan-housein

A rinn an diubhail gu h-ath-ghoirid, 50

'N uair a thuit an comanndair

A h" aird' air na fearaibh ud,

Air a"* phiocaid a bha thu,

Os cionn chaich fhuair thu barantas.

Ann an onair na rioghachd, 55

'S an righ fhad 's bu mhaireann thu.

Ged a theireadh luchd-faoineachd,

An taobh so gu h-aineolach,

Gu'n do thearuinn sliochd Dhiarmaid

Gun reubadh, gun ghearradh ann ; 60

Na'n sealladh iad di reach,

'S gu'm b' i 'n fhirinn a chanadh iad,

'S mdr ar call le Righ Deorsa,

O'n a thoisich a' charraid so.

Chaidh Gilleasbuig a bhualadh, 65

Thain' an luaidhe 'na deannaibh air. Far nach fhaiceadh e naimhdean, 'S craobhan arda 'gam folach air ; 126

ARCHIBALD OF ACHALLADER

On the day of Blar Champaidh,

When the ball had the General strook, Him afield fallen wounded

And bleeding they all forsook. Him by carrying you forth gat,

Regret it did ever you ? At the time when the court sat,

Your friend he was ever true.

The day of Fellinghausen

Wrought havoc in briefest space, When the officer fell

Who o'er yon men held chiefest place ; You, who were on the picket,

Received a commission In King and realm's honour.

While of life youVe possession.

Though at home tattlers may

With their ignorant jangling swear Diarmid's seed got away

With no wounding or mangling there ; Were it straight they were staring

And the truth they had spoken out, George's great loss we're sharing

Since this strife has broken out.

Archibald was struck low,

In a shower came the lead on him,

Where he could see no foe.

Branches hid them o'erhead of him ; 127

GILLEASBUIG ACHALADAIR

Thuit misneach na pairtidh

A bha 'n la sin an caraibh dhuit, 70

Bha 'n taic air am fagail

'N uair a bha thu gun anail ac\

'N uair a thainig a"* ghasaid,

Thug fios do bhais thairis duinn,

Bu mhuladach, craiteach 75

Do bhrathair, 's do pheathraichean ;

Do chleamhnan gu h-araid,

'S do chairdean a bharrachd orr' ;

'S bu mhor an cion-fath air,

'S na bha air an aire-san. 80

Bha thu maith an am siochaint,

Gu siobhalta, farasda,

Cho uasal at inntinn

^S gu'm bu ghrinn gach ni chanadh tu ;

Mar bu dual duit o d"* shinnsreachd 85

Thaobh gach linn a chaidh tharad diubh

Cruaidh a sheasamh na larach,

'S bhi blath an am carthannais.

Bu tu maighstir na tuatha,

'S an deagh uachdaran fearainn, 90

An am paigheadh dhuit cisean Cha bhiodh dith air do theanandan ; 'S tu nach sealladh gu miodhoir Air an ni thoirt a dh'aindeoin uap', 'S e bu mhiannach le V inntinn 95

lad a chinntinn mar raineach dhuit. 128

ARCHIBALD OF ACHALLADER

Party's courage was reft them,

Who were with you in strife this day,

Their confidence left them

When you with them lifeless lay.

When the news was received,

Word of your death brought o"'er to us, Brother, sisters were grieved

And anguished full sore with us ; Sons-in-law specially.

And your friends too as well as they ; And great cause had they —

All their thoughts that befell that day.

In peace you were kind.

With politeness and easiness. So noble in mind.

All you said it was pleasing us ; From your sires 'twas your way.

In each line that preceded you. Stern the battle to stay.

Warm when friendship's hour needed you.

The tenantry's master,

And excellent laird were you. When the dues to you passed o'er.

Your tenants were spared by you ; You'd not closely enquire

That their stock should be fleeced by you. It was your heart's desire

They like bracken increased with you. 129 I

CAILEAN GHLEANN lUBHAIR

Bu tu cridhe na feile,

Ceann na ceilP is a' cheanaltais,

Bu mhaith labhairt is leirsinn,

'N am dhuit fein bhi measg aithnichean ; 100

Sar phoitear an fhiona,

Lamh dhioladh nan galan thu ;

Marcach sunntach eich cheumnaich,

Bhuidhneadh reis ann an cabhaig thu.

'S an deireadh an t-samhraidh 105

Thug do naimhdean an aire dhuit,

'N uair a fhuair iad o'n champ thu

Air comannd a' mhor challa dhuinn ;

'S aobhar mulaid is campair

Do gach aon duine dhearadh ort, 110

Bhi cluinntinn do bheusan,

'S gun thu fein a bhi maireann ac\

CUMHA CHAILEIN GHLEANN lUBHAIR.

Smaointean truagh a th'air m'aigne,

Dh' fhag orm smuairean, is airsneul,

An am gluasad am leabaidh,

Cha chadal ach duisg ;

Tha mo ghruaidhean air seacadh,

Gun dion uair air mo rosgaibh,

Mu'n sgeul a chualas o'n Apuinn,

A ghluais a' chaismeachd ud duinn. 130

LAMENT FOR COLIN OF GLENURE

Bounty's heart you to each,

Crown of sense and of kindly grace, Good in insight and speech,

When 'mong guests you had friendly place ; Fell quafFer of wine.

Hand for gallons to pay with you ; Pacing steed's rider fine,

Prize you soon bore away with you.

At the end of the summer

Foes took you in hand, and they Got you out of the camp

On that fatal command away ; Cause of dool and grief drear

To all those who set store on you, Of your virtures to hear,

Ah ! and ne'er with them more are you.

LAMENT FOR COLIN OF GLENURE.

Wretched thoughts in my mind Me with grief and woe blind, On my pallet reclined

I sleep not but wake ; My cheeks pale and dry, Never shut is mine eye, Appin sent forth the cry

That made us all quake. 131

CAILEAN GHLEANN lUBHAIR

Fear Ghleann-iubhair a dhith oirnn

Le puthar luchd mi-ruin, 10

Mo sgeul dubhach r'a innseadh

Thu bhi ""d shineadh ''san uir ; ■"S truagh gach duine de d' dhilsean Cn a chaidh do chorp priseil An ciste chumhainn, chaoil, dionaich, 16

""S ann an lion-anart ur !

B' e sin an corp alainn,

'N uair bha thu roimhe so 'd shlainte,

Gun chion cumachd no fas ort,

Gu foinneamh, daicheil, deas, ur ; 20

Suairce, foisinneach, failteach, Uasal, iriosal, baidheil, Caoimhneil, cinneadail, cairdeil,

Gun chron r'a rait' air a"* chul ; Lan de ghliocas, 's de leirsinn, 26

Gu dsftia, misneachail, treubhach, Gach ait an sirte gu feum thu,

'S ann leat a dh'eireadh gach cuis : B' e do choimeas an dreagan,

No 'n t-seabhag ""sna speuraibh, 30

Co bu choslach r'a cheile

Ach iad fein agus thu ?

■"S cruaidh an teachdair a thainig ! ■*S truagh mar thachair an drasda, Nach do sheachain thu 'n t-aite, 36

'N do ghlac am bas thu air thus ; Suas o chachaile gharaidh, Fhuair thu 'n t-acaid a chraidh mi, 'S gun do thaic a bhi laimh riut,

'N uair ghabh iad fath ort o d' chul. 40

132

LAMENT FOR COLIN OF GLENURE

Glenure's done to death By malicious folk's scaith, Sad my tale is that saith

You are stretched in the ground ; Your friends all make moan Since your loved form is gone To the close chest and lone,

And in new linen gowned.

Ah ! that body was fair

When in prime health you were.

Shape and size your full share,

Handsome, seemly, trim, fresh ; Pleasant, restful benignly. Noble, humble, and kindly. Kind, fond of kin, friendly.

With no fault for ill clash ; Full of wisdom, shrewdness. Bold, brave, manly, each place You were sought for in stress.

There things prospered with you ; Like the dragon that flies, Or the hawk in the skies. With these two who vies

In resemblance but you ?

Messenger come to stun ! Now sad how 'twas done. You the place not to shun

Where death you first strook ; From the yard gate to thee Flew the ball that wrecked me ! Nor help near you to be.

When a rear chance they took. 133

CAILEAN GHLEANN lUBHAIR

Air do thaobh 's thu gun chomhradh,

'San am 'n do chaochail an deo uait,

T' fhuil chraobhach, dhearg, bhoidheach

Ag gabhail dortadh 'na bruchd, Le gniomh an amadain ghoraich, 45

A bha gun aithne, gun eolas, A chreic anam air storas,

Nach do chuir an trocair a dhuil.

B' e 'n cridhe gun tioma, gun deisinn,

Gun agh, gun chinneas, gun cheutamh, 50

A chuir lamh ad mhilleadh gun reusan,

Le cion ceilP agus tuir ; 'S e glac mar chomhairP an eucoir, 'S bochd an gnothach mar dh'eirich, Dh'fhag e sinne fo euslaint, 55

Is e fein 'na fhear-cuirn ; 'S ge nach samhach a leaba, Le eagal a ghlacadh, Cha n-e tha mi 'g acain,

Ach mar a thachair do'n chuis : 60

An t-armunn deas, tlachdmhor, A tha 'n drasd' an Ard-chatain, An deidh a charadh an tasgaidh,

An aite cadail nach duisg.

'S e do chadal gu siorruidh, 65

A dh' fhag m' aigne cho tiamhaidh, 'S trie smaointeana diomhain

A' tighinn gu dian orm as ur ; 'S trom a dh'fhas orm an iargainn, Is goirte V ar-sa na 'm fiabhras, 70

Mo chomhdhalt' alainn, deas, ceutach,

An dels a reubadh gu dluth ; 134

LAMENT FOR COLIN OF GLENURE

You past speech on your side, While the life in you died, Your fair red foaming tide

Gushing out with full scope, By his act, the vain fool. With no sense, or control, Who for pelf sold his soul.

Nor in mercy put hope.

Heart with no awe, or dread, To luck, hope, feeling dead. Who thy causeless death sped,

And sense or reason ne'er saw. He took wrong for his guide, 111 the event doth betide. We in sickness abide,

And himself an outlaw ; And though restless he lie. Fearing capture anigh. Not for him do I sigh,

But how the upshot befell ; One trim blithe hero In Ardchattan lies now. He securely laid low.

Where for aye he sleeps well.

Tis your unending sleep Doth my soul sombre keep. Vain thoughts often sweep

Anew swiftly o'er me ; On me sore grew the pain. Worse than fever you slain. Brother mine, peerless, fain,

Torn and wounded thickly ; ^35

CAILEAN GHLEANN lUBHAIR

Mile mallachd do'n laimh sin, A ghabh cothrom is fath ort, A thug an comas do'n lamhach, 76

'N uair chuir e 'n Spainteach r'a shuil ; Sgeula soilleir a b' aill learn, Gu'n cluinnt' am follais aig each, E bhi dol ri cromaig le farad h,

Gus am miosa dha-san na dhuinn. 80

Ge b'e neach a rinn plot ort Le droch dhurachd o thoiseach, Bu dana chuis dha tighinn ort-sa,

Na do lotadh as ur ; Bha 'na run bhi gu h-olc dhuit, 85

'S gun a chridh' aig** aodann a nochdadh, 'S ann a thain' e samhach mu'n chnocan,

'S a ghabh ort socair o d' chul. 'S e mo dhiubhail a thachair.

An am do'n fhudar ud lasadh, 90

Nach robh ad chairdean an taic riut,

Na bheireadh aicheamhail diubh ; 'S a liuthad fiuran deas, tlachdmhor, Nach gabhadh ciiram roimh bhagradh, A chuireadh smuid ris an Apuinn, 95

A chionn gu'm faiceadh iad thu.

'S trom a phaigh sinn an iobairt, A chuir ar namhaid a dhith oirnn, Ged tha 'n aicheamhail gun dioladh,

Thig fhathast liontan mu'n chuis, 100

Chuireas each an staid losail Air son an ailleagain phriseil, Bh** anns an aite mar fhirean,

A chleachd firinn is cliu : 136

LAMENT FOR COLIN OF GLENURE

On that hand thousand bans, That at you took fell chance, The shot's power to enhance,

Eye to gun bending down ; I should hail tidings clear, Heard in each open ear. At hook trapwise he's near

A worse fate than our own.

Whoe'er on you did his worst With ill-will from the first, A bolder thing his first burst

Than you twice to attack ; Resolved you to efface, With no heart to show face, Round knoll quiet did he pace.

Aimed secure at your back. 'Twas my ruin was boded. When yon powder exploded. No friends near you were goaded

Their vengeance to wreak ; So many trim youths with ways That no threats would amaze. Who'd put Appin ablaze

That you they might seek.

Much that sacrifice cost us, Our fell foe has lost us. Though unpaid is stern justice.

Snares will yet bind the thing, And put some in low case For the jewel of grace, A just man in the place.

Truth and right practising : 137

OAILEAN GHLEANN lUBHAIK

'S bochd an nuaigheachd r^a aireamh, 105

Gur ann an nasgaidh a tha thu, Nach tainig fhathast mu'n chas ud,

Na dheanadh abhachd thoirt duinn ; Ach air fhad 's gu'm bi dail ann, Cho ceart 's tha mi 'g raite, 110

Bidh an fhalachd ud paighte,

Mu'n teid an gamhlas air chul.

""S iad na fineachan laidir

Bu mhaith a ghabhail do phairte,

An Righ, is Diuc Earra-ghaidheal, 116

Nach fhaiceadh faillinn ad chuis ; larla dUgheach Bhraid-albann, Air thus a' tighinn gun chearbaich, 'S gur iomadh fear armach,

A sheasadh calma r'a chul ; 120

Mac Aoidh 's a luchd-leanmhainn, Leis an eireadh suinn nach bu leanbaidh, Na laoich bhuidhneach, mhdr, mheanmnach,

Le'n lannan ceann-bheairteach, cuil ; Mac Dhomhnuil Duibh, 's Clann Chamshroin, 125 'S gu leoir de thighearnan ainmeil ; 'S fhad o'n chuala sinn seanachas

Gu'n do dhearbh iad an cliu.

■"S ghabh thu aite le ordugh,

Air pairt de Shrath Locha 130

'S cha b"* ann air ghaol storais,

Na los am porsan thoirt diubh ; Ach a sheasamh an corach, Le meud do cheist air an t-seors"* ud, 'S an oighre dleasnach air fogradh, 135

G'am bu choir bhi 's a' chuirt :

138

LAMENT FOR COLIN OF GLENURE

111 the news — to tell true — Unregarded are you, Nor has come hitherto,

What would gladden our lot ; But with whatever delay Paid, as sure ias I say. Will be your butchery

Ere the sting be forgot.

Strong clans they meanwhile That would on your cause smile. The King, and Argyll,

Would not see your case lack ; The Breadalbane by right. Coming first maugre spite. And many armed men of might

Bravely stand at his back ; M'Kay in whose train Rise not babes but stout men. Conquering heroes, great, stern

Hilt-guarded backswords they flame ; LochieFs Camerons rough. And of famed lords enough ; Long weVe heard they're the stuff

That established their fame.

You went in by decree On part of Strathlochy, Not for cupidity.

Nor them to defraud ; But their rights to assert. Such your love for yon sort Whose heir rightful at court

Should have been, the outlawed : 139

CAILEAN GHLEANN lUBHAIR

'S ged a theireadh luchd-faoineachd, Gu'n robh t' aire-sa daonnan, Bhi sgainiieart nan daoin' ud,

Na 'n leigeadh sgaoilteach air chul ; 140

Chite f hat hast a" chaochladh Na'm faigheadh tu saoghal, Gur e bhi tarruing luchd-gaoil ort,

As gach taobh, a bha 'd run.

Bu tu cridhe na feile, 145

Dh"* fhas gu tighearnail, ceutach.

An lathair bhreitheamh Dhun-eideinn,

'S trie a reitich thu cuis ; 'S oil learn caradh do cheud-mhna, 'S 6g a"* bhanntrach ad dheidh i, 150

Lion campar gu leir i,

O'n a dh'eug a ceile deas, ur ; Fhuair mi 'n sealladh nach b'eibhinn, An uaigh mu d' choinnimh ""ga reiteach, ""S truagh gach comunn thug speis dhuit, 155

O'n chaidh thu fein anns an uir, ^S gun duil a nis ri thu dh'eirigh, 'S e dh'fhag mise fo euslaint, Bhi 'n diugh ag innseadh do bheusan,

'S nach tig thu dh'eisdeachd mo sgiuil. 160

140

LAMENT