• ••*+• + •••••+•+ •• •• *•+•+*•
GAELIC--
THE GAELIC BAUDS
ORIGINAL POEMS
srt
rriiE GAELIC BARDS,
AMI.
OEIGINAL POEMS,
BY
THOMAS PATTISON.
Ml
l». WITH A niOi.KAIMIIOAL SKETCH AM> NOTES,
REV. JOHN GEORGE MACNEILL,
CAWDOR.
SECOND i: l> I 1 I 0 N
GLASGOW: ARCHIBALD SIXCI.A1II. TKINTKU & PUD1
r.-j A KG v i.i: s TK I-:ET.
1 S i» 0 .
ARCHIBALD SINCLAIR, PRINTER AND PUBLISHER, ARGYLK STREET, GLASGOW.
PREFACE TO THE SECOND EDITION.
.', edition \v:is . in its
two sections of A
;m<l
•id popular pieces, such as " (
• • of I slay," and "Harte fr«nu the Wind
made to e of a
. aii<l appended ;'.
is also -
In inti-'Miuci: Edition to tlu- pul'lic. the
i-o confident t ill be
home and abroad, as an •i-il.ution to t
. was
whirl a'
PREFATORY NOTICE TO THE FIRST EDITION.
was a 1 1 (> was
for tin- ('Inn
ion at the }' hool of Bow-
sent to
<-.,iiij,! :d becanx
His e i . ntlmsuism in
sty of character, endeared liim to hi.- '1 his d •/ age.
Mindly niourin'd.
1 tin- • >ns and
world, art' iiid.-litrd to one school companion and d< of tin- (Jliinvh of Scotland,* for thr 'iful and L'lu'iiK-Mt trii.uii- to his sweet
y: — •• \Yitl'. .ut proiioi!
uliirli tli- ill hail th.-iu as at lca>t B
. uid
viii PREFATORY NOTICE.
may be questioned whether MR. PATTISON did not attempt Jxx> much in the task which he set himself, and suit at which he aimed was not beset by unnecessary hindrances to a felicitous poetical translation. In presenting his readers with a version of Gaelic Poems, that conveys not only the substantial but the literal
ing of the originals, and that combines the original tie for line, with the English element of rhyme, it is plain that he had one fruitful source of embarrassment to contend with from which the Bards were free. At the same time, such as can compare the Translations with the originals, must acknowledge the remarkable fidelity with which even the most difficult passages have been rendered; and, although they may censure the plan on which the Translations were projected, they will not fail to make allowance for the difficulties it entailed. Even in this particular the Translator's aim was high.
"But while anticipating for the volume a hearty welcome at the hands of all for whom the poetry and
v aetivity of an ancient and kindred people have attractions, I fear it will give the reader little insight into the fair proportions of the Translator's mind. Those
.new his d'-votion to English Literature, his accur- ate and profound acquaintance with its history, his severe study of its greatest Masters, and the fine eomliiiiatioii of strength and culture with which he latterly
t'-h> d it, will fed with me that the translation of
try was not a fair test of his literary powers,
and tint IK. amount of success iii it can indicate the full
extent of the loss sustained by us in his death. All who
ndship, are aware that his work
was little more than an effort in
.ah of his studies and pursuits. If I am not
inistak. M, the impulse to it may !»•• traeed, in a great
i -'id Tales," published l.y .Mr. John
CaiDpl i • :i edtOI in the eolleetiou
*'«"• tli" MR. PATTISON responded by
[OK.
co-opera' Li was an
enthusiasm ii. and
Ami"
. eiiivt'ul
\\'itli ;i HL'hi
I . idly
'i lineage — and •li th«' }k i if iransl'i.
> him, luit lie nlour of one wlm
nu'lit him om with vliood. ft
<it':i iiatinn:il litv which had for him
thf li !1<1 tin- so-ntrd li-
iinn. Tin- studriit • -I Dante
i holiday-time with him <»n --nd in
;th Mud and his 1
riu'ht pleasant
\\ith. conducted with infinite sjiirit
and 7( '.n|'l«-t«-d. 1 :' il i..'ars on it. as we 866
mums vuluiiK-. tin- mai-k> of haste, I
J. Altlnmu'li. til-"
Bubjed
• • regarded
PREFATORY NOTICE.
as most in harmony with the natural bent and develop- ment of his genius, or as the proper fruit of his life's true work.
" At the time when these Translations were commenced, his health indeed was such as might well justify him in making a digression from the main course of his pursuits, for in youth he possessed the strength and litheness of an athlete ; but, alas ! the hand of death stayed him, so that he returned not to the old paths. It may be said that in what was but an interlude in the great game of life, for which he had trained himself with rare patience and fortitude, he sank upon his shield. In this volume, hastily prepared, we have at once his salutation and farewell : Moriturus nos salutat.
"We looked for his speaking to us from the heart of
English Literature, with which few men of his years stood
in such close relationship of thought and feeling. Old
letters are beside me still, indicating a genuineness of
discipleship to the leaders of thought in English speech,
Chaucer to Wordsworth and Tennyson, such as
warranted the hope that he would, one day, himself
no a master, the influence of whose teaching would
be felt.
"lie wrote much, that must still be accessible, during
the years in which his reading was most extensive and
his plans were being matured. Even his letters alluding,
y do, from time to time, to the subjects on which
i-} engaged, are themselves full of critical notices and
discussions of points of literary interest, with sonnet or
song, in heroic verse, interspersed by way of
to the prose, ninny of which are worthy of being
recast in a form of greater pei -manenee. Must we despair
of seeing a sele. : .-mains by a kindly
li:incH I cannot but believe that
i would amply justify ! l.e expectations
0 cmbitier the poignancy of
regrets. I t are already strong in
tin- breasts of tho.v him betfcj
.ili- it was yet day, but before
the radi : c of tli- :itO
him to \ind- I a
liff. as \\ . l.-r
od
rs and nnderstoo .1 . Some of those
•!i him, may have made moi .1 a
Id goes. iy, to
for tad
.ils
Few of
ity, worknl hank-r in his own H of idleness. A disposition naturally
too just total ud
too proud to stoci: ihin^ tl:
was at out of j"int, prrh ual
conditions of success. Th. : cr, who
hold such a man in .
a man who had d lioice of
!ol!o\\in^ it out, in the spirit of an
ial temperament.
bonounb]
tliii -jrand in the simplici:,
taste, and th . .f its aims
own, till it 'shot on :
of us
8 moral ami in:- U
Mi PREFATORY NOTICE.
by stem inscrutable decree from wider influence. It is as if the stream that had worn its way from the bosom of lone hills, and made beautiful its narrow course through glen and gorge, were of a sudden to slip underground, disappearing at its broadest and strongest, where the wild flowers and grasses of the uplands give place to the green verge of tilled and peopled plains. Their natural genius, and the discipline they willingly undergo, because the eye is fixed on some farther goal, having served to trim their own lifts bark, these men quit us on a voyage in which we may be borne to them, but from which they cannot return to us. Such men 'are understood only by the few who feel their power and influence, as those of a life rich in its own gifts, and moving altogether, with its faith, hopes, aims and labours, in a plane higher than that on which the traffic of ordinary minds is driven.
"It is fortunate for men of this order, especially fortunate for those of them whose lot is cast in these exceeding practical times of ours, that they have found a champion whose shield protects them from the unfeeling pity of that portion of the world that is busied only with material interests, as well as from the taunts of all who measure themselves and others by small successes in ignoble split res. Of this order Arthur Hallam may now be regarded as the Representative, and "In Memoriam" enduring Vindication. To that same order of . :uid that same band of pure, high-souled, devoted UK n. whom "(Jod's ordinance of Death" withheld from the achievement of a distinction commensurate with their powers, I .. r 1 1 < * M AS PATTISON.
"'Sleep h\\« -t -tly tender heart in peace: Sleep till the end, true soul and sweet.'
BRIEF BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH.
• d I '< "M;. 'ie SOU
Mr. l.iuh adach
• of Portnahaven.
in the q . hrii on : d Samuel < lal.us,
of M • j.U-11, of J'.alii •!•<! was a
the threefold fui
• •r of the Is!
During tin- inimtrity <>f \\". !•'. ( 'Mnjilirll.
• in 1^10 siicceedeil i
vfirhl/' .Mr. Peter P,-
l-'arm of Isi;i\ I [0086, v. ht-rr . Tlnnuas- ]\attison was gardi-i;-
Bethia
cliildren \ven- Imrn durinu' his
his farm. Tin- farnu i ,\ as no
bed t'or his physieal < : for his
i ability. It \vas he i and
tli«- ill-foumi ik wliieli Dr.
l he eliar;. in ilir ! Kilai i
XIV BRIEF BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH.
After Mr. Pattison's death, the widow and family removed from Skerrols to Bowmore, and thence to that charming sea-side villa, Fern Cottage, on a farm called in Gaelic Rainneach Mhbr. The predecessor of the Pattisons in this cottage was Mr. Soutar, the father-in-law of the late Rev. William Barclay, M.A., Free Church minister of Auldearn, Nairnshire. The Parish School of Bowmore was about a mile from Fern Cottage. This school has been successively taught by competent and successful teachers, such as Dr. MacKintosh MacKay, ^fi/> Mr. — Russell, M.A., Mr. John Taylor, and Mr. David MacBean, whose son the Rev. John MacBean, M.A., ^ ,\ is the Free Church minister of the well-known Gaelic parish of Killin, Perthshire. Special reference may be made here to two of them. 1. The Rev. M. MacKay, LL.D., who afterwards rose to be one of the Moderators of the Assembly of the Free Church of Scotland, was the literary friend of Sir Walter Scott, and of that premier of biographers, Mr. John ( libson Lockhart. Dr. MacKay is widely known for his accurate knowledge of the Gaelic language. When he was minister of the parish of Laggan in Inverness-shire, he acted as tutor to Mr. William Forbes Skene, who afterwards became the celebrated historian of "Celtic Scotland." Dr. George MacDonald, poet and novelist is a near relation of Dr. MacKay. 2. Mr. John Taylor, the
rii« (1 teacher of the Greek and the Latin classics, whose two sons, the Rev. M. C. Taylor, D.D., the cultured Professor of Church History and Divinity in tin1 Univer- sity of Edinburgh, :ind the Rev. Duncan Taylor, Avon- d:ii«-. are honoured names in the Established Clinrcli of Scotland. Thomas Pattison was one of Mr. Taylor's favourite pupils. First at the Univei>i :i:iburgh,
aii t that of ( Has-'ow. th<
'•uted his studies with diligence and zeal. With his <h-\oti..n t«. ancient and modern liter;.; he gradually lieeame \\ell acquainted with the princes of
XV
. mill Vt'it h the p<
1 that
Muses
1 the
HUtll"!
M i\ I '
i thru li.-
:i tllis
: — I'm ]
BRIEF BIOGRAPHICAL SKETCH.
and re-appears all through his productions. This very much accounts for the popular appreciation of his work.
iistinctive adoption of the ennobling principle of unirersal brotherhood, that "A man's a man for a' that," is evinced by the innumerable tributes his literary labours called forth. In any correct estimate of his work, the range of his imagination, and the intensity of his emotions should be carefully considered. This gifted son of Islay, as a co-worker with other true yokefellows, wrought nobly for the intellectual awakening, and for the social advancement of his beloved Celts. "Man's inhumanity to man'* moved his soul to its depths. Had he lived to our day, he would certainly have stepped forth as the unflinching advocate of the people's rights. This trait of his character very much endeared Mr. Thomas Pattison to his admirer and publisher, Mr. Archibald Sinclair. With his enthusiasm in the cause of Celtic literature and antiquities, Mr. Pattison, if his life had been spared, might, like his contemporaries Mr. William Black and Mr. Robert Buchanan, have achieved renown in the departments of creative effort. In his prose writings he shows no strivings after the graces of a literary style. But his Translations of "The Gaelic Bards" into English verse, although beset by enormous difficulties and embarrassments, have been executed with marvellous fidelity and success. They are good specimens of the author's literary deftness.
Pattison's life-like pen-portraits, in the best pieces of his Original Poems, remind me of the graphic and vivid pictures of persons and of places in Pollok's "Course of Time." Pattison, like Pollok, clearly rings out the heart-om soling notes of steadfast faith, of fadeless love, and of deathless hope. The Gaelic Bards, suc-li as
:ultT MacDonald, Duncan Ban Maclntyre, Dugald Buchanan arid others, besides largely enriching Gaelic Literatim \\ith admirable original creations of their rich and well balanced imaginations, caught by their musical
irs ami tl
melodj
respo«
upon tin- ] ts of
:<l these
rooted in the hearts <aelic peo masters of
i.t-y«»iul tin- Ljravr. In th,- WO] Rob* r
ak,
MLT uould triun
to fight better, . p to awake.''
uman
inthrC finals, Thomas I'atti-.n 1.-
• ithfiil intcrjm'tcr in his felicitous Englisli 'I
i'homas Pattison <li('<l on tlir Huh day of at 28 Florence Place, <
J. G. 1U :s90.
CONTENTS.
MoDKKN (JAEUfl BABI&
\\iii
1
linn, 8
ok,
Mainland, -
-
Tip :ii!il Ilrll, -
38
:,d Clans, -
s .M-\« i N
Introtluctiuii t :.iin,
ii, - Introdnctiun ithaicli,"
ich, HI
hitr«MtiH'ti.iii ." -
\vly wed., Dllllrdili.
77
A '<• i-st,
Inti-. tlu- Hill .
.
CONTENTS.
DUOALD BUCHANAN, 85
The Skull, - 91
From tbe Ode to Winter, 94
From the Day of Judgment, - 95
ROB DONN, -__-.___ 99
The Greedy Man and the World, - 100
The Shieling Song, 102
The Death-Song of Hugh, 105
WILLIAM Ross, - - 107
The Cuckoo on the tree, 109
MARY MACLEOD, 111
MacLeod's Ditty. - 112
MACGREGOR'S LULLABY, - 116
Gregor MacGregor's Lament, 117
Sorrow now fills me, - - 121
The Braes of Ceathach, 124
FUGITIVE SONGS, --.____ 126
Och mar tha mi, - _ 127
The "Gille dubh, ciar dubh," 130
Hoog orin O ! --__._ 132
Sick ! Sick ! _____ 133
A Maiden's Lament, 135
The Boatman, 137
Monaltri, ------- 139
Mali Bheag Og, ______ 141
Breigein Binneach, - 144
Mairi Laghach, - 145
The love that will not fade, 147
ANCIENT GAELIC BARDS.
OMIANIC POETRY, 149
The Sweetest Sgund, ----- 157
The Banners of the Feinne, n;_»
CONTENTS.
-
.
al's Revenge, Ossian's Address to tho Rising Sun,
ress to the Setting Summer Sun. 188
I'.'l Tran>
'lea,
ave, 200
Llhuyd, GUNAI POEMS.
ii.-daal,
<le, - • >f Uubh-thalamh, I'll
star,
.
Hollow Friendship,
- 1 the Oppressed,
.
:rant, - - 'J«.l
M-..IM tin- Window, lii fall.h o'n Unm-ii/, - 'Ji;:1,
' I !
968
INTRODUCTION.
to a sni;ill \\ork \\ lii I'll.- I1,... I liiul
V :ill tile lirautiflll I:
• .and known :is
untry in which tin- people speak • tin- ina:
. . •• It' a li: i\vn tYon -
;t will lti«
iefl 'Aliirli iiim-n and
•f Nvhii-h Scotrluncn sp«-ak and \vrit»-
ith and .
in- land of tlr i >f tin-
wild i
ill less admir \\ hi.-h has
: tin- line, and all the
igM had access
:• titlt- - the
INTRODUCTION.
Lowlander; and not unfrequently claims for his own wild
melodies and for his rude attempts at lyrical poetry in
the language of the Gael, a large portion of the admiration
.-(1 upon compositions of a totally different origin
haracter. The Lowlanders, while they admit the
claim of the Highlanders, take to themselves the little
that is good in Celtic music and song, in order that with
it they may swell the triumphs of a land, that not being
geographically English, is considered to be Scotch."*
When such utter ignorance, and such absurd mis- statements, are found in a book which, both from its title and its subject, ought to show better things — when we know, moreover, that not merely strangers, but the Scottish people themselves — many even of the High- landers, and almost all the Lowlanders are quite unaware of the immense mass of popular poetry belonging to their country, which is treasured in the Gaelic Language, and do not frequently so much as know the names of poets whose admirable works should do so much to raise the
* The following letter from Dr. Charles MacKay, who wrote the introduction to "The Book of Scottish Song," appeared in the Highlander, May 31, 1873.
REFORM CLUB, LONDON, MAY 24, 1873.
..—The Edinburgh correspondence of the Hiyhlumlcr contains a mention of me, which requires a word, not of con- tradiction, but of explanation on my part. It is true that twenty years ago I wrote the sentences which your correspondent quotes •-•d i Kit u red condemnation. I have only to plead ignorance in excuse for the heresy of which I was guilty ; and to confess that at that time, I knew nothing of the venerable and beautiful language of my ancestors, and had imbibed erroneous ideas from the ways of Dr. Johnson and other prejudii-i-d and i> s 1 am wiser now, and every day discover 1-uauties in the Gaelic, and widely spread proofs of its influence over all the languages now spoken in Western Europe, a» I hope to be able to prove in my forthcoming volume.
"N.
' ;
"ii tin- w«.i-M, or on no made
geographical li:
sle all
•
io not
::«• Lowlni
ihing
he provincial <
•.viand, (
. or ;i union of them nil : 1 .hhuid n
ie and \\ild,
:
iliin^ like whicli is to assert
\\'h:iI«-\«T of :
iii)-y, in ; :. will find
in 1 1 . •
.1 ml IT hearing a gt-i. \\i-ll iic.ju;iinif«l \\iih i land
INTRODUCTION.
most elaborate departments say, that Highland melodies, when properly played or sung — that is with their own simple and peculiarly expressive character — thrilled him through with an amazing power. He felt as in a moment surrounded with Highland scenery, its lofty mountains and sweet glens, its sounding winds and waters, its mists and varied skies, and old historic associations, and he was accordingly profoundly affected. I can well understand this, for no music can be more like a living wail of sorrow, or a living laugh of joy, than that which melts our hearts, or makes them dance beneath its magic influence in the sweet wild notes of the mountain melodies of the Highlands. For my own part I will yield to no Scotchmen whatever in admiration of everything that is good and beautiful, and distinctively characteristic in Scottish poetry, no matter where or by whom produced; but I believe there is a chapter, and that not the worst in it, yet to be added to "The Book of Scottish Song;" and I believe, when that chapter is added, this book will contain a treasure of popular national lyrics such as is
by no other nation in the world.
In the following pages I attempt to show, not only
that there is as much Highland poetry, in proportion to
the population, as there is af Lowland poetry, but that it
possesses as much variety, and as high excellence of its
s the Lowland Scottish poetry, of which we are all
ly proud. With regard* to the poetry current at
one time or another in the Highlands, a simple statement
0 well-known facts will be sufficient to
1 ikingly evident, and to prove that poetic genius was abundantly 1 by the inhabitants of the mountain and insular districts of Scotland. In Reid's "iJibliotli. (Vltiea, an :uvount of all the
been print, d in the ( la-'lir : .-." then- is
ii of fifty-eight differ. of Caelic
taiidng the words of well-known bards, or the.
result of eollert ions made orally throughout the Highlands.
xxvii
IS plll.lishrd in I
important addition de to the poetical
of tin- Highlanders. IJ<-sid«'s in.
public
hundred years ago, i th«-
of \vhnin is
included in tie d, has
lif.-n jnil.li>ln-il in
itli tin- ( of tin- ] .s of iliii
< Jsu-lir l\ liirh. it i,
of the
is a
d doiil.lr columns. It
rhythm, and on a
i
• i
INTRODUCTION.
collection has ever been or ever can be, although they are, in a great measure, the compositions of authors who were quite uneducated, many of whom could neither read nor write. I am far from saying that they are all equally good, or that they are all worthy of being translated; but I can safely assert, that none of them is altogether bad, and that a good many of them are really of the first excellence in their class. They range in length from the heroic or descriptive imaginative chant, sometimes eight or nine hundred lines long, down to the little lay of three or four stanzas.
I know that he who would translate from the Gaelic must brace up his faculties for the work, or else he had better let the thing altogether alone. It will not be sufficient to give a feeble echo of the Highland sentiment, in dawdling slipshod English, or to dress it in some shabby threadbare Lowland garb. In every Gaelic song that deserves translation, there is not merely something that is good, but something that is characteristic of its birth- place, and that is not therefore in the English or Lowland lyric. The air and sun of the great mountains, and the tuneful sea-lochs, have breathed and shone upon the poetry of the Highlands, and given its every feature their own peculiar tan. The translator's difficulty is to preserve this, and it is no small one. I am well aware of that ; but yet I trust, the Highland Poems here rendered, will be found to retain something of their own look. I hope that no one who knows them in the original, will 1W1 that they have lost all that is good in their old expression, when I present them with an English face.
THOMAS PATTISOK GLASGOW, 1866.
MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
ALEXANDEB KAOttONALD
!.[>, nhv:i i l,y his own
i.e. the sou of
• y \i"u'<>n>us j.;irts. and to say
d in j»oint el ability l>y
Ipisoopaliaa
:n:iii for the parishes of ArdnamurchAD and d of tin nth, and Inhuming
of tli :itli century.
d at Dalileu ill Moi.lail, and would have united tli«- ]>]rasant calling of the lliirli- land '1 with tin- functions — not over-burdensome
• ly in ri 1 :tn cnuntry, of the Episcoj
nan.
in of immense
Mi,'th nor is it stranu.- that this ijuality is not • •vi-n in a man \\ln- : v.M-atii.n;
ijirrtluous in his i-in-unista
not one vhieh the hal>i; iii'i>tian llnek allowed to
11 him unu-'-d. I'^r i; had t«> walk to liis
'v Sunday, over a roii^h country,
at that time, without roads ; ai:dth« ;.-tin^
M-k to his home in the • Again, the funerals, whirh, in his .
;d \\a\s d .11.
B with them a
2 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
quantity of whisky — which being freely dispensed to the mourners, caused a good deal of excitement that did not . s pass peaceably away.
When the war of words changed into actual conflict, and the voice of reason could no longer be heard in the tumult, then the clergyman dashed in person into the fray, and settled the disputes on which his pastoral advice was wasted, by the strength of his right hand — the stoutest combatant, it is affirmed, seeing more than he quite cared to face, when he found he had to reach his antagonist through the intervening prowess of his minister. This strong pacificator, however, laid himself open to the charge of not dealing with perfect impartiality in his interference when the men of Moidart, who were his friends and relatives, happened to quarrel with the neighbouring men of Suainart ; who were comparatively strangers to him, and to his flock. His hand was heavier on the men cf Suainart than on the men of Moidart. Such was the well-known "Mr. Alexander," as the son »>f whom, their distinguished poet, Alexander MacDonald, is always spoken of by the Highlanders.*
Of the poet's own life, very little more than a few dates, is recorded. Even the date of his birth is nowhere mentioned; nor do we hear much of his education, though he was almost the only one of the Gaelic Bards who received anything like a scholastic training. Not that
* A kindred soul with the above, and also a contemporary of bin, was a Rev. Mr. Stewart, who followed Viscount Dundee's army, in 1689. When the Highlanders made their impetuous and decisive charge at the battle of Killiecrankie, this gentleman, accompanied them wielding a heavy broad-sword. He used his weapon with such effect in the battle and pursuit, that eleven of
"valists sank beneath its sway. When his excitement cooled down, however, he found that he could not draw his hand
he basket-hilt of his sword ; nor was it till a friend had cut throng ,M.ik, that the warlike ecclesiastic was able to
ary appearance.
AM 3
leaded t nu-.- in hi-
M the
:
of his
the iii which his country itself, with ;
:is tin-in. With regard t«» liis tu,
iy, for !
ither intruded hii: :i pro-
••thinLT in hi-- r, or
;it well with this idea.
•nit, the < dd of the
.\i£ men of merit, v.
liini for the l.ar: 1-ut . marriage,
inijirud.-ntly coiiti'act. .1 l.y t, interrupted his
studi- .[iialiiifd for a profession. To
niily, Ma«-I )oi,ald wai ; to It-ave
to Ardnamurchan : where h<- lived,
trM.-hins; and fanning, and i-oinj.. try — a T:
i an elder of the IvstaMislied Chuivh. till the 1 : when, he not only forsook his all to join
»':••. The fief] and war!: with whi.-h he
•1 his con: :ind animated i\i< -in for
the unft-rtunute Smart and I. H«' h' 'and Ainiv, l.u: v. '
rved in the ti--ld or ): ,.»t elearly
( 'ulii.den, lie li\-ed in h: in the wood ;t di.vtr:
hardahipe : ' :rking
witli hi-
4 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
that the side of MacDonald's head, which rested on the ground, became quite grey in a single night
After this, he lived a short time in Edinburgh, teaching the children of some of his Jacobite friends. But he soon returned again to the Highlands, where he remained till his death, which happened (in what year is not stated), when he had reached " a good old age."
Reid, in his "Bibliotheca Scoto-Celtica," gives a description of the poet's personal appearance and habits, which is certainly very far from flattering.
" In person," Mr. Reid says, " MacDonald was large and ill-favoured. His features were very coarse and irregular. His clothes were* very sluggishly put on, and" generally very dirty. His mouth was continually fringed with a stream of tobacco-juice, of which he chewed a very great quantity. His manner of composition was to lie on his back, in bed in winter, or on the grass in summer, with a large stone on his breast, muttering to himself in a low whisper his poetical aspirations."
It is in reference to this and other parts of Reid's notice of MacDonald, that MacKenzie in his "Beauties of Gaelic Poetry" says, "Like most men of genius, who have made some noise in the world, Mac Mhaighstir Alastair has been much lauded, on the one side, by the party whose cause he espoused, and as much vilified, and as much falsified, by the other party. Mr. Reid in his book, « Bibliotheca Scoto-Celtica,' seems to have had his imformation from the last mentioned source."
Tin- grotesque description of MacDonald then, just quoted, is probably a total fabrication ; or at any rate, a gross caricature by one of his enemies. Who ever heard of a poet, or any sane man, lying on his back in his bed, or on the grass, with a stone on his breast when he was composing ! A small spice of malice, or a drop of < n\ y t«i iinuiiit the 6yes, and a description of Burns might very readily be given about as bad as the above; tuting the smell of whisky for tobacco-juice, and
A!.: !». 5
indie of straw "ii whi.-h h> in Hea\en," t'< 8M "M tin- bnaM bfl was
I'Olllp. >
glish
:blish«-d in 1711. His j«.- pub-
111 Kdinhuru'h in 17~»1. They f«»rmed one of the
Mines of . ! ill Gaelic.
dition appeared in 17»'>i. This little book con-
i ..nly tlii: I. ut a «,'oocl many [DOW
add.'.l to it, at't.T tli.- A'lt!
•••nth i>urt of liis - ' he win-Ill : a nunr :
and Inst in the rj . though in i' .."jislird rank, is in :
-t place among ids.
nald displays a great command of the
deal of talent and energy.
hement, rapid, and exciting singer, as a general
rule; 1'iit y«-t. In- is 1 .y no nn-ans dt-licifiit in tend' and ^'i • .-eially in liis many sweet and pastoral
iptions of the nmst warlike, and
much the fn-nvM of Hi;'hl:tml poets, indeed almost the ne of them all, at least f..r three centurie> Lack, to wh<>m tli MI with any truth lie ascribed.
Although his pi..- , ,\- in number, only thii:
'.ibit more variety of excellence on the than those, perhaps of any of hi- I While, although DOl "tli and e«|uabh- as I1
Marlntvr- jualled by no oth«-r when at his
'I'll.- ] m whieh follows, is . d by
lli_irl»' their
.age. No jMM-m is ever >p"ken ««f in the sann-
n Ch-athaiel D Porain'1
6 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
looked on, with quite the same pride ; though, being easier understood, and composed altogether in a more elegant style, they probably impart fully as much pleasure, both to hearers and readers. Yet, if all Gaelic poems were to be destroyed, and one only excepted from the general ruin, I believe the voices of the majority of Highlanders would fix on "The Birlinn of Clan-Ranald," as that one. The reason of this preference, however, may be those very peculiarities of style and structure, the tendency of which will be, perhaps, as much to repel as to attract a stranger, at least, in the outset. I think, however, no one can read this poem with attention and intelligence, without deeming it, in every respect — as regards expression, arrangement, conception — singularly original ; without finding in it much graphic painting — and feeling it to be emphatically lively and energetic. Such a reader will discover many minute touches in the poem to please him, though they might escape a more careless eye : — such for instance as the incitement to the rowers to
" Wound the huge swell 011 the ocean meadow, Heavy and deep. "
Or this other,
" Let your fists' broad grasp be whitening In your rowing!"
Or how the effect of the cry " Suas oirr' !".
"Hurh the Birlinn through the cold glens, Loudly snoring."
Or again when they are told in the Boat-song to
"Let the grey sea ever foaming,
!;oulders,
An-1 tip- run-rets irn'un and mingle Far l.rhind her."
\vho is to
ur, Sto
nick."
t of the l>ale>man,
No: th,
As ; 'ing,
•••rni, iii which
the Birlii. --a. This,
ined etlort of the poet's otice of a dis-
i he elemi let loose in their
\\ilil« n terror round the
11 In -r perilous
t until all ln-r
and plank in her are
!• stoj) to draw l»n-ath, <>r !••?
"th-- : '-ruflle round her fair."
though : ,.-li notalde }K':.
6 a prod'
iiy Ili-hland.
i'-irlinn" n. ''oun.l
in-r, utilities. \\ hidi an- pel i
if than the h:
the iin-r.' p- ••!(! robust
bum!
.• Bianni 1 line
• ith the original. It is the I..HL;' >t p>
THE MANNING OF THE BIRLINN.
THE BLESSING OF A SHIP;
Along with an incitement for the sea, that was made for the crew of the Birlinn of Clan Ranald.
M;iy God bless the ship of Clan-Ranald*
This first day it floats on the brine, Himself, and the strong men who guide it,
Whose virtues surpassingly shine ! May the Holy Trinity temper
The stormy breath of the sky, And sweep smooth the rough swelling waters,
That our port we may draw nigh !
Father ! Creator of ocean,
And each wind that blows from on high J Bless our slender bark and our heroes ;
Make all ill things pass them by. 0 Son ! bless thoa our anchor,
Our tackling, helm, and sail ; Everything on our mast that is hanging,
Till our haven at last we hail.
*In Bishop Carswell's Gaelic Prayer-Book, published in the year, 1567 — the first book ever printed in the Gaelic Language — there occurs a prayer somewhat similar to this one, to be used by mariners going to sea. It, too, is a prayer to the Trinity ; very well arranged and expressed, and full of devotional feeling. It could hardly have been used or appreciated by a wild and savage people, such as we are sometimes, I think, very incorrectly, taught to regard the Highlanders of three hundred years ago.
Prayer Book was reprinted under the editorship of the late I 'Iii.in.i3 MacLauchlan in 1873. Only two copies of the first edition were known to exist then.]
ALK\AM>i:U KACDONALD,
I ;ili our
•ill ;
< )ur 1 'ii —
no ill thi-'.iiu'h tin-in lu'fall.
be helm,
tin- prop,-r |,:
••:itll the
\v,
i! ;.MS.
IIS
Ami i»ur massy mails which
: led and shapely targets — Bless them all witliotit rxccption — Th' uMiT-lu'lts carry.
Our 1- w, \\t-ll ina«l«' ami handsome,
tin- l>ivast of 1-attle ; {.rone to splinter, Casrd in tlu- sulh-ii l.a.l^'-r's hid«\ our j.oinai-ds and our pistols, 1 our t.irtans fin.- and fold
implement oi In Mac|)ona.' -his hour.
i, our OT6W, not soft or sin,, dfl fnc. .unter ; hall hold to-rth.-r, k to plank In- tied — \\'hil«- l.rii.-Hth \our f.-i-i she welters,
Or Oil*' kllol* lei;
10 MODERN GAELIC BA.RDS.
If you only battle it well,
And the sea does not feel that you quail, She will humble herself in that knowledge,
And her pride to your might will she vail. Thus confront thy spouse on the land ;
Let her not see thee get weak, And the chance is she yields in the strife,
Nor such contests will rashly re-seek.
Even so is the mighty deep,
Tho' fierce frenzy her bosom fills ;
She will yield to your might none the less, As the King of the Universe wills.
THE INCITEMENT TO KOW TO A SAILING PLACE.
To bring the barge so dark and stately,
Whence we 'd sail away ; Thrust out those tough clubs and unyielding,
Polished bare and grey ; Those oars well made, smooth- waisted,
Firm and light ; That row steadily and boldly
From smooth palm to foam white ;
That send the sea in splashing showers
Aloft unto the sky, And light the brain-fire bright and flashing,
As when coal sparks fly. With purpose-like blows of the great heavy weapons,
\Vith a powerful sweep, Wound the huge swell on the ocean meadow,
Rolling and deep.
With your sharp narrow blades white and slender, ike its big breast;
Al.i 1 I
MM! rij. {'Iril mid li;
lid dr;i\v, you For
• >iir PAN I
. well ord
Thou st< >st oar,
T* The s- -our
An«l hurls th<- liirlinn through tlie cold £]
Loudly Or, clinil.i: . .-. dllrii sr.j
Wht-ii liill-wavi-s thus ;in- tiling Ix-liind,
;' should " Huu':m" will ihr <>rr;ili \vjiilini; slior
From t!i. ;i thud- a d;ish of sj r
Gof
But Still ours rivak. th'
.d
ith her"- / .<.. thr 1'irlinn. " > r has seen
ll» MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
For the stout, stiff, manly heroes
Must work untiring, Should every board of her be quivering,
Round oaken post and iron ; While oar blades splash among the water,
And knobs clank on her side, On with such force, you '11 make her course,
With fearless pride.
Strong arms can drive this slender bark
Through the wide deep, Right in the face of the blue billows'
Rising, bristling heap. Now for such mettled manly crew,
Our oars to sweep ; To make the grey-backed eddies whirl
Where their strokes press'd, And flag not, tire not, drowse not, bend not,
In the storm's rough breast.
Then after the six men and ten are seated at the oars, in order to row under the wind to the sailing place, let stout Callum, son of Ranald of the Ocean, shout the lorram* for her and be seated on the foremost oar, and let this be it : —
Now since you are rank'd in order,
And seem all to be well chosen,
Give her one good plunge, like champions,
Brave and boldly.
Give her one good plunge, &c.
* lorram (pronounced, Yirram) is a boat-song, or an oar-song, •metimes a lament. This double meaning it acquired from
the fact of the lorram being so often chanted in the boats that I the remains of chiefs and nobles over the western seas to
Ion*.
ALKXANDKK I IK 1 '.',
her not a j.liu
• iM.od \vii fill.
•nil liills
i :i n.i-li1 'lid manful :
bob your Leave JUT tt-uck in li:;ht U-hind
proudly. Leave h.
i gleesoin-
-
With tiiis (hiinty 1 tout -song, »tc.
:<1 tli<- tliolc pins,
Till your li l.;in- ;in<l Mistrr'il,
And tli.' ours th.-n, twisted
In T '
I tllrliis. .
1 l>o hotly lighted ;
houlti your j.
dn.ps from your fun-head Calling.
•1 thr lltl--' dl
and drav, . fir, in Inn- li-ht -• \\ nh h< rd tin- \\ i! unviits
Whirling ln-iny.
.
1 j MODERN GAELIC BAUDS.
Let your set of oars, full sweeping, Mash the great sea with their vigour, Going splashing in the wild face
Of the billows.
Going splashing, &c.
Row together, clean and steady, Cleaving the great swelling water, "Work with life and work with spirit,
No delaying.
Work with life, &c.
Give a graceful and a strong pull,
Looking oft on one another ;
Wake the force that's in your sinews
All so strongly.
Wake the force, &c.
Be her ribb'd and oaken body In the wild glens moaning sadly, And her two thighs ever pounding
Down the surges.
And her two thighs, &c.
Let the ocean, crisp and hoary,
Rise with rough and deep-toned heavings,
And the lofty wailing waters
Shout and welter.
And the lofty, &c.
Let the grey sea, ever foaming, Splash her forward pressing shoulders, And the cum-nts groan and mingle
I'm- In-hind her.
And the currents. &c,
A I i'OXALD. l,r>
. ith smooth v, • k tin-in with tin- ]'ith and :
Hg should'
ti.
VMll J.oil;-
Till 3 .lining in'
. ith fu ll-.sj. read sail, lea
( >f tin- solans.
Tfc
li To THE SAILING I'LACE.
dls Igb,
Ami :ii-s and ten
tin-in liy,
Mat hold the s. i- thi^h : Chin Kaiiald from his nol.li-s ordrr'd
io sail l>y — i not any spectre,
e tin-in nigh.*
ii.n liavin.Lj arrivnl at the sailing jtlaoc, we have here
;.tt ( 'l.tn-Kunald himself, or some one el>c <U-putt-(l hy
r the j.ui-jii'M-, pl.-n-iiiLT liiinst-lf in a consjiicuous situation,
calls out th- him,
i MI <nit, li"
•it hy a >: rsonal
chara« • r inakini; t
on board tt . vrhico tlu-y had just ln-en rowing.
nan of his A.ml.l havi- hron tittr.l t«> till in the
ance »>< •. ivutlily 1 • • .1 hy those
who knew him.
16 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
Then was it ordered, after choice had been made, that every man should look after his own particular charge. Immediately on this, there was a shout raised for a steersman to take the helm, in these words :—
Let this broad heavy hero sit at the helm,
Powerful, ready; No dash of the rising or falling sea
Must make him unsteady ; A well-spread prop full of vigour,
Broad-seated, thick — Stout and sure, and skilful and wary,
Cautious, yet quick. Never once hasty while watching the canvas,
Which swift winds unfurl. When he hears the shaggy ridge of the waters'
Roaring whirl, He '11 smartly keep her narrow head
Against the swirl. He '11 guide her so that she rocks or reels not
In her tack. Ruling sail and sheet with eye that windward
Glances back; He must not lose one finger's fore-joint
Of the right course, In spite of all the tumbling surges,
And their force. He '11 beat so boldly, when there's need,
In the wind's eye; He '11 make each oaken plank and fastening
Creak and cry. He must not blanch or get confused
With doubts and fears — Not should the sea's grey-headed swell
Rise round his ears. This stalwart seaman every terror
Must withstand ;
AM • i.i). i;
Noi
With ll'-llii in ha:
Mu
With full-sa:
Thus llr'll kf»-|. i • Eld Stul)!".:
< Mi tup of tin- wild \\ .
hrl- h:il'l-
TUB V - ORDERED (-17
Place this shivwd ni.-ui — great-fisted — there,
.'. atch til' Who 'ii ;unl lull of C8
With hui:«' L:I-;I>I> sir- : \\ :
< '11 liaul : 'd will,
\\'li«-n tin- ship ii'-rds it; And watch th«- mast and tackling still,
i hiiul and I«M. And In- must know the winds that blow,
What coursr l>«-st suit And h«- must \\.uk in ham.
With him who holds tin- sheet,
•.side thr tackling manfully, So !«• stout roj,fs and liigh
,11 hold together.
THE M.\ SHEET.
Let this man with mighty shoul<>
:i thr thv. if so sinewy and h
\\ 'itii i. -i —
18 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
A thick-set, broad, and craggy champion,
With fingers huge. The sheet he must be ever guiding
With scrambling force; When the winds come fiercely blowing,
Pulling well in; But when it slacks, and lags, and flutters,
He lets free.
THE MAN ORDERED OUT FOR THE EAR-RING.
Let this man who is tight and sturdy,
Handy, nice, and fine, Work the jib sheet without flinching,
When she nears the wind; Bring it up and down in order,
To each fitting hold, As the wind may chance to follow,
Or the hightopp'd wave; And if he find the tempest rising,
Or loud groaning come, He '11 bring it, with good grasp heroic,
To the gunwale down.
THE LOOK-OUT ORDERED TO THE FORE.
Now, rising, let this slow man go
Up to the prow; Our harbour with unerring knowledge
He must show ; Every art descrying keenly
Whence the wind can blow, And telling to the steersman surely
The right way to go. Each landmark he must note and gather
From afar, Since it, with Him who rules the seasons,
Is our guiding star.
19
.HI: HAL.
\Vh
• ill <.f mi.L'lit,
led and \\i-l!
With dark tV .ly :
•lid.' his n.j.i- wrell ;it imt h.-itdy. ,iul with a t \\ist Tli
'1 (.11 his :
: la- niu>'
Tlit- toii^h tii;ht rope; II' -; a loose lo<>{,
ope
run fn-i-h 'ly,
! murmur h<>.
iih hum and cry,
rtrr of tin- v -iside, and
<> rough, the steersman says im: —
h tin- •inr ni^li ;
•
a man 1
h-t liim j-ry.
.
1 1. ripj
20 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
Then mark keenly if the gusts
Before, or behind it, fly ; Nor must he let my heedless thoughts
Securely lie, But wake me up at sight of danger
With an eager cry, When towards us the drowning waters
Wailing hie ; He must say, " The beam's thin head
Quick put about ! " " A breaking wave ! " with thunderous accents
Must he shout. He must thus inform me duly
When danger is nigh ; But let no other weather- watcher
But himself be by, Nor make confusion, doubt, and tumult,
Through the whole cre\f fly.
A balesman is ordered out ; in case the sea rush over her behind and before: —
To bale her let this strong man rise,
Active and brave, Who will not blanch, or yield, or tremble
For the shouting wave ; Who will not quail, who will not soften
For cold sea or hail, Though they lash and splash his neck and breast
On the strong gale. With a thick, round, wooden vessel
In liis horny hand, He'll let not the inpouring water
( )m- iiioiiH-nt stand ; II. bmit he'll rigidly discharge it,
Neither faint nor slack,
• OMALD, -1
II i : . i , - • keep b<
•. ••!! Hindi- li.l.
| »s a polished ju^.
Kehind the canvas, Ha will be
in lu-r \\itli t! BM <>f the tempe.-a : —
i the ropes behind the sail, With pith :ind marrow, and great bone and brawn,
A'S,
To draw well in \\ '. of danger con
• h smart hand In tin.- i-i^ht middle. l>onald Mju-CaniKii^ l«-t us i-hoose for this,
• l.'hn Mac lain — • aiidk;i<ms tVllows and in1 IIK-H of ( 'anna.
••f those I have
•ild fail, or thai th<- fury of the st-a should pluck hin MI!, then one <>f these could take his
•• : —
••t thesr six aijile : Handy, li\.
! run 1 aft her,
22 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
Quick as a hare upon the hill-tops,
And the hounds near by. Tli'-y must climb the hard smooth ropes,
Fine and hempen, Like a squirrel in the spring-time
Up a tree side. They must be skilful, hardy, active,
Sure and restless, And spring to rope, or chain or sail, or any
Needful order, Guiding the good ship, without weakness,
Of Vic Dhomhnuill.
Now, when everything appertaining to the sailing had been got under famous regulation, and every gallant hero drew without softness, without fear, without trembling, to the exact place where he had been ordered to go, they raised up the sails about the rising of the sun on the day of the Feast of St. Bride, and they bore out of Loch- Ainneart, in Uist, looking southward.
The sun had opened golden yellow,*
From his case. Though still the sky wore dark and drumly
A scarr'd and frowning face; Then troubled, tawny, dense, dun bellied,
Scowling and sea-blue ; Every dye that's in the tartan
O'er it grew. Far away to the wild westward
Grim it lowered,
•Any one who has watched a threatening February morning iu
!u ides, will be at no loss to perceive that this vigorous
description has been taken directly from nature. The varied
' of the sky, and the wild aspect of the sea, are particularly
striking.
A I i
ring
Loomed
l'l» ti i-li
:i.l likr li. .•lu-«l tin-in on tin- Jit.
>o tall a: v —
in line — :--in firm!;. • tin-in true.
-h :
unely,
\\'« U | :V.
\\'h- !>r :
For : .• d.
ray :
Let loose tli.- k.-t-n and craD.cd wild winds — l>;uid we
ik ;h«- ocoun
Round him n •
rutHi-d, \vhirli lew ; Till uji In- sw.-U'd tu niinintiiiiis. i»r to _i(l.
!li-d, rnu^li, s;nd< down — And tin- kicki1 |
i in hills had in-own ; Its lilui- dt'iith
Wild ;\nd d.-\ ..uriiii:. Down which cl;tsj»rd in deadly BJ
pouring.
•ok a man to look tin- storm \\i-
; uji tin- sji:irklin_ rgo hill,
In their '
24 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
The waves before us shrilly yelling
Raised their high heads hoar, While those behind, with moaning trumpets,
Gave a bellowing roar. When we rose up aloft, majestic,
On the heaving swell, Need was to pull in our canvas
Smart and well.
When she sank down with one huge swallow- In the hollow glen, Every sail she bore aloft
Was given to her then. The drizzling surges high and roaring
Rush'd on us louting; Long ere they were near us come,
We heard their shouting. They roll'd sweeping up the little waves,
Scourging them bare. Till all became one threatening swell,
Our steersman's care. When down we fell from off the billows'
Towering shaggy edge, Our keel was well nigh hurled against
The shells and sedge; The whole sea was lashing, dashing,
All through other. It kept the seals and mightiest monsters
In a pother. The fury and the surging of the water,
And our good ship's swift way Spatter'd their white brains on each billow,
Livid and i^rey. With piteous wailing and complaining,
All the storm-toss'd horde, Shouted out " We're now your subjects ;
Drag us on board. '
AM 25
TiiniM OVOT their white l.n-jist —
i. innmmTal'lf, with tli- :i ioUS sea
I sip-iis ..f th.- deep obi
.\vly l>ed
I'.y the tiiiinilt of tin- OC6U Till •
'led. ninthly L h the Mood <.f niai atures,
.ml rlawy \vil-:
\\'it! ,;hs
pe :intl \vid«' op. -n l;iy. the wlmlr .l.-rp was full of spectres, s*1 ami ipnkwling
- and with the tails of monsters
[nailing, iu'htful rvi-ii to licar tliem
• l«ui(lly :
full tifty heroes I'in.i,' jmnully.
Our win. It- i-rc\v i:n-w dull of hearing In tin- t.: -.,wl,
ai'{> the (|iia\'TiiiM; cries of demons
iiowl.
ihf wdt. M in-; wavrs were wrestling In their noisy splashi ' •!•]. beak »:' «mr swift ship
On i <la-hinur.
irind : renewing all its mildness
In th.- far v,
'
26 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
Till with every kind of strain and trouble
We were sore distress'd. We were blinded with the water
Showering o'er us ever ; And the awful night like thunder,
And the lightning ceasing never. The bright fire-balls in our tackling
Flamed and smoked ; With the smell of burning brimstone
We were well-nigh choked. All the elements above, below,
Against us wrought ; Earth and wind, and fire and water,
With us fought. But when it defied the sea
To make us yield ; At last, with one bright smile of pity,
Peace with us she seal'd. But not before our yards were injured,
And our sails were rent, Our poops were strained, our oars were weaken'd,
All our masts were bent. Not a stay we had but started,
Our tackling all was wet and splashy, Nails and couplings twisted, broken.
Feeshie, fashie.* All the thwarts and all the gunwale
Everywhere confess'd, And all above and all below,
How sore they had been press'd. Not a bracket, not a rib,
But the storm had loosed ; Fore and aft from stem to stern,
All had got confused.
• Fiae, false! pronounced as above, occur here in the original. They are mere expletives, and have no meaning.
AM
lit,
• mplaint
ily Soli 11.; V tlVlM-l.
Not a hoard remain'd as firm
As at tin- l>re;ik of (i Not a holt iii her hut
Not a rope tin- wind that 1 Not a part of tin- who!
iJtr r han !>«•!'
ittle
At the cross of ! !<-.
And the nui-li wind. ],[•
rained t'- d wliilr.
It n>
Lofty in the uj.j.rr air, And after all its imisy Karl:
i'-d round us fair. Th« i. _ii Kiiiif.
Wlio rcin'd the wind's rude liivath. And sav.-il <.iir ^uod ('Ian IJanald
From a l>ad and l.rutul death. Then we fiii-rd.u}) tin- line and sjurk!
Of linen
•'•.•k down the .smooth, red dainty masts, And laid them l.y the On our Inn-,' and sleiidei- jiolish'd • T <r li -aning —
« all made ..f the lir rut liy .Mael'.arais In l-!il.-a:i Fi.>nain.
>vent with our sni(...th. rowing,
And steadv B! Till \\ ;nd the i
* !•'. i g • jus.
28 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
There casting anchor peacefully,
We calmly rode ; We got meat and drink in plenty,
And there we abode.
THE SUGAR BROOK, f
Passing by the Sugar Brook,
In fragrant morn of May ; When, like bright shining rosaries,
The dew on green grass lay ; I heard the Robin's treble,
Deep Richard's bass awake ; And the shy and blue-winged cuckoo,
Shout " goog-goo " in the brake.
The thrush there threw its steam off,
Upon a stake alone : And the brown wren so blithesome,
Had music of its own. The linnet with a jealous bend,
Tuned up his choicest string ; The black-cock he was croaking,
The hen did hoarsely sing.
The trout kept leaping nimbly, With merry plunge and play ,*
iAllt an-t r the Sugar Brook, is a small stream in
north west of Argyleshire, that falls into the Sound of Mull.
the
A 1. 1 29
••urn \\itli spi -in in tli-- sunny i c l>lad<- Mue 1 -{X)ttcd gills,
iiM'd with their "vndi!. Wh'-n with a dash they snapt th. Th .v wandering sails.
Ho\\
; whirling >"ft of sound : The Su-ar Brook'i ro it wave,
Tl; and iniiriiMii-s miiiul.
All ^t i lowers,
Close to its li.inlcrs rise ; Whii-h, with the sappy source of applies.
Iran trni ir.-aiiil.-t,
That tlows so l.ri^ht ami cli AVitli the soul of growth an.l motion,
Fills all the meadows m-ar : When- tly tiif yflli»w-re«l 1-
Men ilo\\
To till wit! -veet,
The wax-cell in their l»ow.
A so .and is that which comes,
;d -In-Mowing kye; As to their speckled, i,'i»ldy cal .
From the fold tin- dams reply : Where thi- niiikmaid \\ iih her b Lists to the lieni-
l.y the l.rindi She tills h-'i- foaming ]>ail.
• Buarac! 'f horse hair, and used for thoee cow»
that were :\nt t«> kick whil
30 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
The wailing swans their murmurs blend,
With birds that float and sing; Where joins the Sugar Brook the sea,
Their tuneful voices ring. Softly sweet they bend and breathe,
Through their melodious throat, Like the mournful, crooked bagpipe,
A sad but pleasing note.
O ! dainty is the graving work,
By Nature near thee wrought ! Whose fertile banks with shining flowers,
And pallid buds are fraught. The shamrock and the daisy,
Spread o'er thy borders fair, Like new-made spangles, or like stars,
From out the frosty air.
Ah ! what a charming sight display,
Thy ruddy, rosy braes ; When sunbeams dye their flowers as bright,
As brilliants all a-blaze : And what a civil suit they wear,
Of rib-grass and of hay ; And gay-topt herbs o'er which the birds,
Pour forth their pompous lay.
O Lily ! king of flowers — thou
The new rose hast outdone ; In bunches round of tender hue,
And white-crown like the sun : To keep the Sugar Brook from harm,
As amulets are given, Such stars to sparkle where it winds,
Like guiding lights in heaven !
Al.i !.!..
• ut thick around its \\««1«1 ;
AnCJ slender \vu\iie_: M.-ilks that look well turned work in gold : • full of i. ts,
• !ird for 1
\Yhele holl'Ji ;SS,
the curling spray.
uld niedVine any fading si^ht, i-MiiM tin- swift shij.s spy : In \\hitf ainl s\vrlliiiL: r;m\;is drcst,
Close to thy L.-UIU-N pi liy : Th.-ir tir in:ists li-'ht an-1 h;imly,
\Vith hciuj.rn r(.] d —
While down tin' cold torn Sound of Mull, Tin- north blast keenly strayed.
The corry best in all the land,
Of rich and sappy lea, Js the corry of the Sugar Brook —
The corry loved l.y me,
Th" . Ji and lovely.
Where- soft tufts thickly lie; And \vanr runs o'< :
r t«» the •
•
••rry <>f the fouls and lambs, ( )f kids and lonely co
The
Where calves so early bn>
ded, rushy corry,
Where the « h.
And tin- .
Th«- old ur.-\ ch.
32 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
The corry where the sheep in scores,
Spread with their young away ; And stretch with fat their bursting skins,
So warm, and white, and grey ; Thus, good for food and clothing,
Through thy wild glens they go — Thou lovely, lofty corry,
That dost with grace o'erflow.
Thou corry where the ducks and drakes,
And curlews haunt the shore ; Thou corry which the full grown stags,
And heath-cock wander o'er ; 'Tis time I ceased to number,
Thy many a pleasant show ; Thine isles, and groves, and grassy plains,
Where milk and honey flow.
Alexander MacDonald lived so long in the small Island of Canna, that he seems to have come to regard the mainland of Argyle, at one time, with the eyes and feelings of an Hebridean ; as the following poem, " A Hail to the Mainland," shows.
The Island of Canna is thus described by Pennant, who visited it in the year 1775 ; when it could have changed but little, if at all. from the appearance it wore in MacDonald's day: — " As soon as we had time to cast our eyes about, each shore appeared pleasing to humanity: verdant and covered with hundreds of cattle ; both sides gave a full idea of plenty — for the verdure was mixed
with very little rock, aud scarcely any heath
The length of the Island is about three miles, and the breadth, near one ; its surface hilly. This was the property of the Bishop of the Isles ; but at present, that of Mr. MacDonald of Clan-Ranald. His factor, a resident agent, rents most of the Island: paying two guineas for
AM KAODOVALD,
each y >1 these he lets to the poor peoj
full i- and a li:ii' .<! exacts, bf
days' lahour in tin- «|iiait'T from each person. Aii"ih«-r h'-ad tenai •••. hich
st:ir\ ini{ of ill- inhabit.
•la- -I >uii:il(l, when a voting man,
was ground a<^- r in this little Island;
and \\, Miieh in tin- comj
authority as- iid him no
good. I-'nr it was jiriiK-ijmlly : tlif d«-j
taste of this jiatnm of his, that the poet, coiiij- \\hicli are not iituhle
now to his memory in point of good taste and right leelii
An explanation of tin- lines in which MucDonald of the Mainland or .M.>r'ir, that
wiih pi.-nty, to thee never Coin ing;
will he found in the following stateim-nt of Pennant's whni speaking «'f (1anna: "'I'l: r, annually
a temporary famine : fmm im:
: ju-rhaps.lVom 6Eg
. wlii, li they ran e of to satisfy the
demand* of their landlords, or the oppn'ssiuns of an
The M<>i • 'il. or the
!;s lamll- :
sutl'erin^. This lif ionin^, ril
is ph • find Mael> .•; his
with the fai-tor (.f Cunna. showing his
-htly, on th'- ie of a -as a poet ought al\\;i
34 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
HAIL TO THE MAINLAND.
HAIL to thee, thou bonny Mainland !
In the Beltane glowing ; Golden, sunny, green- clad Mainland !
Rosy burn-banks showing.
Blest with plenty, to thee never Comes the spring-time trying \
Bird-loved jewelled are thy hill sides, With green tree -tops sighing.
Thy woods so gay, are surely clad in
Wedding garments fairly ; Straths and mountains here are lovely,
Glens are tinted rarely.
When the sun-rise gilds the mountains,
Then the bee goes snoring • Ruddy bee that tickles flow'rets,
And hums — honey storing.
Now the brisk trout leaps the eddies, And droll flies keeps chasing ;
While a green flag o'er the fountains, Every knoll is raising
And buds are swelling, full of fragrance,
Blue, and red, and paly : Musical the slender sprays are,
Where the birds dance gaily.
Cosy rushy beds the fold has, In the summer weather ;
I.D. 35
:y, creamy milk in beakers,
I l.-rdsinrli ij' • ;,»T.
runlets I milk tl;t
\\'itli no thought of sparing.
FLO WEES.
(FROM THI: ODE TO SUMMER.)
O PRIMKOSI; ! that groi
So pallid and swtvt on the l>rae, In tcndrr tnfts 1. lowing.
In curly l«-av«-s flowing — Th*1 h:i: '! tllOU
Sprung IVoin tlic c Thus wrai-in^ thy spri
NN'hiK- . r a\vay.
And \\rt\-\th of Cuchulinn* of cainis, How pleasant thf odour that's
XV1; ;.'d and lirimllrd,
\\'ith l«-L(s l(.n^ and spindled,
Rou.irh rhist.-n-d. nic.lrst hu«-d, Yrllow-tipt, !
Round tlif lone kn.ti;
With \MKH! -s.-rn-l .^.r.-ad.
n of the meadow,
36 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
BIRDS.
(FROM THE ODE TO WINTER.)
SORROW lies on the earth all around,
And the hill and the mountain grow bare ; Fast darkens the face of the ground,
Shorn and bare, faint and withered with care. All the speckled birds, tuneful and sweet,
Erst that sang from the top of the tree, Have their pleasant mouth's gagged when we meet ;
They have lost bow and string — lost their glee.
The winged folk now of the sky,
Cease their sunny songs here for a space ; Nor their matins they carol on high,
Nor with vespers the holy eve grace. But in chill caves all sleepy they stay,
And cow'r cold in the holes of the crag, Where they miss much the warm glancing ray,
Whose bright sheen made their summer songs flag.
There's a dark frown on Europe throughout
Since the strength of the sun grew so wan, Whose light spreads such solace about —
The Lamp by which all things we scan ; But when to the Twins he comes back,
And beams on these regions again, A bright hue the rough hills shall not lack,
Nor the gold gleaming heaps of the main.
And those psalmists, then spotted anew, In their close leafy pulpits shall stand,
Hymns and praises to sing as their due, Since the Summer time shines on the land
"•V\I.|>.
^ among,
And
And tlii-y ji«ur f'<>nh tl. On their slrndri- •
Tln-iv is : p of the |]
But ivtunis t«> liis sj.i.- When Plni-l.us that shiiM-s t'n.iii on 1
The illicit oi >re :
Then tln-y i-i>«- uj» at once iV<>m tin- ^rave,
Wln-n- the cold kfj.t tli<-m chilly and dumb, -•«.oly dm hid<>l«>-h,
Winter's gone and th«- Sinniu<-r lias OOB
TUE GROUSE COCK AND HEN.
Tin: irr..u<«' l.-avin.^ th<> ^rcni l.uds,
That djij.j.l«- tin- >i>ray, Takes his short l..-uL-d and sj..-.-kl«'(l spouse
To tin- mountain^ away; Likr a roiirtit-r th«-n- ffOO6fl lu-r,
\Vlicrc tin- shade of tin- ln-atl:.T is cool ] Though still she laughs h«>ai
" Pee-hoo-hoo, you 're a fool ! "
MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
MORAG AND OTHER BELLES.
A FACE I never saw,
Since my dawning days — Not one so free of flaw,
Full of glorious grace ; Though Mally still was mild,
And her cheek like rowans wild, As fickle as the wind she smiled,
When it drones and strays. Peggy had a slight
Trace of age's blight j Marsaly was light,
Full of saucy ways. Lilly's love was bright,
Though a speck had dimmed her sight, But they were all as tame and trite
As washing suds to Morag.
It is unfortunate that from the nature of the Song in Praise of Morag — in many respects, a very beautiful one, from which this short extract is taken — a fair translation of it, as a whole, is a thing on which no one is very likely to venture. MacDonald was a married man when he saw the young girl, Morag, whose beauty he celebrates in a strain very impassioned, though not always very decorous or refined.
An idea of the poem he produced on the occasion, may be formed from some of Burns' Songs in which the rapture, though indubitable, is far from being of the highest kind — with this difference, however, that Burns' Songs consist of two or three stanzas only, while MacDonald's is an elaborate composition of about three hundred and fifty lines in length. It is in a sort of rhythm peculiar to the Highlands — of which a further account will be given under the head of Maclntyre's " Ben Dorain."
FROM Till-: BONG OF Till-: HIGHLAND OLANa
0 ' I 1 loyal Choice hour
1 . ''h'tld M > lit -
Your heart from can- I The health of -James Stu.
With w. ;nl it round ;
holy pledge we sound.
Now fill a draught f<.r Charlie —
Rogue ! up o 'erf low ;
Hsi ! 'tis ;i l.alni to h.'iil m'.r hrarts —
II«-\ ivc us \vh<«n we 're low. Yea! should death's h;tn<l he laying us
W.-nk, wan l.t^id,- tli. Oh, riiiv^rs.-il Kiu.ir! i-"tuni —
Return him oV-r the v
Hard is the case of all his fri« ;
Because of hi Tln-y line like a callow orphan'd brood —
Like garden rey
To the ili-.xtrih-tive t'ox. whi-n faint
They drop alon^ the 1. Come (juii-kly \\ith tl • d drive
Thy people's pla-
Donald is said to h-ive >^. Ili^hhuuU
1 the SOUL: tV.'iii which th-
men wit! and join Prince ('hail. I, Tlie ,, • Q| th
so very similar
40 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
to that contained in the Clan Song in "Waverley," "There is mist on the mountain and night on the vale," that a reader of Sir Walter Scott's spirited imitation will be able to form an exceedingly correct notion, both of the nature of this and all other Clan Songs of the Highlands.
A species of Clan Song also, is Mac Donald's poem entitled, "The Praise of the Lion," in which he celebrates so cordially the prowess, valour, and greatness of all the septs that bore his own distinguished name. It is, at the same time, no unfair specimen of those War-songs, or Battle incitements, as they were called, with which the bards, from very remote ages, used to animate their friends and kinsmen when about to engage in battle.
Some of these, of an old date, are still extant and well known. The most extraordinary of them, in every respect, is one composed by Lachlan Mor MacYurich Albanich, hereditary bard of Clan-Ranald, and chanted by him to his clansmen at the battle of Harlaw, 1411. This most unique production consists of three hundred and thirty eight lines ; the theme of the whole being, " 0 Children of Conn of the hundred fights ! remember hardihood in the time of battle." Round this theme the Bard has gathered no fewer than six hundred and fifty adverbial adjectives, arranged in alphabetical order, and all bearing a special and bloody reference to the subject in hand.
The Poem contains nothing else but these adjectives. There is not much that can be called poetry^bout them ; but yet, when supplied without hesitation by a good memory in all their astonishing alliterative array, by a ready speaker, gifted with a strong and sensitive voice, they could not but have offered a rare opportunity for Impetuous, vehement and effective declamation. A man of good presence, as Lachlan Mor probably was, hurling them forth in this way on his audience, with flashing eye and ii«Ty, and appropriate gesture, must have created no small stir and excitement among the valiant children of
A! i:\ANDKR MACDONAI.I'. 41
(Vim : even with :i string of BOIH --8 — a good
'ifiii tun compounded ! • ii no little
•siiity for •
•IncDonald. ii. ise of the
Lion, is sufficiently t'.-r. ay to the
MacDoiialds to h; .:H. M • r hi
Uather than leave out any ]><>rti<>n «.t' his ( 'lan's due of praise, he has j-i-rhaj
than once o\er, in slightly ditlei ei.t words. This, howe\ • more than t \\ o or tin.-.- i HIM -s the case,
iintl does not less.n the value of the lyric, as ti spirited, 11 — full of anlour and poetic lire. It will contrast pleasantly with ft and t<
descriptions of Nature that ha\ •• :\en; and
show, along with them, the variety of l.ardie power possessed l«y the author. As u piece .,t' animated ]X>etry, not unworthy of any lyric writer, may 1.. the four stan /as in the succeeding Poem, following from, " Strong rock, and everlasting." down to, " Groaning hard and moaning, resound the site of 1-; r." These
displa;. . l>ut genuine
feeling. Tin- 1'oet is describing what lie really admired, and would have joined in himself. He is not like too many of our ; dial poets, working up I
etler\ • r the sake of efiect ; and rryini:, " U
amid a dii: '' trumpet sounds— a proceeding not
\idcntly the very r« vent of their natural ]>ropensity.
42 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
THE PRAISE OF THE LION.
To the Air of "Caberfac"
HAIL ! thou rending Lion,
Of matchless force and pompous pirde ! When up thy chieftains roused them,
Gay banners fluttered far and wide. All thy tribes would gather,
With martial pace and manly grace ; Then losses came and crosses
On every foe that met with them ; Their line so splendid, far extended —
Fiery, flaming, furious ; A stormful path, their joyous wrath,
With gory blades carved curious. With sharp rage, wild war wage,
Heads, and limbs, and trunks they'd hack ; No soft foe with swords could go
To keep the haughty heroes back.
Wake yet, thou battling Lion !
Wake and rise with sounding stir — So tawny on thy white flag,
With thy badge of heather, sir ; Raise thy head so airily,
In the blue sky restlessly, And to the fray, as well 's I may,
Will I go and fight for thee. Oh ! let me raise the precious praise
Of that head, so royal held ; This realm is fair, but none hath e'er
Throughout its bonds thy might excell'd :
AM 1 1 ..
In hard;! • in ami 0
a and (L.ul.t,
V/ith \ igoroni ns( in '
Thee tliy e|;uisiiien il,.ck'd about.
Oh ! who could taunt or tease tl
Or with mean th!: 'iture to displ.
Or once hope to discount . Thou kindly splendid n
So il form'd, and fairly seen,
On thy silken pent. on cli
With tii I of sapling green*
There then fluttered, proudly, loudly,
Flap; and s-uu-ily ;
"NYhile a gallant liost heroic Stand beneath tlu-c -aucily :
fur l.!oi.d>h.-.l makei tln-ir brows red — Kage and wrath to foll<>\\ ;
-laii^litcriux blades and death's cold sli Will come on all who bee.
Ne'er backward nor inglorious —
The noble rare thmi wt-11 dost grace ; But prosperous and victorious,
In buttle bright and ^re:it in in: "With #uns, ;v I, and shields of gold,
And cot Their _tjlai\es :ln y plied, and derp and wide
The wounds they ijavi- to ail they : Powder blazing — \\
Till a, cloud about them ^i •
r, and quick yo«tl
Then cut ribs and mai'iow thn»u.u'h :
. stubborn stripling's liand,
44: MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
That cleft the sturdiest body through — My joy ! I think their pride was grand.
Sufficient, strong, and manly—
A daring band, and clannish all — The race of Collai red hand —
Full of might and spirits, tall. Keen their ire as flames of fire,
When March's wind put strength in them — Without failing rust, or ailing,
In the breadth or length of them. With buoyant life they go to strife,
No dread of wounds can hold them back ; They need no stain to make them fain,
Hearts, and brains, and reins they whack ; Heads they sweep off — hands and feet off —
In the smoke, with battle's mirth — Each one so brave, with hardy glaive,
So manly, sharp, and full of worth.
The lovely race — the daring —
Well equipp'd in war array, Their long, smooth muskets wearing,
So deadly in the dread affray ; With lock, and flint and hammer
Ready trimm'd to give the blow That sends away the powder grey,
In a bright and fiery glow. Then bullets red in showers are sped,
Through smoke and roar and lustre quick, That smash and slay and crush and bray
The cassock'd bodies short and thick ; With broken bones and piteous groans
On the field they toss and kick, When like wasps in your strong grasps
You wield your blades, so sharp and slick.
ALEXANDER MACDOXAM'. 45
dd, I :IIM saying,
;ral.l<- rac.- a), they J
Oft tin* rontlirt iwmyii
Tli iy ;
l.riudit, :ii!'l i'«'»-rli?S8, Full nf Miiii:iiiur v. -11.1111 t<><> —
DO tin- ni"Uiit;tins i Thrir hardy l>l:id.-s s<» -harp and \>\- • ;ui(l airy, wild and v, .
With i|irirk : -i nothing man ;
Han!
id afar :
Mv inanh" nidi, sliaiiK-i'a^t "and nimble, SoK ' I tirm and MI:
tilt- tli'ini iluil tlilllidrrs IID;I!
Or llainrs that liudit the mountain moor.
k, and
Hard, and old, and und-'cay'd,
lli^-li ili\ royal orwrl -h«>\v,
For tin n : "\Vith mirth, in th.-ir animnr l.ii
Tin- daunt Irss ran- tl: virlcl —
Tin ; hat stir panic lli^ht,
\Vhi-n i|iiiok strik! .- tlu-y \vicKl.
* Shani-f.-ist (' -usfi-ptiMc of shame.) This was a
nir.cli - uality in I . Tho
4 the battles of tlu-ir rmuitrj, and
tinl aliroa'. designatcil, " lai
•lur \vm.l so: :!iis one in appearance —
•in." inijilv • itc anil almost nmrhi-l sonsi- «•
il and al\\
• among whom they to*..;, and are in con-
46 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
Many gallant youths beneath thee,
With stout hands and shoulders great, Go rushing on where honour's won,
For wild fight they're never late : With steady foot and agile hand
To thrust or cut, each weapon gleams ; Red on the ground death gasps around,
But gay o'er head the Lion streams.
Thou roaring, frowning Lion !
Who fright and fear canst spread about — Often proved where war has moved,
In furious fight or turbid rout ; When thy semblance, looking dire,
From the tough staff flutters free, Then a kindling, troubled fire
On every cheek around we see. Strong, and steady, stubborn, ready,
Is their rank where strife is hot ; Fear of foe they never know —
They are rocks that tremble not ; Group'd together, fleeing never,
Unyielding wood of oak are they, — Their shout of triumph 's oft been heard
O'er fields of death where foemen lay.
If violence should assail thee
From strangers' bounds, and seek thy hurt ; If foemen should draw near thee,
With ill will, and strife, and sturt, Many an Islay hilt* then,
With a strong smooth blade in it,
* Islay hilts, invented by a celebrated smith of the name of MacEachern, who lived in Islay, were famous all over the Hi-hlands. "Blades with Islay heads," were considered the Tory finest and most efficient weapons.
ALEXANDER ' 1 •.
Ileneath thy -ill,* n -t fMIB "am
To fight for thee and sueeour tin e. Thine art' men \vh«» would i
!y through ; Nor yet l i go
\V; <'k'd and fury grew;
When, over all tin- tumult spread,
Tin- thundering ! heard afar,
That might put spirit in the dead
To rise for gallant deeds of war.
Clan-Donald's tree is all tl .:
'•ough and 1 .ranches ever held, As true a wood as ever stood —
Chieftain-like, unparallel'd ; \Vh»-n all its tribes came trooping round
So manly wheiv the Lion's seen, Then BT tried
To pluck his l.eaid or rOOM his spleen. Tlieir hands and heads you'd lop and prune
With the k'litterin^ elaynioi'e'.s sweep, Till on the ^rass tht-ir lil..«>d would splash, .d run in litt' -p ;
j dark-blue bladei would make
The heads c^f (ialls* to steam in gore ; And ^roanin^ hard and moaning,
Resound the site of hattle o'er.
re in all this kingdom.
:i of deed \olir rare ,'.\,
When BO be light,
Your thousand virtues who can
;>nally .-ij. plied in the I.owlaiulers, h
Tlell.lly t"
:i \\hich tl had a hand in t:
48 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
Your anvils strong and precious,
Of true steel that weakens not, Who always have been faithful,
And word of truth have ne'er forgot j Hounds of fight, like arrows' flight,
Down with glistening swords you break, Nor rest a moment till a breach
Through and through your foes you make ; Trunks are cleft and steel is shaken,
You feel a bloody, bloody thirst ; Battle raves and whistling glaives,
And dreadful shout around you burst.
There are thousands now in Alba
As stout as are in any land ; The grey Gaels from Scotia,*
Who cheerful round your colours stand ; With love of hardy deeds and bold,
They fasten round you steadily, Where the Lion's furious hold,
And his paws shine bloodily. Bring with you then your well fed men —
Your stately, stalwart heroes show — Your dexterous, lively, active line,
Who with a will to battle go ; You ne'er were seen where strife was keen,
To blench or shun its reddest tide; But foes have fled, where'er have been
Their speckled banner fluttering wide !
* "Scotia," in this last stanza, occurs in the original, but is printed in italics. The Irish warriors who invaded Britain and fought with the Romans about the year 360, called themselves Scoti, a Gaelic word that means warriors. Scotk is an old Gaelic word signifying warrior. Caledonia is not a Gaelic name but a Pictish or Iberian one.
DUNCM BKN MfiClNTYRE.
hy,
on whom his admiring countrymen have long agreed to
confer the l!a- 'itle "of tin- Songs,'' •.. . on
JOth .March. 17-1. tA DruimlL Iiy,
vllshiiv. His parents living on the outskirts of a
- and thinly populated district had no opportunity of
ling their son to the distant parish school : the only
one, seemingly, which a wid-- < -\teut of country ottered in
those days, for the acquisition, even of the omnium
rudiments of education. So this future poet
learned either to n-id or to writ--. Vet, though thus
destitute of the very elements of school learning though
he lived a simple life in a humble station, ai. had
the benefit ..f a If rience of society to furnish his
mind with the materials of thought — though he n«-
associated with learned men whose conversation might
:iilate, direct, and cultivate hi- I, he has left
behind him a name which is not likely soon to j>erish.
11. deserves to be remend.eied, not only on account of
his really genuine gift of song, and of his fresh and truly
lieautiful poetry, hut has also a claim on our ivmein-
l.rance, even on account of his wonderful memory. \Vell-
:y have been publi
—all of which he must have o>mp. • . and
ried about with him in his mind for years ; and this independent of what he knew < pular p<
iiis country, with which h-
of which he to have picked up, by ear, a large
quantity. Along \\ith this
national. It i.- i and enlivened by ;
spirit of Highland and eml un-
I ith good cll'ect, the tone of that phase of
50 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
life of which the Bard himself partook, and even for these reasons too he will have some hold on the consider- ation of posterity, and a hold which will not likely be, at least for a time, a decreasing one. Duncan Ban is said to have early manifested that strong passion for field sports which distinguished him to the very last. As a youth, in his lonely and wild but romantic habitation, with his strong natural tastes, his inquisitive and observant mind, and his musical and poetic tempera- ment, he may be supposed to have passed his time and nursed his rising genius — having the appearance, to a casual observer, of such another roving young mountaineer as Captain Dalgetty describes in the grandson of Ranald Mac Eagh — " a smart and hopeful youth, whom I have noted to be never without a pebble in his plaid-nook to fling at whatever might come in his way, being a symbol that, like David who was accustomed to sling smooth stones taken from the brook — he may afterwards prove an adventurous warrior." By and by, the pebble in the plaid-nook would be exchanged for a fishing rod, and then a gun; for Duncan Ban became a noted marksman in his maturer years, and was so fond of his guns that he mentions them very frequently in his poetry, as if they were dear friends and companions, and composed a song expressly for each of the three principal weapons of this sort which he possessed during his life.
His first song was composed 011 a sword with which he was armed at the battle of Falkirk — where he served on the royalist side as substitute for a neighbouring gentle- man. This sword the poet lost or threw away in the retreat. On his return home therefore, the gentleman to whom it belonged, and whose substitute he had been, <! ;<> pay the sum for which he had engaged Duncan Ban to serve in his stead. Duncan consequently com-
1 his Song on "the Battle of the Speckled Kirk"- as Falkirk is called in Gaelic, in which he good-humour edly satirised the gentlemen who had sent him to the \\ ar,
.
, tin- t in-ill-. il." ami whose loss, he says, made its owner
•il his
eni|»i« • poor
poet OIK- day \vith liis walki'
";tde hill*
bftrd 'h- Scots
\vliicli v. .:ul due.
The Karl «-i' Breadalbana \\a.sal\va\ :<>nof
Duncan I '. 1 appointed him hi- r and
^aineke.-p r in which the I'..ii- :'rat«-d in his t
-fully that tlu-ir names luiv.- no\v s sain.- ohai •- I.M.-h-Katrii •
of tin- I )i».]i l.«-;ir to tliat (if i ;
, tin- Du'
flialll !•'.: Tlicn In- _i,.iiM-d the I-'arl of I'.i-.adai1
d in 1 7(.'.">, and rcnKiin-'d with i'. li
i until 17!>!', \vln-! •me time after tlii.- he E«linhuix'h. so eeld.raied 1 , y >ir \\'; (I l»y
I le i-«Mii:iili.-d ill •
p which time, ucconlin- enal.led to livr in OOm] little
f tile till!
published in 1804." He died in IViinl.ui^h. M
in his eighty ninth y. at. I le * I i. u clnirehyai'd. in tha'
uitahle moini'
of the 8 Han i • .is a poet, that '.
52 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
his verses worthy of a wider circulation than his singing or theirs could give them, and the son of a neighbouring clergyman, himself afterwards well known as Dr. Stewart of Luss, one of the translators of the Gaelic Bible, was at the trouble of taking them down to the poet's own dictation, with a view to their publication. They were accordingly printed in Edinburgh, and published in the year 1768. with the following title: — "Gaelic Songs, by Duncan Maclntyre." They were of course in one volume, not large, consisting of 162 pages, 12mo.
A second edition, with many additions, appeared in 1790, when the poet travelled over a good part of the Highlands, disposing of the issue. The third edition came out in 1804. There have been three editions since — making six in all.* But in the shape of extracts, the favourite poems like "The last Farewell to the Hills," <fec., have appeared in many other books besides. There are Highlanders too who knew Duncan Ban, and have learnt to sing his Songs, who never read them at all.
With regard to the poet's personal appearance we know that he was called Ban, on account of his fair hair ; and his biographers tell us, that in his youth he was remarkably handsome. There are still living people who saw him, and hare a distinct recollection of him as a fine and striking looking old man — venerable and patriarchal, with his silvery hair and his long pilgrim staff — a man to attract notice, and treated always with the greatest respect, wherever he was known. It is said he possessed a very easy and agreeable disposition ; although, when greatly provoked, he could let his enemies feel the power of his satire, as may be seen from verses he composed on an impudent piper, named Uisdean, who lampooned him — he never failed in his attachment or his gratitude to his friends. " He was like the rest of the poets, very fond of company and a social glass ; and was not only very pleasant over his bottle, but very circumspect."
* A seventh edition was published in 1871.
As a po. i and
,. his line car, i,,
an<l his command .-f his Datire language, •.-. hi.-h he
invariaMv uses with admiialiN- {>!•
.
which he had learned f,,r himself things \\hieh he. was quit.- sun- of which * 'ire to
him. H<1 is always s.-li'
ind lu-viT drifts lu-linh^s ln-f..:
(•motion ; yet his rene is .-.-mtially 1\ -n in
I'tion and fn-ijiH-ntix and
otion.
impla II is i hytlim \-ai-icd, free, and sonorous. In n-.-nlin^ iHinran I'an CM
1. amialilf. unaffected man. lVrha)>s •:u' to this, as \\-t-ll as t<> th<' tim- facultv his
, that he is decided! y the best lored of the Highland I>;mls. I'.nt so ex.-di
iidini,' his want of culture, no other of the
lirld in tin- samr <'sti-»'m. t>r jila«-i-d mi tlie
I'-vd with him. rxccj.t :n-- Ah-xaml »nald.
are universal; chit-f si 11^. •: j tin- mountain ni'-i
j>n-f«'i-r«-.l. soinrtiim-s the otlicl1. I )une:ili Ban had 1. IT than hi ^sor —
hut h h:ir-
nmnious. Tii«-n MMnetliin_i; must i r his
untutored i-ll'iM-ts. for tliat ever Mind " .. f the
' p8M -that utter want of one limit!.- d aid,
which claims for him M iiiii.|ii'- a ]'lai-e anion^' his listin^uisln-d I'.ai-ds. I :
• f«>r his mighty ]•
Qg, and 1: ' ':d lalioll!
tliis n.. i.
to him. yet In- to,, 1 it — a pr
th«- i
54 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
The pictures of the external things, animate and inanimate, with which he was acquainted, are not inferior for truth, vividness and beauty, to those of any descriptive poet. His address to his wife — Mdiri bhan dy — may be read beside the sweetest and most expressive of the Lowland lyrics — while it certainly breathes a refined courtesy and a purity of sentiment which these do not always possess, and which is not in any way insignificant in such a man, whether taken as an index of his moral nature, of his intellectual endowments, or of the kindness of nature in gifting him with such unaffected manliness and good taste. How much education and more favour- able circumstances might have done for Duncan Ban Maclntyre as a poet, it will ever remain impossible to determine. As it is, his admirers need have no hesitation in claiming for him a higher and more noticeable place, than he now possesses, among the " tuneful dead, whose names are honoured by his nation."
INTRODUCTION TO BEN DORAIN.
IN the celebrated poem which Duncan Ban dedicates to the hill, Ben Dorain, he throws the whole soul of the hunter Bard, and true poetic son of nature into his description of the place and of its sprightly denizens. This poem, consisting of five hundred and fifty-five lines, IB the longest of Duncan Ban's compositions. It is adapted to a pipe tune, into all the varieties of whose wild rhythm he moulds his language throughout with such spirit and success, that even considered as a piece of elaborate versification, carried out to such a length, and on so unique a plan, it is 110 small feat to have br«-u JK -hit -\rd by such an author, and so circumstanced, that it was only by crooning it over in his memory he could give his diction the necessary fini.sh.
t'l 55
The di\ id.-d i mg to
•Ahicd. a
up of what he calls
four time.s and the last three times the whole
_: with the ••( 'runliia1 The
t'ollowing i entirely from the first of thes.- heads
the one indeed chietly used by
the jini-t nearly the half of "J' _,' con-
sti-ucted a i if this measure- and its j.ii
which C ilar and fre.jueiit
occurrence <>f the b: i ..f ... or m, to round
cadence bi-inir found throughout the poem. This was done to imitate a certain quality of the bag-pipe, which
d warlike
_.-. in which the broad sound of « is very common, : 0 this rhythm
. and with good etl'eet. It is more of a novelty in Mulish, and the reader will do well to bear its nature in mind, when reading the following < from "Ben
Dorain. '
IIKN
Tin: hoi. ich hill
Hath Hen 1 >orain :
Hie, the SW.-i'tl'St Still
That day dawns ujion : Its lon^ moor's level way,
d its nocks whence wild d-
on the brae Oft I 've lauded them.
he; i i toughs,
In the wood where -r • grows,
i >ose, < >r there wai.
:">6 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
But the troops with bellies white, When the chase comes into sight,
Then I love to watch their flight, Going nosily.
The stag is airy, brisk, and light,
And no pomp has he; Though his garb 's the fashion quite,
Never haughty he: Yet a mantle's round him spread,
Not soon threadbare, then shed, And its hue as wax is red —
Fairly clothing him.
The delight I felt to rise
At the morning's call ! And to see the troops I prize
The hills thronging all : Ten score with stately tread,
And with light uplifted head, Quite unpampered there that fed,
Fond and fawning all.
v
Lightsomely there came
From each clean and shapely frame, Through their murmuring lips, a tame
Chant, with drawling fall. In the pool one rolled a low —
With the hind one played the beau, As she trotted to and fro,
Looking saucily.
I would rather have the deer
Gasping moaningly. Than all Erin's songs to hear
Sung melodiously ;
aSS
i the stag's sweet voice a grace, of i tin.
Loud and lor..
Which is ln-anl In-hind, l,i-:'
Far and fallii But tin* hind • ;
With her ealf th;it near li- Mate! -ln-r's tuneful tlin-
Crying
Her eye's soft and tender i
With no flaw in O'er whose lid the lirov.
Guide.-, her wanderii.
well she walks, and l.old,
Lively o'er the russet \\uld, Trijiping from her -.Id
Most undauntin^ly.
Faultless is her ]..-!
.d her leap is full of gi , Ha ! the last when in tin: race
• T saw 1 her : When lh< 1 stride,
Nor once turns her head aside, Aught to inateh h.-r hasty ] IB not known to me.
But n
Wh. seeth.
Grownin- dawiily ;
58 ' MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
The dry bent, the moor grass bare, With the sappy herbs are there,
That make fat, and full, and fair, Her plump quarters all.
And those little wells are nigh,
Where the water cresses lie, Above wine she likes to try
Their waves' solacing ; Of the rye-grass, twisted rows,
On the rude hill side it grows, Than of rarest festal shows
Is she fonder far.
The choice increase of the earth
Forms her joyous treat ; The primrose, St. John's wort,
Tops of gowans sweet, The new buds of the groves,
The soft heath o'er which she roves, Are the tit-bits that she loves,
With good cause too.
For speckled, spotted, rare,
Tall, and fine, and fair, From such food before her there
She grows sonsily ; And it is still the surest mean
To cure the weak ones and the lean, Who for any time have been
Wasted, wan, and low. Soon it would clothe their back
With the garb which most they lack- That rich fat, which they can pack
Most commodious! \.
59
Qg hind .sard ln-r,
ber h;iun: l.ind
Tin- l>iai- liordn- :
Tli..' ra-h !i.-:i«l MI. lin —
Soiu- '\\hat tluniL'h-
bar form, so full ol
< |>s hiding in I
Wliriv (! !io\\s IK' '
< »f a l':ii
i so cli-.-in
Should V"ii kiss lu-r lips, I
\.-ll
;ly |»ri/.t ' kn«>w,
.udt-i'iiiu ! ' ind liiin throw
ml :
\Vln-P with liiui sh«- meets tin- \i»-w :iml yt-llii'.v in lit-i- hiu-.
•t ;i trw Tll.'tt l'i'lollUr to lr
•id si ic is five of !'•
i withou'
And the priinrst .- ir to hear In all Kui-o •
Oh : how bey nni.race,
iid fawn \Vln-n tl,i-y ur;itl"'i' to their place
In ti
60 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
There, till silent night is by, Never terror counes them nigh,
While beneath the bush they lie — Their known haunt of old.
Let the wild herd seek their bed,
Let them slumber, free of dread, Where yon mighty moor is spread,
Broad and brawly ; Where, with joy, I've often spied
The sun colour their red hide, As they wandered in their pride
O'er Ben Dorain.
INTRODUCTION TO "COIRE CHEATHAICH."
EQUALLY celebrated with Ben Dorain, and an equally good specimen of Duncan Ban's poetic powers, is the poem of " Coire Cheathaich," which now follows. These two poems divide the voices of Gaelic readers as to which of them is the abler and more finished.
"Coire Cheathaich," however, being divided into stanzas, almost every one of which contains a complete picture of its own, has the advantage of being better known perhaps in some of its parts than Ben Dorain, where the de- scription is more extended. The verse that speaks of the salmon leaping over the whirling eddies, is the most famous thing of its kind in the Gaelic language.
There can hardly be any Highlander, with the slighest turn for poetry, who has not repeated it approvingly himself, or been called on by others sometimes to admire it In about equal esteem, however, are those verses on the early morning and the singing of the birds ; and they are. even more musical with their fine metrical succession
I
; vowel sounds. I'.ut the HD were, trees, streams, and li roughout ; !fiit poem, are
all nearly equally good.
rl'n jn.iiit out everything in it that was highly thought
uld 1-e in fact only to go over the whole "Coin ( 'In -athaich" is. ' as fine a specimen of the
harmony of which tl language is capable, as any
oiher production ol' in the rhythm of the original, and v.-rse for verse with it.
CORRY CEATHACIJ.*
"My misty Corry ! where hinds are roving : My Invelv Ooiryl my <-l:arniing dell !
assy, so richly scented,
gemin'd with wild (lowers of sweetest smell. Thy knolls and hillocks, in dark green clothing,
fiise o'er the gay sward with gentle swell ; Whero v, u-h ami grows the dan
And troop the wild de«r 1 foved so well.
A st; i-woven and douhh- mantle —
A lasting garment and -o..d for \\ear, All rough with rich gra ,'lets
In ea»-li small de\\ drop a liurdeii hear — Is round my (\.rry, my -rerii knoll, d Corry,
\Vh« : n.^hes so tliicl.
Tin y'd yield a liar.
Among their tjuagmir gS to go.
* r is always hard, and th f n ijiu-ntly si!»-iit in ( Jadu-. ' VoiAocA is tlui- 'iiiu-.-a aliuo-t a.s if it were spelt, "Kayach."
m it, and means, "Son of the
62 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
'Tis a gay clothing, shows off the long plain,
With pastoral smooth grass from side to side ; A painted garment, by rains well nurtured,
As fair as can be by man descried. On this side Paris I do not fancy
A brighter raiment hath e'er been seen ; Oh may it fade not ! and then what fortune
To haunt, at all hours, its varied green.
About Ruadh-Aisridh long locks are hanging —
Close, crisp, and clustering, and crested High ; In every moist spot their tops are waving,
As this or that way the breeze goes by ; There the straight rye-grass, the twisted hemlock,
The sappy moor-grass that ne'er gets dry, And the strong bent grow, and close set groundsel,
Beside the dark wood where heroes lie.
The mountain ruin, where lived MacBhaidi,
Is now a desert that howls alone ; Yet near its white stones is often nurtured
The brown ox, shapely and fully grown ; The cows with calves there that wander houseless,
Grand-group'd on hill-tops, are often seen ; Their calves so peaceful, in light and darkness,
Frequent in numbers the south Clach-Fionn.
The garlic chooses the nooks and bend ings
Of steps that climb up the mountain-head ; While the kind sun-slopes are spotted rarely
With countless berries — round, ripe or, red : The dandelion and penny-royal,
And cannach smooth-white, there wave or rest, As from its broad base, they deck thy mountain,
Unto its lofty and haughty crest.
Tip- tallest crag there is richly coated With softest mosses above — below;
O'er tl,.
\Vhilr in the hoK- kg,
\\'li
le tin- ]'ii
The tVrlilr «|;ii>y lit'lS IIji it- ll« ud.
Round all tin- fountain^ an.! « And huiH-hy s<»nvl COncealfl '
Of those great rouu'li \Vitli ] tin i
hi li«-artl«-.. boil And r;i«-h di-ar
M(l.
iliiMin IraviiiLC tin- wil'l \\'i(hin tin- rnii^li drll his \vhi- ThiTf dai
••ivr \\liirlrd .-ddi.-- ]\\< pom] I >i>[ iid and b
liver >i«a:
::(•<!, \vili_ tail.
Til.' ( '"!'!.
A i for th«- li!iii:i-:
'I'hi-n- tin- dai-k It-ad slu.t his hi.-.
, is tin- v
as for
IK'C ill till'
"Ilk eov
The \v<
rai'thcr. Then, : •• or coming
t<)\\ ai-'i
64 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
•%
And there his -needy and light-foot gazehound — With bloody fierceness, without a fear —
Runs madly, leaping with hardy spirit, Pursuing boldly his red career.
Within thy lone brakes there never fail'd yet
The fawn, the red stag, the hornless doe ; So 'twas our glory in sunny morning
Through deer-trod dingles a-hunting go : Nor would the wild heath e'er leave us lying
Before the rain-storm exposed and bare. !No ! In the forest were low-browed grottoes,
With well-fenced couches to stretch us there.
Then when the morning's white calm would wake us,
Beneath the steep cliff 'twould charm my ear To list the moor hen grown hoarse with croaking,
Or courtly red-cock bend murmuring near ; The lively wren to his own small trump play'd,
And flung his steam off so brisk and boon j The starling bustled beside the red -breast,
Who lilted gaily a warbling tune.
All the hill-songsters, in flocking numbers
From leafy branches, there poured their praise ; First came the gay lark, that noted lyrist,
And shrilly chanted its cheeriest lays ; The merle and cuckoo, on tall thin tree- tops,
Gave out their music with might and main, When up this sound rose so light and lovely,
The glen was breathing a choral strain.
Then every corry within the mountain
Sent forth the live things within its bound ;
First, treading proudly, the antler'd red deer Stepp'd, snorting loudly and looking round ;
v'd —
In > ! .
>od, ny stare :
Thr little kiilli:
Of placid n- ;id,
\wt Am
Trip]
With maul} I n ;i siil':
Of the small
With 1'iiicly niuniiur B
'I'lu-r-- QH Of v
'\\\<
When
K-
ood,
•r —
66 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
INTRODUCTION TO "MAIRI BHAN OG."
DUNCAN BAN was still a young man when, according to- his own account, at " the board of the change-house " he first saw "Mairi Bh&n bg," the Bonny Jean of Gaelic poetry, whose name has been sung in some of the finest and tenderest, manliest and sincerest of Highland songs. Duncan Ban at the time of his meeting with her was somewhat poorer than she was. The father of Mairi Bhctn had been a baron bailiff — a small freeholder, or sort of under-f actor in the neighbourhood, and she, as the poet tells us, had some cows and calves of her own for her dowry. He, however, fell in love with her at once, and for three months suffered a death-pang ; for he was afraid she would despise him on account of his want of wealth. He attempts to excuse his poverty in the first song he addresses to her, saying that twelve things had kept him poor; and of these he enumerates ten, viz., drink, the feast, and weddings, music, manners, purchases, gay meetings, wooers' gifts, and thoughtlessness and youth. But Mdiri Bhan had too kind a heart, too fine a nature, and too delicate a perception to think little of her admirer because he was not rich. The poet got no reason to despair, and he soon recovered, under her gentle treat- ment, fiom his three months' pain.
Buncan Ban represents his young heroine as somewhat tall and round, and graceful ; with a profusion of curly fair hair, a pure complexion, white teeth, fine eyebrows that knew not a frown, and a mouth from which, of all others, the mountain lays had the sweetest sound. She had a good temper, a lively disposition, a light foot, and a happy heart. So gay was she, she made her love's heart dance with rapture when she was playful. So winning a way was hers, she could, when she pleased, draw from him his dearest secrets; "There was not a thing worth tlx- tolling Imt she could soon wile me to say." She was gentle, humane, almsgiving, liberal — she was like the
67
surpass ,_li in ti with
like tin- fresh sea-trout ju*t landed from the . tin- given bank, splendid, and dazzling, and white. She was t
Hut that delighted him that tinnii«-ss in good which was
to th'- pipe or lidd!-
. til-- most attractive of . On
summer fveiiings .she could milk the cows at tin- fold by the bend of tin- river. \\hile : .nd her j
or in winter, with her well-formed and lady-like hand, Srw ht-r liamU. and IKT plain scams y«-s, and the : ciiiliioid'Ty, in tin- lighted room that shom- like dav. This is tlie jiortrait, drawn t»y a lo\in^ hand of the most famous of Highland huml.-le maidens. l)inu-an Ban ,t he had secured an inestimable }>ri/.e, far more than i d, when he got for his own this peerless
milker of the cows, this "prettiest low-l.orn la>s " that Inn'; .yllshire heather.
Ji/ian is the heroine of three of Dun< published Songs. One of these, "A song to his Spouse newly wedded." here ^iveii, is considered, on account of its united purity and pa- and good
feeling, to be the ti : so«g in th _:uage.
it. there is at least another, namely, Mael)onald's " Addre.vs .. ' which is held t'» lie quite as good,
taken merely as an intellectual display, or a vehicle of :: ..t' a cei-tain kind. The stanzas in th (K>em,
beginning, " I ireni to the wood," ite., a; >t out
. general!} admired, but not mmendable is the concluding
or drive in springtime for ; The TeiMI that
follow from "Thy mai.: give a
:ruly amiable feminine ehuraetei It is N ant to hear th
68 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
" On the good thou has done, I'm persuaded Thy spirit for ever shall feed."
Ami also, notwithstanding all her beauty, with which she delights every bosom, —
" What makes me rate thee the highest Is that firmness in good which is thine."
Take notice too, how respectful he is with the amiable young milkmaid, —
" When I took her apart for a moment,
To speak of my love and my pride, My ear caught the fluttering tumult
Of my heart beating fast on my side."
Then there is something very manly and sensible, surely, as well as affectionate, in his assuring Mairi Bhan, —
" Ne'er shall the hearth's harsh wrangling tease thee, Nor make thy clear temper its prey."
While the deep feeling and delicate pathos of this truly tender exclamation cannot be overlooked. —
" Oh ! could I but take thee and hide thee In a place well secured from decay."
This is indeed a poem which is altogether very creditable to its author, and pleasant to comment upon, in evidence of the goodness of both his head and his heart.
A SONG TO HIS SPOUSE, NEWLY WEDDED.
Mtiuri Bhftn oy,* thou girl ever thought of,
Still where I am may thou be. Since the cl- i right, so long wish'd for,
I've got, (l-:i:- \vitv ! over thee.
* "M i Young Mary, "The ai in
is pronounced like the a in fall
G'J
Ing,
Fili :.d \viili
\Vln-n nek in our
Twa-
• et girl now so d«-ar : I divw to ber Bid •. ;md >li.-
M V i . : :
Oh !
A part < •
journey
{ witlt IMV l.i-i«l«- :
I i-.-in lik" tli.- wind to 1»« hound in • will Tir'rr l.c uiit;
And •:_'!, t flu1 flu:r ,,ult
( >f my ln-:i! '
For Cuprd IIM-'
Mv like :i l.u.
Wlin'd gro^i -i ap
So CCM
So
70 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
In many a way am I favoured,
Such a love as hers to meet ; When her vows and herself she gives me,
A cheaply bought bargain I greet.
I went to the wood with its saplings,
And glorious it looked all around ; But my eye caught a spray, all surpassing
High in the dusky shade found ; It was quite covered over with blossoms —
I bent it down to the ground, And cut it — a sad sight for many •
But my fate with it was bound.
I cast out my net in true waters,*
And strained hard to draw it to land, And, lo ! I had caught a bright sea-trout,
That lay like a swan on the strand : Pleased was my soul with the fortune
That came with such joy to my hand . My spouse ! thou 'rt the star of the morning !
Blest be thy slumbers and bland !
Thy manners were womanly ever, Gentle in word and in deed ;
* Water that flows from a spring is called, "true water" in Gaelic. It shows the originality of Duncan Ban's mind thus to have drawn his similes from his own occupations, chosen them so well, and used them so happily. A sea-trout, just fresh from the ocean, is always pure and bright looking. Any person who has had the good fortune to eee one caught at the mouth of the sea, as the darkness came on, will no doubt remember how it flashed with a silvery lustre among the other fishes, almost indeed " like the star of the morning." I once saw one caught accidentally in this way, by some working people who were, with their nets, dragging a little port near a river for saithe. Whenever the net touched the shore, the stranger that was entangled in it, leaping and glittering so lively and bright, attracted every eye, and when laii'lr-1 it really did lie "like a swan on the strand." Something of thia sort must have been in Duncan Ban's mind. He had cast
So genial. n,' —
IS, and gr
jiving, li!i.-ral. j.itying. Humane u ith all that had neeil ;
On th.- good tii"U bai done, I'm penoftded,
Thy sj.ii
Wh«-n I studied to term thy acquaintance,
With words thfit were oo iy,
Thy l.ivath sin.-lt
ten and ri|.c on tli-- -i>ray : liin,^ worth the 'Tliat tlioil collldst !i<»t wile inr to say J
And shouldst thou now 1« M the linen
oon would hide me away
Tliy talk and thy .-iii^in^ an- j.leasunt,
Thy nature is eharniin^ always — Mirthful, nol.le, and free fnun
A shad'- of r«-j)i-oach or disgrace. For three months I Mill'm-d a death-pang ;
But once thou hadst h.-ard of my eiise, A treasure of solace t! I me,
Of Sorrow it h-t't not a trace.
Sin BUT I'vr risrii in value,
With tin- ealvc.s thou l.rou^ht.'st and kine ;
Now a elioi--. ; ipc and rustl:
With the In-st of corn is mine :
Hut wliat niak.-s m»- rat.- thee the hi^lp Is that til mi. d which is thine ;
his net into tin- \\at.-vs. an an onlin
like a swan
ISO with t he had not
- ii l...n.u'h •• quite
: \vith 1.1- - utiful ai,.i .. \\ithaweet
ing in both
7- MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
Yet thy beauties delight every bosom, So sweetly and softly they shine.
Thy fair hair, close set and excelling,
Rolls in curls and wavelets free ; Thy features are mild, modest, womanly,
Fine eyebrows, where frowns never be. A winning blue eye, full, smooth-lidded ;
No fault in thy face I see ; Thy teeth are strong, white as ivory ;
Thy still mouth speaks modestly.
Thy breast's like the fresh and smooth pebble
That lies on the shore day and night ; Thy body so slender and stately,
Like cannach is pure and white. Soft and thin is thy palm, fine thy fingers,
The lady's warm hand, shoulders bright ; Thy foot in its shoe is close-fitting ;
Graceful thy step is and light.
The lone shieling glen canst thou traverse,
Where the wandering cattle stray ; At the bend of the river to milk them,
While the calves around thee play ; Nor less is thy worth near the candle,
In the room that shines like day ; Sewing thy bands and plain seams,
Or working embroidery gay.
Mild art thou, wife, come from Mam-Charry,
Thy love steals my senses away ; For a heart such as thine is, Oh ! surely
Small was the price I'd to pay ! The blood of great nobles and famous
Rolls in thy blue pluses' play — l.lo<,d of th,. Kin-, :m,i Mae-Cailean,
And him \\lu> in Bleat lu-ld the sway
lid I hut :
JV>i
IM ln'i for :.;.
But ii'-Vr shall tli. ling tease
Thou *li.-iM bear bul • ires
.My in. null e:in ting or
] M plough "I' dt •: Wlirli tin- V
Or
Wh.-itrVr to tli.. ! I'd kill for tl.
_h that i Nor e'er shall thou \\.-mt whil-
Li>
On ooca n Ban
•din. in which h«-
ohroniolea mini though: ..tic-ing
in the city ; ; ill tlu-
novch j of v.ith that dcur inti-li:
n<'ith«T
indicate of tli- .null amount of talent.
OT Kdinl.!:
Till-; PRAISE OF Dl
'
'•h.-inin'cl A ! i
•1 }>leaxa:
74 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
With a garrison — a battery — A rampart tight and good —
A castle — and great houses
Where camps right often stood.
A royal camp stood often here ;
And beautiful 't would be, With troops of horsemen plentiful,
To guard it faithfully ; And everyone so disciplined
In every art of war — Before you got a rank like theirs
You might search near and far.
Here's many a gallant gentleman
Who is polished and well-bred, Wears powder plaster'd on his hair
To the crown of his head ; With folds and plaits, and many curls,
Well-woven, over-spread ; And, on the top, a bunch like silk
When the card has smooth'd its thread !
There's many a noble lady
A poor man here may meet, In gown of silk and satin
That sweeps along the street ; And every pretty thing wears stays,
To keep her straight and spare ; And beauty spots on her fair face,
To make her still more rare.
Each one, as well becomes her,
Polite among the rest ; And proud, and rich, and ribbony,
And round and gaily dress'd :
VHE. 75
TIi'- iiii; maidens
• sho\\ in_
'•••11 made shoe — I thought r iQ high.
When I went to tin- A
It was a nol.lr sight To sec tin- king-; in order,
lit ; But no\\ .
Our Alha wants tin- Crown—
• nder. then, her once gay Court Is like a »\vn.
There is a lantern i,,a,l,
With a eainllr in eaeh jila That yields a li^ht to e\ery eye
Around a litle space. Nor I e «'f pleasure
:h«- instniiiH-nts th.-y pl:iy, That give a sweeter music
Than the cuckoo does in May.
A stately sound tin- coadies make,
With their trotting and their whirr ; The hard ho,,fd, smooth p.-u-'d liorses
Tin ; ir :
They I'risk aiid iai>c their heads on high,
In their spirited career : Not such our heather i
Nor the wild moorlands rear.
In t!i :' the Tarlian.
There the >ailie h, ,\vn,
Still .standing when- he used On the bare V
76 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
They've bridled him and saddled him, And set the King* thereon,
Whose was the right of all these realms, Though they banish'd far his son.
The great House of the Parliament
Is worthy a good view ; There reasonable gentlemen
Deliver judgments true : They have a power given them,
Will last them many a day — To hang the faulty up on high,
And let the good away.
And here a Healing-house I see,
Where the best Leeches go ; And cure each kind of suffering
That limb and body know : The man who is in want of health,
Whom Leeches long attend, Here is the place for him to come,
And keep him from his end.
Dunedin is a bonny place
In far more ways than one — A town that must not yield to it
In this whole realm is none. So many gentlemen are there,
Of tribute-raising line — Men who may daily quench their thirst
With the good Spanish wine.
* The Statue of King Charles the Second, in the Parliament Square, is here referred to, although l>une;m Ban speaks of it as if it were that «.!' Kin- James the
r tin- II:.
uk.
FROM THK "SON(! OF GLENOIICHY,
Tin: r.iu-.i
Contri- \vi-ll d< monument, cairn- from all i rkl.
irt,*
< chuivh,
rn. good tlii 11 ;
* '!'! means,
78 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
In little level inches,*
Where the seed-corn is sown ;
And where the ripening crop gets white, As curds upon the whey,
Productive, sappy, wholesome, In regular array.
In winter was it cheerful.
Such sports in weddings gave, When all, without a heavy thought,
Heard the smooth pibrochs rave ; While fiddlers on the lively strings,
The dance-tunes played so well ; And damsels lent their voices,
The cheerful sound to swell.
The spring- water salmon there
Winds all the streamlets through ; Hill-birds are there in numbers,
And thousand black-cocks too. The small doe paws beside her kid,
And strong bucks not a few, In that Glen's wild forest scenes,
The gallant youths pursue,
Then when we all drew homeward
It was our pleasant way, To gather to the tavern
For dance and song and play. Cordial one to another,
The hides for pay were near ; So when they cried " Another stoup,"
No hunter felt a fear.
* Inches— in Gaelic, Innis— sometimes an Island— sometimes choice pasture land, such especially as the green round flats on the banks of a river.
DU N
Duncan I'.an was tin- antli- -nvivial SOngS,
which an- very popular. Tin- OOfl \\hii-h follows is
f of tin- :
but it contain a! h relics of old manners which
may make it intereMin^. What- \-r opinion may be • •iifi tiiinrd of (lit- (Irani in tin- morning there can hp no doubt that there is a !mal>le cordiality- ad
look « : nuiiif, tliou-li old tVhioiiMl kii.'
ahout th«- hospitable lady in tin- second v«-rsi- of this song, who leaves her room in th«- early nmrninu', and meets her guests with tli' ble in her hand, tilled to the brim
with
"And as we drink to one another, You are « doth .she
A RHYME TO THIRST.
after health is sorrow ;
Thirst is after drink ;is s« • Sad to sit the hoard surroiuulin^
When the stoup is tilled no IIP I like t«>' see our cordial gentry.
With their store of wealth al\\ Who can drink whene'er they're thirsty,
And oll'-hand the women pay.
:ng, Wh> As the lady leaves lier cliaml'er,
To spread pie her way.
The hiij l.uttle in her hand, Full to the brim of t'sijin '
kl we dri: her.
" You are welcome," doth she say.
80 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
Tis the right fashion in the tavern,
With great might it fills the breast He who does not like the brandy,
Abuses us because we taste. But the boon companion says thus,
" Fill again the cup I pray — Much the jovial drink upbraids me,
But my thirst will not away."
INTRODUCTION TO "LAST FAREWELL TO THE HILLS."
DUNCAN BAN visited the Highlands after an absence of many years, and spent a whole autumn day in wandering, with melancholy pleasure, over Ben Dorain, whose beauties and delights he had, years before, sung and celebrated so joyously in his longest poem. It was one of the favourite haunts of his youth, and vigorous manhood. Near it he was born ; on it he had a thousand times hunted the deer, feeding his thoughts meanwhile with music taken from the bards of other days, or drawn from the sweet, unpretending fountain of his own inspiration. Then his heart was full of life, his mind and body over- flowing with energy. Then the fresh breath of young vitality played about his nostrils like a mellow breeze of summer, singing down the rude, rough gorge, and waving the green heather, and then the wild hill and its environs were oft times trod by gallant, friendly youths, and sometimes cheered by the sweet lilt of kind, warm- hearted women. Bat now the whole was changed. The poet !f was getting old. He could run, and leap, and press the heady chase no more. The mirthful shieling had vanished, and the song of the women was terribly and solemnly silent. Tin* friends of his youth, with whom he had trod the wide stretching moor so often —
I HAN MACIM '. 9 1
Alas I < hill
re gone — its
troops of wild deer, its LjiMC'-tul does, .Hid lov. i <-etest music, the
brave crowing of its red-cock and its black-cock was nowhere to in' heard. Th»- \vi ,
and sheep, sheep everywhere, were all that could be s- "Oh! dear," said tin- port, -when I looked round and i this I could not 1'rrl guy. iir hill itself
has changed, surely thr world has deceived me." Sue!, the spirit of tli-- by iKincan Ban on
occasion of 1 ; ;sit to Ben Dorain, as he looked in
the multitude of his tender thoughts on the well-known
re to him with the stirring inient - - the i,. uory of other years. "
though mournful to the soul, is the memory of the y< that ; and 1 Mincan Han, touched by that sac
sorrow, so often the inspiration of his most celebrated poetic countryman, and breathing this most natural of human plaints, "Ah! for the change ;twixt now and thru ! " embodied the elevating emotion that tilled him, in melodiou> This song of his is interesting, not
merely on account of its delicate, intellectual .ess,
true love and devotion, and its pure sentiments ; not merely on account of the originally humble condition of its author, whose total want of education did not prevent his feelings ami r from bein- . , nor his
ion of them from bring <•!.•« jumt and delicate. It is interesting even on account of the great age »f the fine old man at the date of it M, li»th
September, 1^02. Duncan Ban was then _rht
;-s old. Not many poets have lived to that age, \ "f them have used their strength, and led their lamp SO well, as to con,
lif- ren in the tit;- ul of
fading years. "The ia -11 to the Hill- i {>oet
hail made up his mine no more.
82 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
Why, or by whom this day is so carefully noted/does not appear ; but this is the only one of Duncan, BanVcom- positions which is so accurately dated.
THE LAST FAREWELL TO THE HILLS.
BEX DORAIN I saw yesterday,
And trod its gorges grey, Amid its well-known dells and glens,
No strangers did I stray ; And think how joyful 'twas of yore,
To seek that mountain high, As the sun shone o'er the morning hoar,
And the deer were belling by.
How charming was their lordly herd,
When loud they rushed away, While fawn and doe they scarcely stirred,
Where by the fount they lay ; Then did the roe-buck bellow round,
The black-cock, red-cock crow, I think, than these, no sweeter sound
Can morning ever know.
How cheerfully I rose and went
The rugged brakes to roam, I sought them early, but unspent,
Though late I wandered home ; For the breath of those great mountains,
Was health and strength to me, And a fresh draught from the fountains,
Like a new life would be.
And once I stayed a little while, In a gay shieling near,
83
\Viti
That Mich I-';. t, —
Too suittly cam«- i >ir, —
I D .:.• ••' ' -1.
A ml now sore,
\Viili its I.HIL: !iii_ur'-rin.ur '-ii.
. ;nl no UK ight,
1 1' tin- chase should <•)). <-r the «i What«'\ 'iild !"• my Meed
I could not ! ay.
Mouirh "iy ha:1 v white,
Ami my »•• ;,nl tliinin-r ^n»\vn,
wllJMl Up »M till' | L,'ht
My greyhonj
till cluir: art,
:i^'li if it swrjit you In-.-
(1 Mut ll-
\\'itli t! nt «.f my
Ill could I dr
•id mountaiM
ilirougli. Ill could I jtiin a sot-ial throng,
I share their aiiiumn ci 111 i-ould I siiiir a t (>ng
At tlic tailing of tin- }
M\ . in their
Ami follies krj.i im- poor ; Though nought. >avr h:. | to men
Their good, or keeps
84 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
In that belief content I live,
Though far from rich I be, For George's daughter* still will give,
I hope, my bread to me.
And yesterday I trod yon moor —
How many a thought it moved! The friends I walked with there of old —
Where were those friends I loved! I looked and looked, and sheep, sheep still
Were all that I could see : A change had struck the very hill —
0 world ! deceiving me.
As I turned round from side to side,
Oh dear ! I felt not gay ; The heather's bloom, the greenwood's pride,
The old men were away : There was not left one antlered stag,
There was not left a roe ; No bird to fill the hunter's bag —
Such old things — all must go.
Then wild heath forest, fare-you-well,
Ye wonderful bright hills ; Farewell sweet spring and grassy dell —
Farewell the running rills, — Farewell vast deserts, mountains grand,
With peaks the clouds that sever ; Scenes of past pleasures pure and bland —
Farewell, farewell for ever !
* "George's daughter" was the musket which he carried in King George's name, as a member of the city-guard. The gun which he used among the hills lie called, ' ' NIC Coiseam, " or " Coiseam's daughter. " He composed a characteristic song to both these weapons.
DUGSLD BUCHANAN.
: kal.lf
< 'f tin- rai emed
of tli- | 1/orn in
Stratht\ iv, in the pari-h "f Uahjiihidder, IVrth.-h in the year, 17 !»',. \\V an- told hy himself that both his paren: .' ••li^ious, but especially his mother, \vlio
taught liim to pray as soon as IK- could -peak : and
.ft. on his veiling mind those strict
l.y \\ hirh h'-i- own life was
B died when he \\:< \. years of
he underwent a severe
moral discipline, in vain attempts to ^i-t ; i^ious
:ier, or in equally useless endeavours to
;le his heart to the siern form in which the
Christian faith seems to have l.een pi-. , him. Of
this momentous period of liis life he a long and
rial »• irate account, written in KiiLjlish, in a L,ro<xl style —
uies with considerable f.iivr, and displaying oc-
il marks of his imaginative talent. From it we
Irani that when .still qn: se and
. that In- -ud immoral in his
hal'it-. and associatrtl much with had company; that OH
accounts he sutlered fmjuently ami / from
thr reproaches of oonaoienoe, and a d sense of
i;i»i!t, until finally, and hy slow deurre'--. he attained unto the repose of steadfast principle . The
hook close* with a d«-d which
.uilin^ Wi
follows: -"NOW, Lord, let the drdicafion «: ;iid my :i - my (J<td in <
in.u' the sulijrct of thy spiritual work, be not like
the day (hat is past and cai -let it
ilird in hea\ en and I will si^u it uj
DUGALD 1U( HANA
86 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
Buchanan's parents, who were in pretty easy circum- stances, appear to have given their children as fair an amount of education as the Highlands could afford in their day : Dugald, particularly, was so well grounded that at the age of twelve years he was considered qualified to look after the education of a young family who lived at some distance from his father's farm of Ardoch. In his Memoir he adverts to this circumstance as follows : — " When about twelve years of age I was called to a family for the purpose of teaching the children to read ; for at that time I was sufficiently qualified to read the Bible. This family, into which I came, was singular for every species of wickedness ; each one of its members exceeding the other in cursing, swearing, and other vices, with the exception of the mistress who, I believe, feared the Lord. She was like Lot in Sodom. I was scarcely a month in this family when I learned to speak the language of Ashdod ; yea, in a short time I exceeded every one of themselves — so much so that I could not speak without uttering oaths and imprecations, and rny conscience being lulled asleep, I sinned without restraint, except occasion- ally when I would think of death."
After leaving this situation, Buchanan attended school at his native village for two years, and was then removed to Stirling for other two years, and afterwards sent to Edinburgh for six months, that he might enjoy the benefit of the superior means of education these places possessed. His father, at this time, is said to have intended him for a profession, but changed his mind in consequence of his son's loose and reckless habits, arid unsettled principles. He urged on him therefore to make choice of some trade, which Buchanan at last did — binding himself apprentice for three years to a relative of his own, — a house- carpenter at Kippen. He quarrelled with his master, however, before his term was out, and leaving him, went to Dumbarton, where he engaged with some other person in the same trade. He does not seem to have remained
87
• '.• find \illa-e of Ardoch, in possession
mill \vhi.-l to his fath.-r, and
follow I'ioii of a miller. In f ' • -n li«:
• found, not mai . a small
in a remote village in ivnh-hire. <> obscurity,
. known 't-cted,
as thf author of BOZD6 ••x«-'-Il«-Mt religious pot-try, and
.••uijilary made for liini with '• T!i
Knowledge in Scotland." win. at •.•<! him as
In 17-V> In: was appointed Schoolmaster and at Kinloch Etannooh, and he lal-ourcd then- faitlifully until his death, thii Kinloeh
d |»ai-t of an immciisi- parish in those days. The minister, or his assistant, was only able to visit it 01 the tl, . so the Sundays, according to Buchanan's
biographer, • in vain and sinful amusements."
could not by any means induce them to c- join with him in worship, he at last followed the j>eople to iheir own ^atherin^s, and reasoned with them with such power and effect, that he gradually brought them to a more sober and devout frame of mind.
'tended readilv on his ministrations. He pr« with such fervour and eloquence, that by and bye crowds from all pails came to hear him, until his school •und much too small to hold the numbers tlur
• his meetings. Then he used to adjourn with them to a rising u'rouml on the banks of the Tummel, where, in the open air, his In-arers mingled their und <>f the murmuring waters.
Soon his fame a^ r became so great, and his
10 e\ id.-nt, that of Dunkeld, to giv«- h. <• as a
88 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
preacher of the Church of Scotland; but there were technical difficulties in the way of meeting this wish, and so the matter dropt. Nor was the modest poet himself at all disconcerted at this issue to the well-meant kindness of his friends.
Buchanan was in Edinburgh in 1766, superintending the printing of the Gaelic New Testament. While in that city he took the opportunity offered him of increas- ing his knowledge and cultivating his mind, by attending the classes for Natural Philosophy, Anatomy, and Astronomy, at the University.
In 1768 he died of fever, in the fifty- second year of his age. In May of that year he returned home from a long journey, to find his family suffering from this disorder, which soon seized upon himself. All his children, his two servants, and himself, were ill at the same time. His wife then about to be confined, could get no one to assist her in attending on them ; so great was the dread of infection entertained by their neighbours. In his de- lirium Buchanan frequently sang psalms, and spoke of the Lamb in the midst of the throne. On the second of June he died.
In Reid's " Bibliotheca Scoto-Celtica," it is asserted, that the poet's whole family, six in number, was carried off by the same fever, and at the same time as their father. But this is a mistake. Buchanan left two sons and two daughters behind him — one of the latter was alive in 1836.
In person Buchanan was considerably above the middle size, and of a dark complexion. His face is said to have been very expressive of kindness and benevolence, es- pecially on a near view. Among his familiar acquaintance he was cheerful and sociable ; his company being much sought after on account of his stock of pleasant anecdotes, and generally intelligent conversation. His usual dress was a blue bonnet and a black suit, over which he often wore
DUGALD BL'<
a l.lu.- i:reat rout. II- T great
numhers j
'I'ln- pi-oph- i.f Kini«'eh
fondly attached to him. u isli <• him hut
themselves, hut that lii.s kimlrnl— 1-1 jiuilly attached to his memory — would not permr d his
remains to his native place. A j.lai:
where his ashes rest, in the
hurial ground of tin- Iliu-hanans. at Liu!- 1. Callander. ^'> a nionum- to his
memory at Strath tyn-.
in all, were iir>t .•.>ll«-(-trd and {.uMisht-d in 17''.?. His •• Mt-moir ».i' bimself" pi-intrd in ls."):j. How
or wh- its genuiii' "t doul.icd. It has been into Garlic, and is now. in its original sha]>« . out of nrint. His j.oi-ti1;. im-ly jtoj.ular, and lias _uf'»ii«- through
!• 1'ook tliat has appeared
in Cat-lie lias l.r.-n so .-ly circulated. This is
undoulttedly due, in some measure to its religious flianu-;. r : it ln-in^ a work wlii»-h can lie -iously
and profitably i-ead on the working man's "Great L- Day." It is.alx. partly o\\in«: : ry widely
difltribnted thn-.u^h m- the "Colporteurs" that
travel oy0r the Highlands. Som,-tliin.r too m
allowed for its price, whi.-h i :dy thre.
and a good deal still left for its own merits, which are truly i,'r<
D called the t'owpi-r of the Hi^h
l>ut his po. try hears little resemi. lance to Cowprr's. It is much more like IHair's, the aiitli«>r of •• The ( i Once or twice he is indehted to Dr. NVatts for his t, and partly too for his manner of dealing with it, ,ymn entitled, "The II 'i ere is
:.ihle here or anywhe: \vritiiiL;-
90 MODERN GAELIC BA.RDS
a thing as servile imitation. But he is the only one of the Highland poets whose works display any trace of their author's English reading. He was, however, the one who, if not the most learned in some points, was at least the best informed, probably of them all.
There is a letter of Buchanan's extant, a somewhat remarkable production, published originally in a volume of "Consolatory Letters, addressed to bereaved mourners," collected and edited by Dr. Erskine, one of the ministers of Edinburgh in the last century. In this letter we find Milton quoted, a work of Dr. Watts referred to, and the following passage which contains, either a striking, un- designed coincidence with part of Constance's lamentation for Arthur in -''King John," or manifests some sort of acquaintance with Shakespeare. The letter is addressed to friends of Buchanan's who had lately lost one of their children, and the poet writes thus: — "Our memories, treacherous enough on other occasions, here are over- faithful, and cruelly muster up in a long succession all the amiable qualities of our departed friends, and thus tear open our wounds to bleed afresh. Imagination is set to work, and stuffs up their empty gai-merits in their former shape, when we miss them at bed or table." In like mariner, but in no better terms, Constance says, almost in the same words however,
"Grief stuffs out his vacant garments with his form."
Dugald Buchanan's " Spiritual Songs " exhibit, on the whole, great vigour of thought and expression, and bear the stamp of a solid understanding, and of an imagination capable of lofty excitement. Perhaps the best and most characteristic of his productions is the poem of " The Skull," from which an extract is here given : —
91 Til I- S K I'LL.
TJIK grave was ne And a skull li:ul b
and,
Ami my I As 1 . ami turned it am
No beauty was th knowledge .
• • men that passed it by — iaws l>»>th w< i
,ue now could • empty mouth '>dy.
Yet this rh«-.-k Onoe was red.
And thick locks clothed this h- And tliis c:ir one*- could list to my song; M nostrils could smell.
Th.-u (hinij) <-;ti-th so.tn and well, Now so weak when.1 they till were so strong.
Theixrno lustrous «»rh ,i,do And no lids <»|.r or close;
' sight the known pathway to trace; I»ut tip- 'i-iiis instead
Have t'or long made tlu-ir lied. And dii -4 link's in the eyes' wonted place.
. such lo>.ks will not show, What thi'U wast lonu'ago; \Vh--ther King's skull or Duke*! 1 now hold:
•
Thus owns no more state Thai, h on the dunghill cold.
92 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
Come thou grave-digger near, —
Come and tell in my ear Whose it is I have got in my hand ;
Till I question the head
Of the life it once led, Though little 'twill heed my demand.
Wert thou once some young maid
In beauty arrayed, And virtuous and pure in thy ways, —
With thy charms fairly set,
To ensnare like a net, The hearts of the young with their grace
And now those bright charms,
That woke love's sweet alarms, Are thus loathsome to every one.
Out, out on the grave.
That spoiled thee so bare Of that beauty such triumphs that won.
Or wert thou the Leech,
Who thy patients could teach Every ache, every pain to allay —
Boasting elate,
Thy specific so great, That could snatch from Death's hand his prey ]
Alas ! and that power
Was lost in the hour When relief thy own sickness did crave —
And then all thy skill,
In the bolus and pill, Could not keep thee a day from thy grave.
93
Or ii.
Didst tlmu revel and ill
With tlit- mirth which tin- dram «lri: d?
thought
Of < J < >d's j.i- -"iiu'ht,
If the harm raised it not in thy head?
No music was th
But to curse and to sv
As you tried whose list was the best; Till, as :-
You lay dizzy and spewed in your rest.
Or some great man and grand,
Do I hohl in my hand - Lord of acres, fertile and wide,
Who kindness would show
To the mean man and low, And the poor from his plenty supplied ?
Or didst thou, with hard mind,
Thy weak tenantry urind, And thin their \\«>ni hair 'neath thy sway-
With thy law's crm-l mock,
Distraining their stock. Thougli tht ir jx>verty moaned for delay?
Letting them stand,
"With lionnet in hand. When they dared in thy presence appear :
And making so liijht
Of tlirir loi-ks thin and wl And tlu- wind that t>l<-v. . . their ear.
94 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
Now the poor drudge, Free of rent and of judge,
Unrespecting lies down by thy side : Great praise be to Death, Who so soon stopt thy breath,
Nor 'neath the sod suffered thy pride.
Or once in this head
Was godly faith fed — Didst thou walk in the way of the wise ;
Then, though thou liest there,
So naked and bare, Without nose or tongue or eyes.
Be bold, — do not grieve,
For yet thou shalt leave At the sound of the trumpet blast,
This baseness behind,
With the earth-worm that's blind, When the grave and its power is past.
The opening stanzas of Buchanan's Spiritual Song, called "Winter," are as follows. After giving a de- scription of the season, the poet moralizes over it, and applies it according to his manner: —
The Summer now leaves us, And near Winter grieves us — Vegetation's true foe ;
For our havoc who 's braced, When for spoil thus he rises, All grace he despises, Free of softness and pity,
Full of plunder and waste.
95
ug>
:i thi-ir not In- ctlU forth
\\hite, and li ( )r in drifts und lit :,
. ot, And tlit- no: ; \ mood.
lie lnv.'ithrs in hi
ver; on
j»rid«- lia.
them
Of th- !i-li mm-ils them,
!;es \Vliihr his dark ila. -ear.
Jlis breasi
Calls the wild winds t<» l»ri
Tha li:inn-s\vi.i
That rolls rou^h and high: And lie cui-illi-s tlr Th«- hill-t"j.s tliai '
urs,
Till tli.
FRo.M THK DAY OF JUDGMENT,
On ! ye who did tin- world
Come no nil case;
AVln-n. lik«- :i man th:t: los,
It sinks in death's n.
Its cold, i-h-fxr
But com '.--n \\ith playful j :
96 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
Now shrink within its burning breast, And boiling, thread the mountain side.
How the world quakes ! Lo ! the great stones And rocks that fall from off the hill ;
Oh ! hear those heavy, deadly groans That through its bursting bosom thrill.
There the blue curtain from the sun,
That, cloak-like, round the globe was spread,
In fierce fire shrivels up, undone, Like a thin leaf on embers red.
And dense clouds choke the air throughout, With dark smoke-heaps about it wound,
For which the flames, far-flashing, spout In curls that wreath and twirl around.
And over all the earth there rise
Dread and loud-sounding thunder peals,
Whose lightning, with the glorious skies, Like sparks with the dry heather deals.
But more — to swell the tumult yet —
From all their arts the strong winds stray,
Like angels for destruction met,
And haste this wasting work each way !
" The Day of Judgment," consisting of one hundred and twenty-seven verses, in the measure given above, is the longest of Buchanan's poems. From what an early period that theme occupied his mind will appear from the following extract from his " Memoirs : " — " Then the Lord began to visit me witli terrible visions — dreams in the night — which greatly frightened me. I always dreamed that the day of judgment was come, that Christ appeared in the clouds to judge the world ; that all the
people were gat 1 .11
• on II •hr oth.-r "ii His N n : and that I •** . along
rl.i.stini; burnings.
.i rnti-ring into thr ilaiiK-s, ;ui<l so would
:il>ling. These
Mtinurd f«.r ft] .' that
month )>a-M'd liy in which 1 had not som- :. and sul.sr<|iirnt ' :i-nt that I
did not rrganl thn,
1.1. (1 witli thrin. This was about the ninth \i-ar of
• n in Kdinliiirgh > !in_ur tin- printing of tlir (!;n-li«- inmslution •
::iintrd \\ith >r\rral of th. di^'inmii^hrd inni of that rity, — amoii^
. Hunir, \\ ho ;i.v];,.(l ;!. , his h«'ii-
.nan called In- found thr |>!iiptsojili«T for a ni-
v. aiting for liis host
k and ln-^aii to irad. rl'lir l^ook was a voluinr ..f Shakrs|»r;u-r, and thr jila< I'.nrhanan
n :i«l WBt in "Tin- \Vhni Ilumr rntrrrd lit-
his \isitor \\hut hr had ' . no doubt
fct-lin. ::o\\ \\lia- -'u-h a man
would inak.-. or what opinion lir \vi.uhl form of I
I'-nrhanan told liim, ai.d j.ointrd to crlrl, rated lin
" Ami, li! I'tric of this vision,
!<>u«l cajipM tn\, .laces,
Tin- siilrmii triiijil'-<. tii.' « itself, —
. all which it inlu-iit >hall ili-s..! \ti.i. li!.
k
Hunic askrd him if hr thmi-ht hr ha<l ever rrad so sul.liinr l,rfnrr! I'.iirli.-inan declared hr h:ul. and \\lnlr admiring tlirsr linrs h. i u his
house uhi imilar passaj."
98 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
even more sublime, " and this is it," he said. We have been told that he was a man on whom anything great or touching made a visible impression, causing him often even to shed tears; so, he no doubt, repeated very effectively those solemn verses : — " And I saw a great white throne, and him that sat on it, from whose face the earth and the heaven fled away ; and there was found no place for them. And I saw the dead, small and great, stand before God ; and the books were opened : and another book was opened, which is the book of life : And the dead were judged out of those things which were written in the books, according to their works. And the sea gave up the dead which were in it : and death and hell de- livered up the dead which were in them ; and they were judged every man according to their works." Rev. xx. 11- 13. Htfme said, "That is the Bible, sir. Yes, it is very sublime; but it never somehow struck me so forcibly before." Buchanan, in his " Memoir," tells us of his lying awake a whole night in great terror during a storm of thunder, lightning, and hail, expecting every moment that the heav- ens were to open and the Judge to appear. He refers very frequently throughout the book to the same subject, so much so indeed as to show clearly that it was from first to last his great point of contact with the invisible world.
[In the life of the Rev. Alexander Duff, D.D., LL.D., the prince of Indian Missionaries, it is stated: that "one of his constant schoolmasters out of school was the Gaelic poet, Dugald Buchanan, Catechist in the neighbouring Raunoch a century before, who has been well described as a sort of Highland repetition of John Bunyan in his spiritual experiences. The fire, the glow, of the missionary's genius was Celtic by nature, and by training. The fuel that kept the fire from smouldering away in a passive pensiveness was the prophetic denunciation, varied only by the subtle irony, of poems like "Latha 'Bhreith- eanais" — The, Day of Judtjcm"nt, and "An Claigeaim" — The >'kull. The boy's great and fearful delight was to hear the Gaelic lamentations and poems of Buchanan, which have attain- ed a popularity second only to the misty visions of Ossian read or rehearsed by his father and others who had committed them to memory."]
ROB DONN.
ROBEI:I M \. KAY, tin- Siitherl;,' : monly
railed, M II«»I» Donn, from tin- colour «,f his hair which brown, was l»..ni iii the parNi . - ither-
hindshire, in tin' year 1711. He v. : ..^ his
J talents,- some hi.-h he is said to have
compos, <1 between his third and sixth y.-ar being fed At the latter a-e he had the -, „ ,d f.,rt •. l.y hisal.ility, the not ire of :i ir.-nt Imian \vhotook liini into his o\\'n house, and kejit him in his enijilovnient until the ]M-iiod of the hard's man;
thi> he was fiitru^trd with the eharire «,f his ('hi.-f's (Lor.l Keay) cattlr, at that time an otiie,-. il,, humltle one, of ronsideral' md trust.
• lie held tor the ivst of his litV. with the pro or thr-- during \vhirh he was a
c in the i of Butherl&nd Highlanders,
and another inurh shorter time whilf a misunderstanding 1 a ^li-h; iiu-nt l-etucen him
and his patron.
|)onn died in 177S, l;«-in^ then sixty tour old. 1 le the wholr rountrv,
ainily rhf-rish.-d. No other
of the Highland hards has had such ju>tirr done him
h as Rob Donn. A Doctor of Divinity col-
d edited his pot-try, and wrot,- the
••hy. A monum- Q his
memory, and in-cript ioi. d for it in < laelir, ( ;
and 1. a lean of the i
* Tl • ' i-li IKIS Wen translated :
Hnl.urgh.
100 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
Scotland. And iinally, Sir Walter Scott* himself re- viewed, in "The Quarterly," Dr. Mackay's edition of Hob Donn's works, and gave his opinion that this illiterate herdsman was entitled to a place among the true sons of song. Rob Donn was certainly a very shrewd, clear-sighted mortal, with a certain musical turn in his mind, and with no contemptible powers of satire. That he was a poet no one can doubt who knows his wit, his point, and his sharpness. But even the verdict of Sir Walter cannot blind us to the fact, that Rob was not a man of lofty character, that he was somewhat wanting perhaps in deep feeling, and that, consequently, he had no very high powers of imagination. Very few, if any, of his own countrymen will be inclined to place him on the same pedestal with MacDonald or Maclntyre, but all are ready to acknowledge in him a sensible, intelligent, and remarkable man, with a really refreshing and in- fluential gift of song.
1 he following pithy little poem entitled, " The Greedy Man and the World complaining against one another," may pass for a specimen of his satires. The Greedy Man opens the dialogue thus : —
GREEDY MAN.
Grudging art thou, O World ! and always art so, Parting with those who have no wish to part so ; The man whose greedy passions tie a string to thee, Falls on his back with nothing when he pulls it free.
*!>r. MaoKintosh MacKay's visit to Sir Walter Scott, at Abbotsford, in May, 1831, was the occasion of introducing to the notice of Lockhart the poems of Rob Donn, and this led to the well known review in the (Jiuu-tri-ly of July, 1S31. This A has often been ascribed to Scott, but was really written by Lockhart.
•mi: \
! who :ilv. Ill ili) ye keep liy in.- who would
''1 Ullden.'
But I and \*ell may \«.
Oh! if thou would-: !<-.-. -ji UK-, I VI he thine ind Sin«-'- 1'eneath tin- SUI) liefl all the good I h
Hnw must thou ]. •
Wh'-n «>f horn rn than of tli'-c I am iai- li-vs l':i
Tin: WOULD.
Nay; l»ut thou Bhooldat lei thy wish-.-s much nmri- truly \VlnT.- la-til:.; j.I- tanUG U) TOtlU . 0 HIM -Uily.
Altliou^h tlir boor I nourisli
To keep him long I :PT mi-li' on.
Rob Bonn eomp. isnl a ^r.-a; many songs; some of
are not consul. -ivd of u. \-rry high ([iiality, an-i
i-y j»iir«- «-h.ir;i"trr. ( )IL«- which
on tin: forsaken l»y his
s\v. ,-ilirart is th.- beci < f ih-.- tnunber, I-ioh Donn,
following his v.M-ation in conn.-.-t i«.n with hi
cattlf, was al-sent mi a certain occa-ion for more than a
:;.>m his nati\. : his n-tuni he fouiul his
faithless mist! _aged to a fair haired Lowland
carj.enter. The BOUg iptive nf i ngs OH
making tliis molaneholx appears to
had so b juM-aui'-n1 '.d not
lielj) heing a little ;'. Hr was the
author of the mu-ie as well a^ the VfOrdfl of tho- SOIlg.
tie is this:—
102 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
THE SHIELING SONG.
OH ! sad is the shieling, And gone are its joys ! Ail harsh and unfeeling To me now its noise, Since Anna — who warbled As sweet as the merle — Forsook me — my honey-mouth'd, Merry-lipped girl !
Heich ! how I sigh ;
While the hour Lazily, lonelily, Sadly, goes by !
Last week, as I wander'd
Up past the old trees, I mourn 'd, while I ponder'd,
What changes one sees ! Just then the fair stranger
Walk'd by with my dear — Dreaming, unthinking, I had wander'd too near,
Till, " Heich ! » then I cried,-
When I saw
The girl, with her lover, draw Close to my side —
" Anna, the yellow-hair'd,
Dost thou not see How thy love uniinpair'd
Wearieth me ? 'Twas as strong in my absence,
When himish'd from thee — As heart-stirring, powerful,
Deep as you
ROI 103
MOW,
his time,
When up ir. :^h,
jh doth it oliu
Thru, h:i
Sh«- airiiy said,
I in \aiii tor ing
To Iniiil ii]. your head :
There
While you \v. • And the al nvl.v
Desrrvfil less tli.-n til
you iil .' But ill you —
Ui bifl skin :;)
Ai-h .' :u-l» ! Now I'll!
My
Witli sorrow and si',rl;; With iin^iT aiul fr.-t. r.ut still that BWeet image
\B oM-r my h< And still 1 d.'.'in fondly Hop.- n.-rd not il« ;
did 1 say That our I-'irni a-> a to\\,-r m-ay,
lies lllr.
And tilK IIH- u ith j
I'.llt the i-al'lM-llter wiles the.'.
i : iVoin me.
ion
104 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
But the dear known direction My thoughts ever flee.
Heich ! when we stray'd
Far away,
Where soft shone the summer day Through the green shade.
The airy, haughty, heartless coquette of this little ballad is sketched with considerable spirit. "Ha! ha! ha! Are you ill 1" is a touch of Nature. One sees the poor disconsolate bard standing bewildered before her without a word in his head — so utterly cast down is he at the ill- placed mirth and cruel triumph of his fair-haired beauty. He has contrived, however, to make the lady show a little pique too, — " If love seeks to kill you — bah ! small is his skill ! " — as if to console himself with the idea that his old favourite was not so utterly destitute of feeling, nor her old love, after all, so easily cast off without leaving a trace behind.
It would not perhaps be altogether unsatisfactory to know that " Anna, the yellow-hair'd," met with some little bit of a disappointment herself in the end, in spite of her vaunted powers of attracting six lovers in one year, — and such is said to have been the case. A Gaelic note to this song declares that she married the fair-haired carpenter, but led an unhappy life with him, and never quite recovered her old spirits after the memorable parting at the shieling, recorded above.
The date of the following song is 1784. On the day when the news of the death of Henry Pelham, the prime minister, reached Durness, Rob Donn sallied forth among the neighbouring mountains in search of deer. After wandering about the whole day he found himself towards evening in a very remote glen, far from any human habitation, except one where lay a solitary old man suffer- ing fearfully from asthma. The gloom of night, the
iiiH:i P. 'id the
poor old man. win med to 1..- In
•he mind of 1 1 -at by the
lire In- h:t.l made, and thought and i blending (lie IK-US ..{' the iiM-rni
whole . with tin- Boene before liim, about which
:all to chant to him-elf a>, follows : II"
spoke 1.» Ilu^li as it'll-- wen ;>'
i se for
the l.-t nd st\ lii;u the did n
mortals, he glanced iq» ai.d s;t\v that the n,;
of his ele^y indignant —had
from his j»ai!.-t, armed b
about to 1' nd with all the force ]).• ,-ould muster
on tli- had only time to avoid the
blow, and experienced BOme ditliculty afti-r\\ axis in paci- fyinv: the (juerulous sutl- :n back to bed.
The bard's fri-'iids are -aid to have sometimes laii-! this incident, but he bin
was mentioned, and seldom could be brought to sped at all.
THK DKAT! OF BUGR
DEATH ! how oft we're remind To cry out for aid !
When the small fall before theo — The irreMt low are laid ;
autumn closed <»Vr us The hiii- To th:. acli with lit;
106 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
Oh ! if we believed thee
Not blind should we go, When there 's none of mankind
You disdain to lay low ; High and mean dost thou take them-
That byeword is true — Yonder's Pelharn the high one,
And here lies poor Hugh.
You come in the one way —
Great griefs then arise ; You come in the other,
And nobody sighs ; Yet who can repose him
Where you ne'er pursue, In a golden mean careless
'Twixt Pelham and Hugh.
They drop all around,
As if struck down with ball ; The report is our warning,
And loud is its call : Thou, the least among many,
Hast thou heard of poor Hugh 1 Thou, our chief man, forget not
Pelham, grander than you !
Oh ! should we not tremble all —
Brethren and friends, When we're thus like the candle
That's burnt at both ends 1 Where in all this wide world
Was one meaner than Hugh 1 And the court the great Pelham
But one higher knew.
WILLISM ROSS.
WILLIAM ElO68, a iweei lyri.- poet, who . MTV
siyli-d, til-- I'. -In- Highlands, lint \\lio
mi^ht, \\ithoui impiopr. died the ' Cichael
: . We
17 »'••_'. His ; to give
him n <jood edueation, .. early listinguis)] t highly 1'V his pro tii-i.
-, \vllirh hi' Ilttrli.i
II btther liavin_«,' I.IM-..III.' a |.;u-kin:in, and travelling in
- calling . r of thf \\ >
Williiiin, \vhih- still a youth, acfoinj.anicd lii~ onli-r that h<- lui^'ht >tudy all the dialects of the '
,A^e at tli-' fountain-head, and make himself thor- oughly arcjiiainted v.ith tie-in all. H in tli: • »ur that he was reputed union^ th-
Caeli.- of hi- -lay. I I -aid to liave 1.
Latin and Creek well. Hesan^ pleasantly, though his voice I .d he ]. laved on the violin, tlutc,
i-al ofher instruments with considei-ahle skill. !!•• became parish srh«»<.. at ( Jairl-M-h. RoSS-
shire, and a teach. -r. I i
.1 of kindness, whirh atti'aeted and atlarhi-d his juipils. and poeaeflSed a pleasant humour with which he
! lighten the wrary diud-
their tasks He h< Id this >ituati"n. }>o\\e\er, 1-ut I time. Asthma an<l consumj-t ion bifl lit'e in
when he was uuly in h:
William i polish* , of the Highland niin _'h he
.:h ami «-n«-r^y. II and easy, and
108 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
plaintive ; never aiming at great things, nor reaching lofty heights. In his system of versification he is generally even more elaborate, and always quite as successful as any of his compeers. In his descriptions of nature he is very sweet and pretty ; but throughout all his poetry there appears that soft shade, along with that lack of vehemence and vigour, so observable in most of those poets who die young.
William Boss is said to have been disappointed in love, and to have suffered such grief in consequence that it shortened his life. After having been sometime confined to bed, he rose one fine evening in May, and strolling out, full of melancholy reflections, sat beneath a tree on which a cuckoo soon settled, and began to shout over his head. The beauty of the evening, the stillness of the scene, and the sweet voice of the spring-bird, together with his own sad condition, filled the heart of the poet and melted it, until it flowed spontaneously in the following strain. The poem is called, " The Cuckoo on the tree." In it its author probably bade farewell both to love and poetry. He speaks of the loss of his mistress, and of his own approaching death, with sweet and tender pathos — in diction that possesses his customary finish, and in a style that is pervaded by his usual elegance and grace. The beginning of the fifth stanza, with its pastoral beauty, reminds one of Solomon's song — especially the fourth line : —
The curl of her hair was so graceful and fair,
Its lid for her eye a sweet warden ; Her cheeks they are bright, and her breast limy white,
And her breath like the breexe o'er a garden.
But altogether indeed the poem has no little beauty. It
iniirht !».• roiiip.-iivd, or rather perhaps contrasted with
l-.-tt h'-t :<• and imaginative "Ode to the Nightingale,"
as at least the circumstances of the two poets, if not their
\\IU.I.\M 1'1'J
in the
:us \\hirll IIKI
::iillStP-l :
Tin: OUOKOO ON TIIK TREE,
SMALL l.inl on that
this mil.!
till the (1
AH
Id,
a tin- cliill n. And ret I I'V IKT si<:
I kiss her yoiin- li]
( Mi mv iniiul Oil! so s;nl ainl il-.-paii. \Vlu-n a hu>l»aiul I sjiinl \vitli his I'l-aiitiful Lr AHrctinu's pun- tran.-jioits >liarin^ :
my old lovr rctuniftl an«l »-tiM rt'tisoii it sj»uri Till 1 nioanrd and wt-j.t, wildly rr\i;
in, l.oilin^ — bounding amain —
With the Mood fi-oin my ln-iirt ijuii-kly fl;.
of n,y will ; d l.adly :
T.ut a look's all I l:u-k of 1. • l»ring luu-k
'I'ln- lu-alih I ! BO s:ully :
\\ ithout fail, and her would I hail, lit with joy and n
own tcnd.-r do\«- m; ve —
The sun Q .d«Mi.
110 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
Yet nought to me but a sting all her bright beauties bring —
I droop with decay, and I languish : There *s a pain at my heart like a pitiless dart,
And I waste all away with anguish. She has stolen the hue on my young cheeks that grew,
And much she has caused my sorrow ; Unless now she renew with her kindness that hue,
Death will soon bid me, " Good morrow ! "
The curl of her hair was so graceful and fair,
Its lid for her eye a sweet warden ; Her cheek it was bright, and her breast limy white,
And her breath like the breeze o'er a garden. Till they lay down my head in its stone-guarded bed
The force of these charms I feel daily, While I think of the mirth in the woods that had birth ;
When she laughed and sported gaily.
Her mouth was so sweet, and her teeth white and neat ;
Her eyes like the sloeberry shining : How well will she wear, with her matronly air,
The kerchief where nobles are dining ! Oh ! if she could feel the like ardour and zeal
Which so long in my breast have been glowing ; And if she were mine, with the blessing divine,
I might turn from the way I am going.
Softly, some day, will they make in the clay
My bed, since her coldness so tries me ; I Ve wanted her long, and my love has been strong,
And the greenwood bough still denies me. If she were thus low, with what haste should I go
To ask how the maiden was faring : Now short the delay till a mournful array
The brink of my grave will be bearing !
MARY MACLEOD.
MAKY M A« u:<'i>, authoress of the foil*.
i time, of the M«>d.-rn <J;u-lie I .-ill that exist! <>t' Ca.-li. jnive,
and of inn-main authorship, n tale; that is
uttriLuted t«> O.sMan directly, or known, OTfUpp by some noted and prafeMed Lard of the middl.-
->till atiachrd to one sonur, «>r j-
•ly in th»- an.-imt .styl.-, and on s«>nn- FiiiLraliitn sul»ji'i-t, l>ut who has Irt't ln-liiiul him no l,i.d\
.j> of his own ch;irartri- ami inanmT on thf IgQ of hi h«-r day, \\liii.- th
poj.ul:: •.rou>ly tlouri
then- has :I!M> In-rn a BOOOeHDOD of Lards \\ho <-ult:
assiduously and sueiTs.sfully, and wli
still rxtant, ;in- das-.'.l ui.d.T tln-ir I 1 Lc:ir thr
mark of their j)«-culiar l';i«-ult \ . Tic B6 bai 6 0 -rri«-d (Jaelic
IN.rti ..iu'li an exoell
J6 of the Highland .M D th«^ iniddlf of last c.-ntuiy, wln-n Mad >onald. I'
all living
IKT. The Mountain hav.-
decline.
The rarlifsi of this mod. rn s.-hool of Gaelic poets was Mary tor known among her own count'
y the d:r
of red-hail' I ..d«-i-). Slu- \va> l.orn in 1 lari'is, in the
taca\\ay 1 lel.rid. •>. in 1 ."^i1.1, and died at I>ui.
• •at age of one hundred and ne\er learn. -d . ill; . is pure and
though complicated, in its metre, ;I, an.l
•ntly pall
112 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
The song here given was composed by Mary MacLeod, on her being banished from Dunvegan, for some real or imaginary offence, by the arbitrary young Chief, whose praises she sings with such delight and enthusiasm, — as sitting by the sea-side in Mull, her heart is oppressed by the thought of her absence from her beloved Skye, and from his gracious presence, who was to her its hero and its sun. It is satisfactory to know that the young gentle- man of whom poor Mary has given so flattering a portrait — probably his only remaining title to consideration — relented sufficiently at the sound of his own praises, or in respect for the genius of his clanswoman, that he gave her permission to return forthwith to his dominions, and he even sent a boat to bring her back. He is said to have been particularly good to the affectionate poetess ever after.
MACLEOD'S DITTY.
ALONE on the hill- top,
Sadly and silently, Downward on Islay
And over the sea — I look and I wonder
How time hath deceived me : A stranger in Muile*
Who ne'er thought to be.
Ne'er thought it, my island !
Where rests the deep dark shade Thy grand mossy mountains
For ages have made — God bless thee, and prosper !
Thy chief of the sharp blade, All over these islands,
His fame never fade !
* Mull.
• lit uiliiH-ss. courage,
kindn-d ine •'•• ruling
p th'- ln-ii
No earl wmiM in Alliin Thv fririuislii
Tl.\
To il ,ip
Of \i\x\\ aii'l of 10
lON
'I'hy t'atli.T <li.l sli
noble
I tin- iml.l,
: t tlloll 1 \ll)ill • 1 to dcr! .M tin- l.Pst nf li.T cliirftaili-
•ii wear
Th>- UoW ; ual
114 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
O banner'd Clan Ruari !
Whose loss is my woe, Of this chief who survives
May I ne'er hear he 's low ; But, darling of mortals !
From him though I go, Long the shapeliest, comliest
Form may he show !
The shapeliest, comliest
Faultless in bearing — Cheerful, cordial, and kind,
The red and white wearing, Well looks the blue-eyed chief ;
Blue, bright, and daring, His eye o'er his red cheek shines,
Blue, bright, calmly daring.
His red cheek shines,
Like hip on the brier-tree, 'Neath the choicest of curly hair
Waving and free. A warm hearth, a drinking cup,
Meat shall he see, And a choice of good armour
Whoe'er visits thee.
Drinking-horns, trenchers bright,
And arms old and new ; Long, narrow-bladed swords,
Cold, clear, and blue — Tin-so are seen in thy mansion,
With riilcs und carbines, too ; And hempen-strung long-bows,
Of hard, healthy yew.
MARY 115
i-ll wear;
I s, with |.«'li>h'<l li In .|iii\. i.s I'ull ami 'air,
Aii'l —
M\ li-
leep
( ^ tin- long '"<'>'»
An<l i'i>U'_rli iii-'iuitain '
ling
Ami i-uii^li rock v I'hains ',
Tip
• in my • •!. spear
I'll'- life Mi'otl ra:
i liidi-.l ,!••«•!• «»r doe
Ami tin- u'lvrli h.-atli.T staillH.
• •llinl doe j
Tln-ii li.-r,
.
\\'. !
II skill'd in tl
I as well
MSCGREGOR'S LULLSBY.
"ON the sixteenth of June, 1552," says the curate of Fortingall, " Duncan MacGregor and his sons, Gregor and Malcolm Roy, were beheaded by Colin Campbell of Glenurchy, Campbell of Glenlyon, and Menzies of Rannoch." * The authoress of the following ballad was a daughter of Colin Campbell of Glenurchy. and the wife of Gregor MacGregor, whose death she so feelingly laments. The Black Duncan mentioned was her brother. He was called "Donnachadhdubh a' Churraichd," or Black Duncan of the Cowl, from some peculiar head-dress he was in the habit of wealing, and in which it is said he is represented in his picture, still preserved at Taymouth Castle. This chief, the seventh laird of Glenurchy, was a man of some mark in his day. He played his part in the fierce politics of the time, and managed his own estate, as is seen from contemporary records, in a very businesslike and careful manner. Like his unfortunate sister, however, he had also something of a finer turn. " Black Duncan," says Professor limes, " had a taste for books — read history and romance — and is not quite free from a suspicion of having dabbled in verse himself." Although his sister does not spare him in her denunciation of her kindred, he must have been quite scatheless of causing her sufferings, for he appears to have been only seven years old when Gregor MacGregor was executed. Duncan Laideus, alias Mac- Gregor, father of this Gregor, has had his name, some time or other, put at the head of an interesting old Scottish Poem, from which Professor Innes gives some very pleasing extracts. It is called " Duncan Laideus, alias MacGregor's Testament," and is " found written on the blank leaves at the end of one of the copies of the romance of Alexander," a favourite book with " Black J>uncan of the Cowl."
* Sketches of early Scottish History, page 355, &c.
1 17
- I. AMI .'•ruing,
•hi- middle «.f tin-
iiri, . niv rhild, with thee —
liri,
-on en judu'e ami 1
:Jr woe ;
Tin • it they laid him 1
Oi-han, ochai:.
II..'
_;.•!• at th.-ir li toy child had net l.f.Mi <ti-jtl.
i -ll'-d.
< ).-ha:i. ... hail, &c. laid him,
: tink it in a ^.ilih-t
i the ground.
r then h.
h tin- ji! ill ;
Tlun.. . in IMT un^i;
i In r till. hail, &C.
118 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
I could Colin shut in prison,
And Black Duncan put in ward, —
Every Campbell now in Bealach, Bind with handcuffs, close and hard. Ochan, ochan, &c.
When I reached the plain of Bealach, I got there, nor rest, nor calm ;
But my hair I tore in pieces, —
Wore the skin from off each palm ! Ochan, ochan, <fcc.
Oh ! could I fly up with the skylark — Had I Gregor's strength in hand ;
The highest stone that's in yon castle Should lie lowest on the land.
Ochan, ochan, <fec.
Would I saw Finlarig blazing,
And the smoke of Bealach smelled,
So that fair, soft-handed Gregor In these arms once more I held.
Ochan, ochan, <kc.
While the rest have all got lovers Now a lover have I none ;
My fair blossom, fresh and fragrant, Withers on the ground alone.
Ochan, ochan, &c.
While all other wives the night-time Pass in slumber's balmy bands,
I, upon my bedside weary,
Never cease to wring my hands.
Ochan, ochan, Ac.
MACGREc.i 119
\\'h. •!••• tli«- b
Than v\ ith D luml l»ur<
In ;i hi>u>r . '
re tin- h.
T!i;m \s ith littl«- L<>\vhuid . oi tlp-ir \\ in'
, &c.
Gr«
Tlmn with '.
Win-!-.- lint- .^ilk :uul 1 < .>rn.
All thn-i:
i-MiiM tind IIP- A kind
Bahu, 1'uliu, litth- nursling —
Oh ' r now and
J \\ ill iirvjM- l)i:-iHcii \Y1
rhaii, oi-liau uiri,
liild, \\ nli thee —
5
lii<-li tip- MM, ( Ii-rgore were subjected to tip- cnu-I . h t'« >r many years
iii-ii tln-n • ibe
120 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
outlawed, their lands confiscated, and their name pro- scribed— Sir Walter Scott has made familiar to many who would perhaps have never heard but for him of the valorous endurance of the "clan that was nameless by day." That the great novelist has done justice to the indomitable energy, the terrible prowess, the courage, and the wild heroic fidelity of this much-wronged sept, there is no one can venture to dispute. But certain warm- hearted Highlanders — who feel peculiarly interested in all the brave men who spoke the mother tongue of the Gael in other days — assert that the poet, to say the least of it, has fixed too exclusively on the fiercer and more savage attributes of the banished clan. It may be Sir Walter really did exaggerate, for artistic purposes, those harsher traits of character which must have in some degree existed among the MacGregors when subjected to such vile treatment as theirs was — unless they Avere actually some- thing more than mortal ; or it may perhaps as likely be that the kindly partiality of the modern Celts has closed their eyes, when they think so, on some of the ruder doings of the outlawed and exasperated mountaineers. At any rate, there seems to be some force in the reasoning which the novelist has put into the mouth of Ranald MacEagh in Argyll's dungeon, when he says, "I am a man like my forefathers ; while wrapped in the mantle of peace we were lambs ; it was rent from us, and ye now call us wolves. Give us the huts ye have burned, our children whom ye have murdered, our widows whom ye have starved ; collect from the gibbet and the pole the mangled carcasses and whitened skulls of our kinsmen; bid them live and bless us, and we will be your vassals aud brothers ; till then let death and blood and mutual wrong draw a dark veil of division between us." There is In -re a natural eloquence and logic of facts which cannot fail to find an echo in the most peaceful heart amongst us. If the Children of the Mist did not feel such sentiments, at least they are amazingly like the sentiments by which
L21
we can in -ild be actual
l.n-athe tin- !
thfl vindir- :.irit wliirli x-andali/rd Captain |>alp-tty in tin-
! 1st :—
-. . and KM 1 sorrow now fills me —
Poor pit.:
• t thrills me — Oh ! trrril'l' mot P press.
MacGregor has prrish'd — M. pinr l.ai.
< iily-'ii tin- ^iven —
• . tin- l>r;iv«-. l.y \\ 1. ln»iu»ur'd
'I'ln- thn-atriiin^ r«-ar «>t' our }>il)n»ch hath
• In- piiu- known tin- st«-«-]i liill ascending — lii^M In mi tin- trin- l»inl - side;
for a prince \\lu-n tin- h«-ro ,
t'r.'in tin- 1'ow «>f his prid«'.
I ami \\t-ll aini'd, son of Muru1ocli the
1 from tl.
'I'lit-n, it' v ' A _or tin- p-
Soon mi ! tn -milled to see!
•Alu-n tln-y hurt us. \\.- L.ar nnonnplaining —
•id all that would help us are g*<- bethoughl \\ith tin-;.
In ! that st:. rhe \all«-y
l.ir.l (tin, eagle.
: • ) pro-
122 MODERN GAELIC BA.RDS.
My kinsmen, co-nurtured ! O you that could right me !
It grieves and it wounds me the blank you have made Your death and your absence for ever affright me,
And the dark narrow bed where your heads low are laid!
Now in shirts of pale linen so lonely you 're lying, No bands and no silks and no tartans you wear ;
Ourselves sew'd your white robes, with sorrow and sighing; No gentle dames wrought with us — wept with us, there.
Now this counsel of me, who your safety am seeking, Take you for your guidance, young clansmen of mine ;
When you go to the inn where the strangers sit speaking, More than one draught, for your life's sake, decline.
Take the dish which they offer ; be cautious and wary — There is no man you meet with but may be a foe ;
While you drink, remain standing, and then do not tarry, But turn round and haste ye — delay not, but go.
For summer take spring-time — for autumn take winter — And away and away to wild solitudes hie ;
Where the heat and the cold the crag shiver and splinter, And see you sleep lightly wherever you lie.
The squirrel is rare, but the hunters deceive him, And draw him away from his nest in the tree ;
And the falcon is noble, but men will not leave him His daring, his speed, and the blue heavens free.
" More than one draught, for your life's sake, decline." At this place Mrs. Grant makes the following remark : — "Tim single draught in this verse is particularly expressive of tin- constant apprehensions which haunt the mind of him who knows that this life is haunted with malicious diligence. The ancients tell of dogs on the borders of the
< II.
Nil.- who a for fear «•:
: tin- li\< IgM of li;iliitu:il t-
Th< i
lii.-h
is caK n a' Cheathai. h ; of the
It is in print, and well knov,
from the
who is a smith, and well acquainted \sith tin- trad. ; ' ; :..• I I :jh U i .N.-itlu-r this mail
nor tt kiirw ti '• been
pultlishcd. 1-ladi thought h<
an ant-it-nt fra^mcn' ;>h. This
tin- i-uiv with \vlih-h Tr:v
I which tin- tviant.
Tim.-, l.-av.-s with it. Tho hallad i.> sun^ to a wild and nH'luncii(il\- jiiln-ocli tune, to which the translation has
: •<•>{ with u
Jn tli.- la^t linr of tlic por-m tli
but the traditi \\a.> her liu.- • sons^
whom sin- had concealed in her house \\h- oi the
enemies of the .Ala i d ap-
pr«>a.-hiir_r. They \\eie uli.ad\ dOM at hand Tin : Th«- woman . her frin
. and tln-n sitting ilown at the tin- or at i ho door
ide for h«-r pciseciited kindred ; and B In-y had not then n-tur.u-d, they mnst either , at Lochtyne as when heard of them —
d fishing ; and
niu'ht in a poor hut. when- sin- had ', to lie inf.-i-:
bion. sin the
account of theii- HKHIV «l:i! ; she
onuin- !i the minuteness of intimate ac.juaintance.
I" such ;,ive come
124 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
emphatically from the singer's heart. It was answered to her wish on that occasion at least. The people outside listened as the woman sung, and, believing what she said, passed on without disturbing her. A very good subject surely for a picture this woman would make, singing so at her fireside, in the hearing of her friends and her enemies — her heart's most precious wishes depending on the effect produced by her ballad.
The song represents her sitting on the highway — her most cruel foes not unobserved, though unnoticed by her; her dearest friends in the power of those foes if they only knew it ; and she — with the twilight, and the dim, misty mountains looking down on her — their deliverer, if she could sing her lyric in the right character to the end. Seldom, indeed, has song or ballad been composed or chanted in circumstances of such intense excitement.
THE BRAES OF THE « CEATHACH."
I SIT here alone, by the plain of the highway, For my poor hunted kin, watching mist, watching by -way; I 've yet got no sign that they 're near to my dwelling ; At Lochfyne they were last seen — if true be that telling —
wine with the nobles, the street proudly stepping With Gregor Og Rua — that hard hand behind weapon — And Gregor Mor Maimach, my household commanding, Son of him of Strath-Startail, round whose hearth, often standing — ,
LTHAOH.
I V« heard til-' hard h:ir|'in'_r. :«rnl "t't s.-.-n them |,L \\'ith tli. i with ehess. :in«l tin- tiddl«-\ mirth
In th. < ;|i-n <>t' the Mi-t i-, tli.- M;i:_f :
On th.' in. MM- are yOB N';i\ in- tin- honny l»inl 1\
!•'.>!• the raven a pn-v do ht-r liln.i.ly iilniiu-x iju!
| ..u its dark l.lur ll«.ck fn-in th« i iln-
ri\
this li.nr ni^ht in a hut low rind n:u •
\\'h«Tr ti I Irt't, lllld tilt; l»«-lt ;i)|(l tip
UK! th<- Imllrt, and th.
i tht- lit'.
I'Yom th.- e irj) clayj, ilily i;lt-ai:
In r.i-ia^li l'.h:iili-. 0 -n without ,,
no sinilr my >ad ; B6O liu'ht :
Small wonder 1 say BO- !i.mn- 't would he rather
Not t«- \vh.-n the\ call thee my f
;i internal evidei.. MIHV l.e pfOnOU
• • hundred years old. It lorms a tit i-ompanioii
t'"i- M .d the j,i • Lullal'v.
all 1 :ine dan and the
Oed tinder soiiii'\\hat similar eiirum
FUGITIYE SONGS.
MANY of the most popular of Gaelic love songs are by unknown authors, or, as is the case also in Lowland Scotch, by authors who composed one song and no more. Their distinguishing characteristics are simplicity, tender- ness, and expressive sincerity. There is a great deal of music generally in their language and rhythm, and such a correspondence with the tune to which they are sung, as if they were the twin births of the one passionate experience. This is also the case with their Lowland kindred, which have very much the same rural grace and freshness, which we discover in the Highland lyrics. In them music and poetry are truly wedded, till they become of one sound and nature, and are helps meet for one another. Especially is this the case with the chorus and with one or two verses of the lyric — such as we may suppose might be struck off in the first heat of emotion. Sometimes, for a few lines, it would almost appear as if it were difficult to say where the music begins, or the words end — they blend and fit so curiously together. This, I suppose, must be partly attributed to the nature of the Gaelic language, which, without being particularly soft, is very flexible, and full of vowel sounds. But it must also be attributed, in a certain degree, to the musical genius of the people, which I look upon as decidedly evident, and one of their prominent tics; though, of course, existing as yet in some districts, in a very uncultured state.
The Highland melodies are often of the most touching
l..-:nity sMiiH'tinu-s wildly melancholy, sometimes ex-
uWantly gay. Th(^y remind one more than anything
I \vluit Sir. Carlyle says so happily of Burns' songs,
iigs not <
• th.- irhole mind." > • full-
ihrir im: it pass for tin-
plaint:
\\ith ni«
of at '
utt.-r tlu-iii as :th all tin- d found
:ilnl 1
.i>-M'<l d.. age to age, •
•
look so clear
' tastr tli
those v,li <\ h-'lji to
v. 1m actually do.
OCH1 .MAI; TIIA MI.*
M mar tli I giv<
i lady
i \\ ith. ali'l I: :
'
'
<\ as in all !:ineiiaue.«<
.
state ;:
128 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
the second syllable becoming frequently little more than a mere breathing. There are also far fewer monosyllables in Gaelic than in English. This will serve to account for Gaelic verses ending as they often do — not with a long syllable as in English, but with a word of a long and short syllable, as in this song — what the ancients called a trochee.
It is very difficult to give verses constructed on this principle a metrical sound in English at all; but, to adapt words to a great number of the Highland melodies, such a form is absolutely necessary. Every one who has heard Gaelic songs sung by those who give them the raciest intonation, must have observed how prone they were to dwell on the second last syllable of each line, and drop the last almost inaudibly. That is the right style for singing, " Och ! mar tha mi" — the air of which is very pretty.
Och ! mar tha mi ! here so lonely,
Despair has seized me, and keeps his hold :
Oh, were I near thee, in Tslay, only
Before thou 'st taken that man for gold !
This doleful morning, how sad my waking !
My eyes with tear-drops fast running over, For old love leaving and old vows breaking —
Thy banns are call'd with that other lover.
When sleeping sweetly the rest are lying,
Wild dreams of anguish my mind is weaving.
1 'm like the swan that drops wounded — dying ; My love exhausts me with bitter grieving.
Alas ! thy kind eye, so brightly shining ; Thy neck so comely, like cannach blowing ;
Those - h.-.i.l liti
illg.
t'ul nmn :
i«i !
ng,
•
•" — • • waves are sounding.
>
Id.
'Id !
130 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
THE "GILLE DUBH, CIAR DUBH."*
THE following song is sung to a beautiful and winning air, which, like many other Highland airs, only requires the delicate touch of some true genius to become a melody as deep, as noble and expressive as any of those national lyric gems we are so fond and so proud of. I don't know whether it spoils the sentiment, or gives another interest rather, to be told that one who sung so sweetly and loved so well did marry her " Gille dubh, ciar dubh " in the end.
Once o'er the wide moor wending, Or round the green hill bending, Gay words and wild notes blending
Spread far my ^food cheer ; For then my heart, light-leaping, In waking, in sleeping, Had no dubh, ciar dubh keeping
Its joys far from here.
And now that, together,
Dubh ciar dubh, dubh ciar dubh, We faced the rude weather
On hills bleak and blue ! Some peaceful spot near me I'd choose, and there cheer me j No grey-beard to fear me,
And thou in my view.
* Pronounced "Gille doo, keear doo." "Gille " means a young : an. I "tlul.li, riar duMi," dark, dusky dark.
131
bh,
• >uld be ;
iT lltlbll !
i^ties assail thce,
.it-art will
iHiUi -lul'li !
•or, poor
iiee!
My gill<- duMi
I
E
All raii^r.l ih.
I
; ing, ng,
132 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
HOOU GRIN, 0!
THE following song is the wild wail of an unhappy woman, whose friends had forced her to marry against her inclination ; or who had allowed herself to be more in- fluenced by false sense and worldly policy, than she found afterwards consistent with the tranquility of a powerfully sensitive heart. It tells of that intensest misery, which is perhaps felt among us more frequently than it is spoken ; and which oftener, it may be, than either, lurks darkly, like an inexorable Fate, where it is never acknowledged, eren in the shape of a distinct feeling, by the dull and dreary heart that counts for years the heavy hours with «ad and listless beatings. All marriages of interest, by whomsoever planned, cannot turn out well. Some of the parties in them have surely reason to sing, with this miserable Highland woman : —
I am married,
Hoog Orin, O ! Married ! worried !
Hoog Orin, O !
They took me from my own lover — Gave me to the western drover. Where I hated I am mated.
Hoog Orin, O ! Wife ill-fated. I am married — I am worried,
Hoog Orin, O !
Mated ! married ! wearied ! worried ! Hoog Orin, O !
'I'll'-} 0R<| . hi" !•> tin- i-lllli. f
In
II
Of inv
01
Of the toars
, this hf.i
8a<l .-lling —
. rt —
\\ iili in
01
111 f,
I! uu <>riu, •
Mated' niarrir<l ! urari'-il ! worrinl ! II '»!
with the il! I[oog
!
; i
Sick
Hr has mi \\ish t«> su\«- inr
134 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
Love! love! love!
The fair cheek, the dark hair, The promise forgotten ;
'T will go with me there.
t False ! false ! false !
Oh, youth is false for ever ; He loves far more than living me —
The lifeless heather.
The hunting field,
The greenwood tree, The trout, the running deer, he loves
Far more than me.
He loves — loves — loves
To stalk the frighten'd doe ;
He never heeds the pain he gives, His skill to show.
Oh, the dark blue eye — A flower \vet with dew ;
Oh, the fair false face — Too sweet to view !
Fare-thee-well — well — well Though thou'st forsaken me ;
May every good thing follow — Follow— follow thee !
A very sensible literary lady, commenting on the con- duct of Mariana in "The Moated Grange," who was " a- weary, a- weary," and wished that she was dead, said that it would have been better for Mariana to have minded her household duties, and given over singing. And so, perhaps, it would ; and better for our unfortun-
FUGITIVE BON 135
rs, too. It is eav
• I, Mini t!
how were
•h.-ir cool and un-
had perl thmi in i the grand c«
, perhaps, lyri.sts than to speak «
age betrays no it was ;i great • i ik. \\
• >f those poors its, it may
be said, • do not value a true and
sensiMli;
1 intuitiv
o a Martha, in fact will possess but little v, or sens. 1'hr title
A MAlhl-vs LAMENT,
Its joys are gone, ai
:tli him i us all —
'y I* rare; *>as first i
136 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
I loved him, and I loved him not In word, hut all in deed.
Too well, too well I loved him ; For now I can but mourn —
I mourn and waste my heart away, And pine till he return.
My heart is like a lump of lead —
I walk, but feel a stone ; I eat not, drink not with the youths ;
I always feel alone. My soul is black with sorrow ;
Why should I lay it bare, Or tell 'tis he who left last week
That causes all this care 1
When he rein'd up a prancing steed,
How waved his curly hair ! How confident he look'd and proud !
How manly was his air ! Not like a boy or woman
Did he discourse with men — His words were choice and pretty,
As if written with a pen.
He was to me a gem — a gem
Like the bud a brier wears ; He was as choice as is the tree
Bent with the fruit it bears. And I was willing secretly
To wed — wed him alone : He should have laid me, ere he left,
Beneath the cold grave-stone !
FUGITIVE BON
All !
one —
is cross' tl the sea !
1
TIN: BOATMAN,
Tn> nun. in tin-
West 4 ;
i sand
_ nil tli'
winding l.M-h tliat I«-a«l.s to a nninuu! illagc,
d inccsNu: ;h«- MiuiiniT t\\ili_
many B&J " Been
^lidii _
floor oi
• th«' «lii.
great
i . and S
him, as he pa8s«•.^ l.y in hi
;:i an«l l>la/in^ li- kiu»\\ ;
i th«- hi»iu^. tuinliling waters.
138 MODERN GAELIC BAEDS.
Where the fishers have large boats they go a great .distance, and remain for weeks away. Very frequently they take a voyage or two abroad, and all of them are at least half, and many of them thorough-bred, sailors. The fishing population and the agricultural population differ a good deal in their dress, and a little even in their appearance ; of course their associations are dissimilar. The fishermen are a very much respected class, however; and no doubt they think a good deal of themselves. It is of one of them the following very popular song treats. This " Man of the Boat " had gone over the sea, and was like never to return. He had left some one behind him, who mourned his absence greatly.
How often hunting the highest hill-top,
I scan the ocean thy sail to see : Wilt come to-night, love ? Wilt come to-morrow 1
Or ever come, love ! to comfort me ?
My soul is weary ; my heart is breaking ;
With frequent tear-drops mine eyes o'erflow. Wilt come to-night, love 1 May I expect thee 1
Or, sighing sorely, the door put to f
I question fondly thy friends, and ask them,
Where last they saw thee ? where thou art now 1
But each one, jeering, some answer gives me, That sends me homeward with burning brow.
They call thee fickle, they call thee false one,
And seek to change me ; but all in vain. No ; thou'rt my dream yet throughout the dark night
A i:d every morn yet I watch the main.
Dost thou remember the promise made me — Tin; tartan plaidie — the silken gown —
FUGITIVE SON 139
ring of gol-1 \\ith thy li:iir ami j><>rtr.
t a haiulrt — to,, \\vll 1 know it- - \\ i t while,
i in its nuudri. .uilo.
••ar,
. — since t iidhood
I stroll'd beside thee, and thought thee dear.
;irn me, and oft a<l se vows i l>e :
Yon little strc:unl.-t roll 1
. :l t'-arful limiinuT -
•ill,
I her iliri;'1 Ji"t«- hy grassy fount i. all f«-i-
MON A LT K I
unit, :iinl inlii i rock was
killrd. 'l'h«- i, iitning
< a vivid ^'limpsr oi
lines are
•.-h\ : i>u-
us all .sofa
.r tuisfortuiic ; is r.jtiully rapid in its narration, and
140 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
catches as successfully the right tone in which to deal with its kindred sorrow. Jf it falls short, in some other respects, of the rare masterpiece it resembles, that need not surprise us, for " Bonnie George Campbell " carries as much of a sad tale and a wild lamenting, in a very small compass, as probably any song in the English language.
There's a sound on the hill,
Not of joy but of ailing ; Dark-hair'd women mourn —
Beat their hands, with loud wailing.
They cry out, Ochon !
For the young Monaltri, Who went to the hill ;
But home came not he.
Without snood, without plaid
Katrina's gone roaming. O Katrina, my dear !
Homeward be coming.
Och ! hear, on the castle
Yon pretty bird singing, " Snoodless and plaidless,
Her hands she is ringing ! "
N«;S. Ill
"MALI BUI \
Till ; '.'llnilVil 1
u lii«-h nmy
•
Boi '
Of C
olir \v},
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142 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
The hero of this melancholy Gaelic song we have now to do with met his mistress, clandestinely, on a Sunday evening, in a lonely glen near her father's house. Her kinsmen waylaid him ; and, furious at his attempt to carry off their relative, attacked him with their swords in her presence. She rushed between her friend and her angry brethern, and was killed by a chance blow of her lover's hand. He was immediately taken prisoner, con- fined, and condemned to death. The night before his execution he sang as follows : —
Canst thou feel for a captive's sigh,
Young little May ! Condemn'd by thy friends to die,
Young little May !
Though thy soft eye of heaven's blue, Thy lip of the honey dew, Never more can bless my view,
Young little May !
Oh, the sad tryst— that fatal day !
My own little May ! Its blood will not wash away,
Poor little May !
Why, before thy sweet, startled face, Just touch 'd by thy meek embrace, Did our fell foes beset my trace,
Dear little May !
'T was for thee that I trembled then,
Kind little May ! Though surrounded by cruel men,
Sweet little May ! But oh, that some hostile blade, This hand on the ground had laid Ere that wound in thy side it made,
Brave little May !
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144 MODERN GAELIC BARDS.
Yet now were I safe from death,
Dear little May ! Cumbrous would be my breath !
Sweet little May ! Much better to die, and go Where no blood — where no blood can flow, O my God ! than thus wail thee low, —
Dead little May !
"BREIGEIN BINNEACH."
I GIVE this song, as it was sung to me by a lady who was a good deal amused with it, though ashamed of re- membering such nonsense so well. It belongs to a class of songs of which there are a considerable number in the Highlands, though they seldom find their way into printed collections. It would seem that both the genius and the taste of the people lead more to melancholy than to mirth in their compositions. At the same time, when they happen to be cheerful, their efforts are not less effective, v.hilc their grave faces still keep masking the quaint humour and cordial mirthfulness which their words embody. The verses, though only a mere sketch, serve