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POEMS AND SONGS

GAELIC AND ENGLISH.

BY

MRS. MARY MACKELLAR,

BARD TO THE GAELIC SOCIETY, INVERNESS.

(Sirittlwrgfr:

MACLACHLAN & STEWART, 64 SOUTH BRIDGE.

INVERNESS: JOHN NOBLE. OBAN: j. w. MILLER. ^,£>

.. <^r> S^i~~

1880.

KniXBUROH :

PRINTED BY LORIMER AND GILLIES, 31 ST. ANDREW SQUARE.

LE A CHEAD

SONRAICHTE FHEIN,

THA MI 'CUR NAN DUANAGAN SO

A MACH FO SGAILE SGIATH CHAOIMHNEIL

CARAIDE DILEA.S

AGUS FEAR-TAGRAIDH

MO DHUTHCHA, MO SHLUAIGH,

AGUS MO CHANA1N,

PROFESSOR BLAGKIE.

CONTENTS.

PAGE

Oran do Bhan-righ Victoria. Air dhomh an Leabhar aig a

Mbrachd Rioghail a Leughadh, .... 1

Duanag, ....... 4

Oran, ........ 5

Mo Ghradh Geal 's mo Rim, . ... . . 6

Verses from my Scrap-Book, . . . .1.7

Cumha le Lochial — An Uair a Chunnaic e a Chaisteal air a Losgadh Leis na Saighdearan-dearga, "Bliadhna Thearlaich," . 10

Translation of above, . ... . . .12

Longing, ....... 14

Lochabar, ....... 14

An Nighean Dubh Ghruamach, . . . .16

Oran do Dhuin'-Uasal a bha 'dol a phosadh te nach robh

taitneach le 'chairdean, . . . . .17

Gearan an Anma, . . . . 19

Marbhrann do Thearlach Stiubhart Camshron, . . 21

On Dreaming of a Young Brother who had died shortly before, 22 The Peasant Girl to the Lady, . . . .23

Luinneag a rinn mi uair a fhuair mi Deoch de dhroch Uisge

'an Han6bher, ...... 25

A Fragment, . . . . . . .26

A Christmas Song, . . . . . .27

Verses from my Scrap-Book, . . . . .28

A Response to the Farewell to Edinburgh of Mrs. Harriet

Miller Davidson, . . . . . .29

The Lone Maiden, . . . . . .31

Lines on Bessie G. Colquhoun, . . . .32

Written on a Valentine sent to a Child, . . .32

VI CONTENTS.

PAGE

Lines written near Aultnacraig, Oban, . . .33

Birthday Acrostic, . . . . . .34

Three Sonnets on the Baptism of Edith Constance Colquhoun, 35 The Old Man to his First Love, . . . .36

Lines written at the Grave of the late Sir Duncan Cameron

of Fassifern, . . . . . .37

Oran mu Challart, ...... 39

Am Maraiche 's a Leannan, . . . . .41

Oran do Sgiobair de Chlann-a-mhuirich air an do chuir mi

E61as ann an Lunnainn, . . . .44

Faiite do Mharcus Latharna 's do 'Mhnaoi-Oig Rioghail, . 45 Translation of the above by Sheriff Nicolson, . . 48

Air Latha Orduigh Dhuneldeann, . . . 51

Alone, ........ 52

Lame Willie. A Christmas Ballad, . . . .53

A Christmas Carol, . . . . . .57

Oran mu'n Choinnimh-chomhraidh 'bha ann an Dimeideann

air son Cathair Ghaidhlig fhaotuinn anns an ard-Oil

thigh, . . .... 59

Crcnan an Latha Dhorch, . . . . .60

Translation. Crooning for a Dark Day, . . . . 61

Glassmaking Spiritualised. Written in the Glassworks of

Mr. A. Jenkinson, 10 Princes Street, . . .62

Lines on Edinburgh. Written in Norway, . 64

Death of Dr. Norman Macleod, ... 66

Oran air an 42nd air dhoibh bhi buadhar an Cogadh Ashantee, 67 Oran Dhomhnuill, ...... 69

A Ballad, ... 71

Oran do Thobar a chunnaic mi ann an traigh Loch Eribol, . 81 Freagairt an Tobair,

The Isle of Canna, . . 83

A Ballad, . . 85

On seeing a little Child dying from the effects of Scalding, . 93 Fragment of a Poem written on the Death of D. C., Kilmallie, 94 The Dying Words of Rachel Jenkinson, . . 94

Bowsing the Jib. Dedicted to all the Wives who reform their

Husbands with the spell of Love, 95

Comhradh eadar a'm Bard 's a Chlarsach air a sgriobhadh air

son Comnran Gaidhlig Inbhernis, 96

A Night Song. Written in a Time of Trial, . .100

CONTENTS. Vll

PACK

Conversation between my Pet Linnet and Canary, . . 101

Failte do Lochial agus d'a Mhnaoi-Oig do Lochabar, . . 103

The Blue Banner, . . . . . .105

Duan Gairdeachais do Chomunn Gaidhlig Tnbhirnis, . .106

A Wish for a Friend, . . . . . .108

The Forsaken One to the Dewdrop, . . . .109

Lines on the Death of a Boy, . . . . .110

A Song for the Times, . . . . .11^.

Gran do Chaiptean Sioeal, fear Allt-na-Glaislig, . . 114 Translation by Mr. William Mackenzie, Secretary of

Gaelic Society, Inverness, . . . .116

A Day in the Country in June, . . . .117

Home-Sickness, . . . . . .118

The Mountain Breeze, . . . . . .120

Mo Nighneag Gheal Og, . . . . .121

Alone— in the Twilight, . . . . .122

Sonnet to a Devoted Lady, . . . . .124

To my Muse, on being forbidden by my Doctor to Write, . 124 Wasted Affection, ...... 125

Wasted Affection, . . . . . .126

Oran Gaoil, . . . . . . .128

An larruidh Dhiomhain, . . . . .131

To a Sprig of Heather sent me from a Highland Glen, . 132

TRANSLATIONS.

An Dealachadh Gaidhealach. Le Professor Blackie, . 133

Allt-a'-Chinnaird. Le Professor Blackie, . . .135

Aisling Oisein. Le Professor Blackie, . . .136

Luinneag : Thill, gu'n do thill thu, 'Bhlackie, . 139

GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS,

ORAN DO BHAN-RIGH VICTORIA.

AIR DHOMH AN LEABHAR AIG A M6RACHD RiOGHAIL A LEUGHADH.

FONN: — "Coire Cheathaick." I

CHA'N 'eil Bard riabh a rinn dan duinn,

Gruit no clarsach a sheinxi dhuinn cebl, Air mnaoi ghraidh nach do luaidh le manran

'Us e ga 'h-ard-mholadh inar a b'ebl. Mo chruit-sa, gl^usam a nis do th6udan,

A chum gu h-eibhneach thu 'dheanarah sgebil Mu mhnaoi aillidh a tha gu statail,

Air catliair ardaicht' os ceann gach feoil.

A shliochd nan lebmhann 'bha greadhnach luchairteach,

'S beag an t-ioghnadh ged 'tha thu cbrr, 'S fuil nan Stiubharfcach rioghail cuirteachail

'G eirigh luthchleasach ann 'ad phbr; Ka feara calm' d'am bu duthchas Alba

A dheanamh feara-ghniomh 's a sgapadh bir. Bha'n dream ud ionmhuinn le luchd nan Garbh-chrioch,

'S bhiodh iad 'g an leanmlminn le h-earbsa mhbir.

O 's i do mhathair 'thug dhuinn an oighreachd V

A thog thu 7d mhaighdinn gun mheang, gun bh6ud, . Gu soilleir boisgeil, mar rogha daoimein

A dheanamh soillse 'am measg nan ceud. Am mathas saoibhir, Ian baigh 'us caoimhneis,

'S do rioghachd aoibhneach a luach a se"ud, Gun uaill gun mhbrchuis, Ian tuir 'us eblais,

A rinn do chbmhradh mar chebl nan tend.

r

2 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

'S mar thig an driuchd a nuas le urachadh

Air na flurain 'bhios seargta fann, Thug buaidh do chuir t-sa gu fiorghlan fiughanta

Fas air subhailcean a bha gann. 'S e sud, a Bhan-righ, a chuir ar n-uigh ort,

'Us cha b' e'n crun a bhi air do cheann. 'Us 's e 'chuir cliu ort air feadh gach duthcha,

Mar oiteig chubhraidh de thu is nam beann.

S*~-

O 's mbr an gradh 'thug thu dh'obair Naduir !

'S tha'n aigneadh ard ud ag iarraidh Ibin, Feadh gach ard charraig, gleannan fasachail,

Glac 'us earn mullaich, mam 'us srbn, B' e'n sebmar uasal leat lagan uaigneach,

Le d'ghillean uallach aig do thra-nbin, 'S bu fhluran suaicheant' leat raineach uaine

'S an roid 's an luachair 'bhios anns na loin.

'S a* mhaduinn Shamhraidh cha b'ann na 'sebmar

A gheabhteadh 'bhan-tighearna 'tha mi ?seinn, 'Us grian a' dbrtadh gu boisgeil bbidheach

A gathan brbhuidh air ceo a' ghlinn, Ach 'gabhail sblais 's an urachd ghlbrmhoir

'S ag elsdeachd ceblraidh nan ebinean binn' Le ribheid shiubhlaich a' cur na smuid' dhiubh

Mu thimchioll luchairt nam baideal grinn'.

0 's ioma bliadhna bho'n bha thu caomh leinn,

A chionn mar thaobh thu ri Tir-nam-beann, A chionn do mhiann 'bhi air frith 'us fraoch,

'Us do dhachaidh aobhach 'bhi 'n cois nan gleann Cebl na pioba 'bhi 'd thalla rioghail,

'S ar breacain riomhach 'bhi air do chloinn, Ach thug tlm'n drasda gu tur fo chis sinn,

'Us ghoid air cridh'chan le sgriob de d'pheann.

» 'Us tha mac-talla ri iolach eibhneis

Air feadh nan sleibhteaii 's nam beaimtan cian* 'Us clann nan Gaidheal mar dbaoiiie iotmhor, A gheabhadh fior-uisge mar am miann.

f

ORAN DO BHAN-RIGH VICTORIA. ,

'S do mholadh binn orra fhein 's an tir,

A bhi air a sgriobheadh 'an cainnt nam Fiann,

Is bidh a' Ghaidhlig a nis 'am pris,

Ged a theirteadh uimp' gu'n do laidh a grian.

Co a dh'innseas dhut meud an elbhneis,

A dhuisg an sgeul ud 'am measg an t-sluaigh 1 'S cb a leughas dhut meud ar speis dhut

A mhaldag cheutach nan ioma buadh 1 'Us ma thig namhaid orb nail thair saile

Bheir mic nan Gaidheal dha blar 'bhios cruaidh, Ged 's gann an aireamh, 'us caoraich bhana,

'S gach gleannan ard anns am b'abhaist tuath.

Bu tu 'bhanacharaid, bu tu 'mhathair,

Bu tu ban-righ nam flaithean treun' Gheabh aircich trbcair, 'us truaghain debir bhuat

'Us iochd gheabh fbgraich na'n duthchan cein', Bu tu 'bhean chairdeil do'n f hiuran. aluinn

A chuir le 'ghradh air do laithibh seun, An leug a's luachmhoir' 'bha 'd'choron rioghail,

'S chuir High nan High i na 'choron fhein.

A rbis a's aillidh, a mhiann nan Gaidheal,

Nis guidheam laithean dhut a bhios buan, 'An sith 's an solas, le beannachd sbnraicht'

Le buaidh 'us glbir air tir-mbr 'us cuan ; 'S mar 'chuir thu deadh-shiol 'ad thir 's 'ad theaghlach,

A bhan-righ ghreadhnach, thu 'dheanamh buain', 'S ged dh'fheudas pairt 'bhi gun bhuain an drasd' dheth?

Bidh saibhlean Ian' agad air La-luain.

'S 'n uair 'thig gu d'iarraidh an teachdair' diomhair,

'S is eiginn triall bho gach onoir mhbir, Guidheam Criosta 'bhi 'cumail dion' ort

Fo sgail a sgiath' bho'n is e 'bheir fbir ; 'S mar theid a' ghrian gu Ian dearrsadh sios

Fo chuirtein sgiamhach nam badan bir, Biodh do thriall-sa 'an sgeimh na diadhachd

Gu coron siorruidh 'an rioghachd na glbir' !

GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

DUANAG.

An uair a bha mi mu f hichead bliadhna dh'aois, 's mi sgriob car mios de'n t-samhradh aig an tigh 'an " Coire-bheag," thkinig mo bhrkthair a b'bige la 'bha'n sin dhachaidh as an sgoil, 's thug e orm am fuaghal a bh' agam a chur bhuam, agus mi-f hein ullachadh gu dol a mach leis, ag rkdh gu'm b'fhearr dhomh 'bhi 'g obair air a' bhuntkta na 'bhi 'm shuidhe stigh. " Dian bran air sin a nis," os esan, agus fhad's a bhios, tu ga 'chur ri chelle, gabhaidh mise mo bhiadh. 'S e bh' ann gu'n do thoisich mi mar a leanas : —

FONN : — "An cluinn thu leannain an cluinn tliu"

AN cluinn thu mi, 'Mhali,

Ged tha thu cho ban, 'Ad shuidhe air cathair,

A' fuaghal le snaith'd, Gu'm b'fhearr dhut 'bhi 'mach ud

Ag obair le grab, A' dianamh 'bhuntat' a bhurach.

Na'm fagadh tu Glaschu,

Le 'thatraich 's le 'smuid, 'S gu'n tigeadh tu dh'fhuireach

Gu bunaibh nan stiic, Gu'm biodh tu gu beadrach

Mu " Bheagaig " nan lub, 'S gu'n cinneadh tu 'd fhluran uror.

Us ged tha do ghruaidhean

Cho tana 's cho ban, Gu'm fasadh tu snuaghor

Le buadhan an t-sail, 'S do lebir bl 's a' bhuailidh

De'n chuach-bhainne bhlath— 'S e dh'fhagadh tu laidir luthor.

O, eirich 'us tiugain

'Us theid sinn le che"iF, An airde do'n bhruthach

'An deaghaidh na spreidh', 'Us cluinnidh sinn brain

Bho ebin bheag an t-sleibh, A's binne na teud 's an duthaich.

ORAN.

O, enrich 'us tiugain,

'Us theid sinn do'n bheirm Ag cluith air an leacainn,

Tha gaithean na grein ; Ni thusa na h-braiii,

'S bidh mise ga'n seinn, 'S gu'm bi sinn gu h-eutrom sunntach !

ORAN.

Hi ri gur mi Jtha muladach Leam-fhein 's an t-sebmar uinneagach, 'S mi cuimhneach' air a' bhuidhinn ud 'Tha cuideachd anns A' Charnaich.

Tha Peigi, Mor, 's Catrion' ann, Mo mhathair agus Sin' ami 'S ged tha mo sheanair tri-chasach, Bu bhinn learn f uaim a ghaire.

Hi ri, &c.

Gu'm bi Catriona 'fuaghal, Bho'n chleachd i a bhi nasal ; 'S gur h-ioma fear fo ghrnaman Nach d'fhuair e Jbhi ;cur fainii' oirr'.

Hi ri, &c.

Bidh Mor ag cur ri sguabadh. JS e'n obair 'thug i luaidh dhith ; B'i sid an ulaidh luachmhor Mu'n bhuailidh 'us mu'ii airidh.

Hi ri, &c.

Bidh Peigi dhonn nam mbr-shul Ag cur gach ni 'an ordtigh 'S cha'n fhaicear te a's bbidhche 'An cbmhlan 'am measg Ghaidheal.

Hi ri, &c.

GAELIC AKD ENGLISH POEMS.

Bidh Tearlach bg 'us leabhar aig', A' sraideamachd feadh thomannan, 'Us " Tbiseach " ban a' donnalaich Le gleadhar aig a shailtean.

Hi ri, &c.

Mo mhathair 's i gu h-innleachdach, 'Cur dbigh air bbrda ted dhaibh, 'S an am 'bin 'roinn nam mirean, Cha bu mhisde mi 'bhi lamh rith'.

Hi ri, &c.

MO GHRADH GEAL 'S MO RUN. FONN : — " Mali bheag og."

O, 's fhada bhuan a tha thu,

Mo ghradh geal 's mo run ; Ged b'e mo mhiann 'bhi lamh riut,

'S a ghnath 'bhi riut dluth ; Tha'n saoghal dhomh na sgaile, Gun ni ann a ni stath dhomli, 'S nach clninn mi guth do mhanrain, Mo ghradh geal 's mo run.

O, 's fhada mi bho d'chaoimhneas,

Mo ghradh geal 's mo run, Ged b'e mo chulaidh-aoibhneis

'Bhi sealltainn air do ghnuis ; Do shuil tha mar an oidhche, 'S na re"ultan innt a' boillsgeadh, 'S gur h- eibhinn leam a-soillse, Mo ghradh geal 's mo run.

'S ged 'bhiodh each 'an diiimb rium,

Mo ghradh geal 's mo run, Cha chuireadh sid orm curam

Ach thusa 'bhi rium dluth. Gu'm beil thu dhomh cho uror 'S, a luaidh, a bhiodh do'n fhluran,

VERSES FROM MY SCRAP-BOOK.

Boiim' iocshlainteach an driuchda, Mo ghradh geal 's mo run.

O, 's binn leam-fhin do chbmhradh,

Mo ghradh geal 's mo run, 'S bu mhilse learn na'n smebrach,

An cebl bho d'bhilean ciuin. Gur caoine na na rbsan, Leam d' anail 'us do phbgan, 'S gu'm bi mo luaidh ri m' bheb ort Mo ghradh geal 's mo run !

VERSES FROM MY SCRAP-BOOK.

The following fragments appeared in The Ladies' Own Journal under the above title.

I GAZE towards the glowing east

At morning, noon, and eve, And quietly my soul doth feast

On dreams that fancy weave. Methinks they whisper o'er the tide,

" Come, darling, fly to me ; " And I could think I'm by thy side,

So near I seem to thee.

Oh, would that I could fly to thee,

And nestle in thy breast ! And well I know that I would be

To thee a welcome guest. Oh, were I there, how greedily

I'd kiss thy rosy lips ! As greedy as the hungry bee,

From flowers their nectar sips.

Can an amaranthine flower Bloom within an earthly bower 1

"Whilst the past we calmly scan, Where the flowers that graced life's morning, Seared and scattered, speak in warning,

Dare we think it ever can !

8 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

Let us bind our hearts, my brother, Close to Christ and to each other ;

Then we'll hope our love to be Fadeless in its fresh young beauty, Changeless in its sense of duty,

A green isle in life's rude sea ;

Where, amidst the ceaseless battle, Sabre's flash and cannon's rattle,

Joy may find a keener zest ; Where we with a smile, my brother, Or a word, can cheer each other.

Till we reach the goal of rest.

I want you, dear ones, I want you ;

My soul is day and night Stretching her wings towards you,

As for her homeward flight. But the way is dark and eerie

On which alone I stray, The wings all broken and weary,

And the home far away.

Oh, for one precious golden hour

Beyond yon frowning hill ; Fruit from my own sweet woodland bower,

Drink from its crystal rill ! Where grows no blade nor blossom,

Low on the earth I lie j My wings o'er my bleeding bosom

I fold, and long to die.

Wherefore blame me so for blindly Nursing that which must decay '?

Wherefore bid me so unkindly Thus to cast my flower away ?

All the beauteous things I cherish,

All the poetry of earth, Would with my sweet flow'ret perish,

All the joy and all the worth.

VERSES FROM MY SCRAP-BOOK.

Unto me this plant was given

By His hand who all things know ;

And it must be meant for Heaven, If on earth it cannot grow.

Suffering ones, who oft in weeping Do their seedlings sow and tend,

Still expect a time of reaping,

Trusting Him who knows the end.

So I'll keep my precious flower, Tending it with smile and tear,

Waiting for the golden hour

When its blossoms must appear.

When our heart's deep love is slighted

By those for whose smiles we languish, When our fondest hopes are blighted,

And high swell the waves of anguish, Why should we be found repining

Though our souls are deep in sorrow ? Hope's bright star is sweetly shining

On the pale brow of the morrow.

Though the dearest ties are broken,

Though by all the world forsaken, Though the cruel word is spoken

By the lips that joy could waken, Why should we be found repining 1

Far above each cloud of sorrow Hope's bright star is sweetly shining

On the pale brow of the morrow.

What about life's ceaseless battle ?

Let our course be ever onward ; Words of strife like children's prattle

Sound, when we look sky-ward, sunward. Still there is a silvery lining

To the darkest cloud of sorrow ; Hope's bright star is sweetly shining

On the pale brow of to-morrow.

10 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

CUMHA LE LOCHIAL

AN UAIR A CHUNNAIC E A CHAISTEAL AIR A LOSGADH LEIS NA SAIGHDEARAN-DEARGA, " BLIADHNA THEARLAICH."

AN eiginn dhbmhsa, Triath narn beann, 'Bhi'm fhbgrach fann air feadh nan stuc, 'S gu tosdach sealltainn ort 's do cheaun, A thalla aosda anns an uir !

Loisg na Dearganaich gu lar Gach baideal ard de'n dachaidh ghaoil, 'S an trie a f huair mi fois 'us bias, Air tilleadh dhomh bho ar nan laoch.

'N uair 'thogadh sith a bratach suas 'S a bhithinn-sa le m' thuath-cheathairn' fheiu Tigh'nn luchdaichte gu tur nam buadh Bho'n chreacliann fliuar 's am biodli iia feidh.

Bu phailt am fion 's bhiodh piob air ghleus, 'S i caithreamach mu'r n-euchd 's a' bhlar ; 'S trath 'bheireadh seanchaidh greis air sgeul, Mu ghniomhannan nan treun a bha.

Bhiodh cridh' gach cuiridh laist' na 'chom, 'S e ann am fonn gu 'bhi 's an ar ; Gach Camshronach 's a bhoid gu trom Gu 'ainm 'bhi measg nan sonn 's an dan.

'N uair thogainn-sa mo shrbl a suas

'S crois-taraidh le luas na gaoith',

Ga'n tional gu toiteal nan tuagh,

'S ann riabh gu buaidh a thriall na laoich.

Bha uamhunn air na Goill romh'n ainm, Ged tha 'n diugh pailm Chuil-fhodair ac'. 'S i'm ban-fhuil f hein bhiodh fo na buinn, Na'm biodh ar suinn gu 16ir na'r taic'.

A thaibhse Bhruce dean faire learn, 'Us sileamaid ar debir le cheil'

CUMHA LE LOCHIAL. 11

Chuir d'Albaijin f hein an diugh air chul

• '

Oighre do chruin 's mor am be"ud !

Ceannairc na 'aghaidh cha dian ini, 'S do choigreach mar righ cha lub ; *• 'An aobhar trbcair their iad rium,

Thug iad bho m' Phrionnsa gaoil a chrun.

'An Duitsich no'n Guelphich an d'fhuair Trbcair no truacantas tamh ? — — Na d'ollainnich fhuiltich bho'n uaigh,

'Ghlinn-Comhann, luaidh dhuinn sgeul do chraidh.

'Us eireadh sibhs', a laocha mor A thuit 'an " Cuil-f hodair " nan creuchd ; 'Us innsibh 'n uair a laidh sibh lebint'. Mar rinn an " Cu. " ur febil a reub'.

Bi 'd thosd, mo chridh', 'us sguir a d'thurs' Cha'n am gu tuireadh so no tamh ; Mo chreach mo lamh 'bhi'n diugh gun lus Gu dioghladh air son luchd mo ghraidh.

A dhachaidh aigh 'bu Ian de ghaol

Gach broilleach caomh 'ad thaobh a's teach ;

'S mu'n cuairt do d'theallaich gheabhteadh faoilt',

Leis an aoighe aimbeartach.

Ged 'bhios mi'm fhbgrach thall thair chuan, Cha teid a m' chuimhn' na h-uairean bir, *•' A chaith mi 'measg do thulman uain', O, 'Ach'-na-carraigh, 'm uachdran slbigh.

A nis tha Ibchran seamh na h-oidhch', A' boillsgeadh ort, a Ghlinn mo chridh' ; 'S gur h-e"iginn triall mu'n toir i soills* Do dhaoidhearan a th'air mo thi.

Triallaidh mi gu gleann an fhraoich 'S am beil Prionns' mo ghaoil a' tamh ; Fo cheangal ciuin a chadail chaoin, Ni tamull beag e saor bho chradh.

1860.

12 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

TRANSLATION OF ABOVE.

MUST I the lord of all those hills, A weary, exiled wanderer, roam,

And quietly view thy ruined walls, My own, my loved ancestral home.

The red-coats burned thy lofty dome, Home by a thousand ties made dear,

How glad from war or chase I've come, In thee iny heart to rest and cheer.

When peace did her white banner rear,

And loving vassal and his lord Went forth to hunt the roe and deer,

And turned to grace the festal board.

The blood-red wine in plenty poured, And pibrochs told of battles won,

Whilst " Senachie " would with pride record The mighty deeds our sires had done.

Till martial fire in sire and son

Would burst into one glowing flame,

Whilst vows were breathed by every one, He'd ne'er disgrace the Cameron name.

When time to raise our banner came, And fiery cross had fleetly sped

To call the brave to fields of fame, 'Twas aye to victory we led.

The Southron foe our name did dread, Though now Culloden's palm they bear,

They in their own pale blood might tread, Had all our gallant clans been there.

Come, shade of Bruce, my vigil share, Come o'er ungrateful Scotland, mourn,

She hath disowned thy rightful heir, Indignant fire, my heart doth burn.

CUMHA LE LOCHIAL. 13

To wear a foreign yoke I'd spurn,

Nor 'gainst my lawful king rebel, That crown and sceptre 's from him torn,

For mercy's cause, they're fain to tell.

In Dutch or Guelph doth mercy dwell,

Ye gallant heroes of Glencoe, Arise in gory shrouds, and tell

Your mournful tale of dool and woe.

And rise, ye brave, whose blood did flow

On dark Culloden's dreary moor, And tell how when ye were laid low,

That " Butcher's " hand did stab ye o'er.

Oh, hush, ! my heart, and grieve no more,'

This is no time to sit and rest, I'll hie me to a foreign shore,

And long to get thy wrongs redressed.

Sweet home, within thee every breast

Did glow with love and purity, And round thy hearth the stranger guest

Met kindest hospitality.

And though I roam beyond the sea,

I'll ne'er forget the golden hours When I had ruled — a chieftain free,

'Mong Achnacarry's fairy bowers.

'Tis gore bedews the drooping flowers, That now bedecks each dappled dell

Around thy ruined ancient towers, Home of my heart, farewell, farewell !

Luna's lamp lights up the glen, And I must hide from watchful foes, I'll hie to where my prince has lain In " balmy sleep " to drown his woes.

14 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

LONGING.

How long, O Lord ! how long, Must I in patience wait,

Among the weary throng, Around Thy golden gate ?

To Kedar's lonely tents No kindred spirits come ;

And my poor soul laments Her distance from her home.

On bitter herbs I feed, On Mesech's hated hills ;

The pasture green I need By Judah's fragrant rills.

Come in Thine own time, Lord, To set my spirit free ;

I lean upon Thy word,

And calmly wait for Thee.

LOCHABAR. FONN : — " Tha 'gliaoth niar cJio caithreamach

O, 's ard a tha do bheanntaichean,

'S gur bbidheach fiamh do ghleanntaichean,

;S iad sgeadaichte na'n greannoiread,

'Nuair 'thig an Samhradh birnn.

Gur fraochach, feurach, blath-mhaiseach, Do thulaichean 'us d'aileinean, 'S 'am measg do fhliirain aireamhear An lili ban 's an rbs.

'S a' mhadainn mhuich bu chubhraidh learn Am faile 'us trom-dhriuchd orra, Gu soilleir, braonach, cuirneineach, Ga'n urachadh 's gach por.

LOCHABAK. 15

'S a chluinnteadh an damh cabarrach 'S a' chreachann ard 's a' chamhanaich, 'S e reachdorachd ;s an langanaich, 'S an eilid ghlas na 'choir.

'S na h-uiseagan 's na smebraichean, Le'n ribheid fhein ri canntaireachd, 'S lon-dubh nam pongan seannsaile 'Am barr nan crann ri

Tha abhnaichean de dli-fhior-uisge Tha soilleir mar an criostal innt' 'S bu mhilse learn, 'us iotadh orm, Na'm fion a bhi ga 'bl.

Mo chreach Lbchaidh nam bradan, A bhi'n diugh fo chis aig Sasnnnaich, O, 's trie a dh'iath sar-ghaisgich uimp' Le brataichean 's le cebl.

'S e 'chleachd na h-uaislean Abarach, Le'n tuath-cheathairn' uallaicli, astarraich, 'Bhi 'siubhal ghleann 'us leacainnean, A' sealg air daimh na crbic'.

'S a' tilleadh leis na ghlacadh iad, Gu luchairt ard nam baidealan, Bhiodh piob a' seinn ard-chaisimeaclid, 'Us fion na Spainnt ga 'bl.

Mac Dhbnuill-Duibh 's a laochraidh, Na fir nasal, chairdeil, dhaonnachdail, Lan suairceis, blais, 'us aoighealachd, B'iad gaol nan nionag bg.

O, 's mairg ri'm biodh am baitealaich, Fo'n eideadh bbidheach, breacanadh, 'S piob-mhor nan dluth-phorfc tatarrach, Aig fear 'bu ghraide mebir.

Le'n tuaghannan glan, liomharra, 'S le'n claidhean-mbr nach dibireadh, Cha d'rugadh namh a chiosnaicheadli 'S an strith na feara mbr.

16 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

Ach sgapadh sliochd nan laocha ud, 'S na gleanntan ard 's na h-aonaichean, A chleachd 'bhi Ian cruidh-laogh aca, Tha 'nis air caochladh nbis.

Gun duine air na laraiehean, Ach Goill 'us caoraich bhan aca, 'S Mac-talla searbh dhe'n clabaireachd, Gur Gaidhlitf air 7n romh 'ebl.

AN NIGHEAN DUBH GHRUAMACH.

Ho ro mo nighean dubh ghruamach, An nighean dubh lachdunn, As an Apainn,

B' ait learn fada bhuam thu.

Ho ro mo nighean dubh ghruamach. Ho ro, &c.

A nighean dubh chiar, Ged 'chaidh tu'm lion, Cha b'e mo mhiann do bhuannachd. Ho ro, <fec.

A nighean dubh mhaol, Nan casan caol,

Gur beag 'tha dh'aoigh 's de shnuagh ort. Ho ro, &c.

'S gann do chiabhan, 'S stbrach d'fhiaclan, 'S mor 'tha 'nial an fhuachd ort. Ho ro, &c.

'S cruaidh na 's eiginn, 'S beag mo speis-sa, Cleir 'bhi 'cur snaim-chruaidh birnn. Ho ro, &c.

B'fliearr learn maldag Shunntach, ghaireach 'Sheinneadh dan 'us duan domh. Ho ro, &c.

OR AN. 17

Te 'bliiodh creagan Ga 'binn-fhreagairt, 'N am eadradh na buaile. Ho ro, &c.

Gu'm b' e'n solas 'Bhi ga 'pbgadh, Ann an sebmar uaigneach, Ho ro, &c.

Ged 's e 's dan domh, 'Bhi 'cur fainn' ort, 'S craiteach learn 'bhi luaidh air. Ho ro, &c.

'S le cion abhachd, No cuis'-gaire, Cairear anns an uaigh mi. Ho ro, &c.

ORAN

DO DHUIN'-UASAL A BHA 'DOL A PHOSADH TE NACH BOBH TAITNEACH LE 'CHAIRDEAN.

: — "Seann Triubkas Uilleachain"

THA sgeula anns an tir so, 'S a righ, tha mi muladach, Bho'n chuala mi gur fior e, 'S gur lionmhor leis an duilich e. 'S air learn gu'm beil thu gorach, Ma phbsas tu a' chruinneag so. 'S ma's airgiod 'tha thu'n tbir air,

'S e stbras do dhunach e. O, 's ioma bg-bhean chuimir bhbidheach, Nuas bho d'bige chunnaic thu ; 'S b'onoir mhbr leo fainne-pbsaidh Air am mebir gu'n cuireadh tu,

'S a Dhunnachaidh, tha'n tubaist ort, Gu'n deachaidh burn nan uibhean ort.

18 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

Ma threig thu gu buileach lad, Gu speis 'tlioirt do'n cbruinneig so,

Cha'n 'eil i idir bbidheach, 'Us tlia i gann de dh-fhbghlum, 'Us cha'n 'eil aon ni cbrr aic' De dh-eblas no 'bhunailtas. Cha'n 'eil air a buailidh, Crodh druimionn no crodh guaillionn, 'S cha'n 'eil i de shliochd uaislean — 'S 'de 'bhuaidh oirre chunnaic thu ? Tha sgeula anns, &c.

Gur mor a tlia de ghruaman. Air uaislean 's air cumanta ; 'Am follais 'us 'an uaigneas, Tha'n sluagh uile bruidhinn ort, Thu 'chromadh sios cho fuath'sach, A thogail ni cho suarach, 'S gur h-iomadaidh bean-uasal A bheireadh luaidh le furan dhut.

Tha tamailt na dunach Air do chairdean bu duineile, 'S do naimhdeaii 'g iarraidh fath Air 'bhi 'gaireachdaich umadsa. Mu'm faca tu'n cailin ud, O, 's oil learn nach do thachair e, Thu shebladh do dh- Australia, Ged 'b'fhad thu gun tilleadh as. Tha sgeula anns, &c.

'Fhir mhoir a' bhroillich aluinn, Air sraid gur h-e'ii cuiridh thu ; 'S bho'n 's tu mo charaid' baigheil, 'S e 's dan domh 'bhi duineil riut ; 'S na'm faicinn air do shealbh te 'N uair rachadh i 'ad charbad, Gu'm biodh tu 'd chulaidh-fharmaid, Gu dearbh bhithinn sulasach.

Na' n taobhadh tu ri guamaig Le meas, 'us maise, 's uaisle, "Ri faicinn $i do ghualainn,

GEARAN AN ANMA. 19

'Bhiodh uaill birnn 'us suigeartachd 'S gu'n dianainn-sa gu h-eibhinn, A' chlarsach so a ghleusadh, 'An ait 'bhi 'seinn gu deurach Ri seisd Briogais Uilleachain.

GEAKAN AN ANMA.

GUR h-e dh'fhag an diugh fo chradh mi, Miad a' pheacaidh tha na m' nadur, 'S ged is mor a tha mo ghrain deth Blieir e 'ghnath dhiom ciiis a dh-aindeoin.

Bha mi uair gu h-uror bbidheach, 'Fas a suas 'am measg nan bgan, Meas 'as blath orm mar chbmhla, 'S ebin gu ceblmhor ann am mheangain.

Tha mi'n diugh 'am chrionaich shuaraich, Mi gun mheas, gun duilleach uaine, Mi gun sugh, gun rusg, gun smuaise, Craobh gun snuagh mi 'measg nan cranna.

Salunn mi a chaill a shaillteachd Lili 'shaltradh anns a' chlabar Ciod an t-aon ni a ni stath dhomh, 'S mor an cradh a tha air m' anam.

lleusan a? freagairt.

Cha'n 'eil ni ann a ni stath dhut,

Cha'n 'eil 'feitheamh ach am bas ort,

Fluran briste cha ghabh slanach',

'S cha ghabh saillteachd cur 's an t-salunn.

Ciod an t-aon ni 'chuireadh snuagh

Air craoibh gun rusg, gun sugh gun smuaise,.

Gearrar gu lar leis an tuaigh i,

'S tuitidh i gun truas gu talamh.

'S ged a thk thu tursach, deurach,

'S beag a ni do dhebir de dh-f heum dhut ;

20 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

Ged bu trom 'shil suilean Esau,

Cha robh elbheachd dha 'bhi aithreach.

Creideamh a? labkairt.

'Anma bhochd. ged 'th& thu truagh dheth, Bho'n thainig Geamhradh na gruaim' ort ; Eiridh fhathast grian nam buadh ort, 'S thig ort driuchd a nuas bho Fhlaitheas.

'S bidh tu rithist uror bbidheach, 'S culaidh ort de dhuilleach snbdhor ; 'S cluinnear guthan binii an t-Samhraidh Aotrom ceblmhor ann ad mheangain.

'S math an companach thu, 'reusain, Ach 's trie a bhitheadh tu 's an e"ucoir, Mur dianainn-sa dhut ml 'us leirsinn, 'S nach leiginn do cheum 'am mearachd.

Ach 'n uair 'bhios as-creideamh cbmhl' riut, 'S coltach learn ri luing 'an ceb sibh, Gun chairt-iuil, gun stiuir, gun Ibchran, Gun f hear eblach a ni'n rathad.

Chunnaic mis' thu'n gleann-nan-cnamhan, 'Dusgadh teagaimh anns an f haidhe, 'N uair a sheideadh gaoth nan grasan, 'S ann 'chaidh tu. le d'naire 'm falach.

'S thuirt thu ris a' bhuidhinn dheuraich,

A lean losa 'chaidh a cheusadh,

Nach dianadh e tuille eirigh,

'S nach biodh eibheachd dhuibh na 'bheannachd.

Dh'eigh lehobha bho na h-ardaibh, 'S mar thog Samson geatan Ghasa,

Thoar es' geataichean a' bhais leis,

. .1

'S bha Hosanna 'n cuirt nan aingeal.

'S ioma maide 'bh'aig an diabhul, 'Us a cheann na 'chaoir 's a' ghriosaich, 'Chaidh gu gaisgeil bhuaith' a spionadh, A chur 's an fhionan 's tus' a'fanaid.

MARBHRANN. 2 1

'S iad an diugh na'n ur-chroinn aluinn, Air bruachan na h-aibhne 'm Paras, 'S ainglean ri h-aoibhneas mu'n ailleachd A chuir grasan air gach faillein.

MARBHRANK

DO TH^ARLACH STIUBHART CAMSHRON.

(Mo bhrathair a b'dige.)

'S BEAG ioghnadh ged dhbirteadh mo dhebir-sa gu dluth, 'S mo bhrathair bg gradhach ga 'charadh 's an uir, Anns an fhuar leaba bhuain as nach gluais e 's nacli duisg Gu La-Luain 'n uair a luaisgear an saoghal. Gu La-Luain, &c.

Leigheas air mo lebn cha dian eblas an leigh, 'Fhir nam blath-shuilean mbr 'bheireadh solas do m'chridh', Cha duisgear le cebl thu 's do pbbg cha'n fhaigh mi, 'S trom do shuain stigli fo dhuathar nan craobha. 'S trom do, &c.

'S cha'n ioghnadh, a Thearlaich, do d'mhathair Jbhi 'turs', 'S trom aobhar a craidh 'us do thamh-s' anns an uir, Far nach cluinn i guth manrain bho d'bhlath bhilean ciuin ; 'S fliuch a gruaidh bho'n Diluain 'rinn thu caochladh. 'S fliuch a gruaidh, &c.

Oig uir bha thu fbghluimt' thair mbran de chach, Air cruaidh cheistean domhain bha d'eblas ro ard, Bho d'big', ann an gliocas, 's an tuigs' thug thu barr ; 'S gu'n robh suairceas 'us uaisle 'cur aoigh' ort. 'S gu'n robh, &c.

B'e do mhiann air gach am 'bhi ri rannsachadh g6ur Air nadur gach blath 'bhios a' fas anns an fh6ur ; Air gach aile 's an iarmailt, 's gach miar de'n rian-ghrein ; Och, bu luath 'ruith do chuairt anns an t-saoghal. Och, bu luath, &c.

'S 'n uair a dhianainn-sa duan cha bu duais learn an t-br, Laimh ri thus' 'bhi ga 'selnn 's tu 'bhi eibhneach 'am chebl ;

22 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

Crocbam clarsach nan teud nis air geugan a' bhrbin, 'S gun thu, 'luaidh, ann gu cluas thoirt do m' shaothair. 'S gun thu, 'luaidh, &c.

Shearg ur-rbs ar garaidh — laidh sgail air ar grian, Tobar-sblais ar fardaich air traghadh gun diar — Tobar-gaoil a bha Ian, 's b'e 'bhi pairteach a mhiann, 7S e ino chruadal cho luath 's 'chaidh a thaomadh. 'S e mo chruadal, &c.

Nis ged bhriichdas na flurain romh ghrunnd anns a'

Mhaigh,

'Us na h-ebin a' seinn ciuil air gach dluth mheangan ard, Ar solas cha duisg iad — 's neo-shunntach ar cail, 'S tusa bhuainn an diugh, 'luaidh de na daoine. 'S tusa bhuainn, &c.

Ach ge mbr shin ga d'chaoidh, och, cha'n fliaod sinn 'bhi'n

gruaim, Bho'n 's i toil an A thar naoimh rinn, a ghaoil, do thoirt

bhuainn,

'S sinn 'an dull gu'm beil thu 's an lerusaleim nuaidh, Trid na buaidh' tha'm fuil luachmhor '11 JFhir-shaoraidh. Trid na buaidh', &c.

Soiridh leat, ma ta, 's ged, a ghraidh nach tig thu,

Coinnichidh sinn gun dail ann an aros na muirn',

Far bheil craobh-na-beatha 'fas 's nach tig bas biriine

dluth,

Soiridh bhuan gus an uair sin, a ghaoil, leat. Soiridh bhuan, &c.

ON DREAMING OF A YOUNG BROTHER WHO HAD DIED SHORTLY BEFORE.

AND is this but a dream, my best ?

And art thou not to stay with me 1 And thou in smiling beauty dressed,

As thou wert always wont to be.

THE PEASANT GIRL TO THE LADY. 23

A clustering mass of golden brown Falls o'er thy forehead high and fair ;

A halo bright — a nobler crown — Is shining on thy beauteous hair.

Serenity sits on thy brow,

And truth beams in thy clear glad eye ; All traits that nobleness avow

Do in each speaking feature vie.

Thirsting for wisdom's every rill

Long ere the down was on thy cheeks,

Thou fain would'st climb the towering hill Where knowledge to her votaries speaks.

The mount was steep, and eager thou ;

The labour wasted thy sweet breath. Bright-gifted youth, alas ! that thou

Art laid so low to sleep in death !

'Midst joys no earthly tongue can count,

A citizen thou art enrolled, Where wisdom thou drink'st at the fount,

And knowledge all her gems unfold.

No prison-house of fragile clay

Now breaks the pinions of thy soul ; No trammelling to clog the way,

Or keep thee from thy glorious goal !

Then, Charlie, brother dearest, best !

I would not have thee stay with me ; Hie, hie, then to thy glorious rest,

And I will seek to follow thee !

THE PEASANT GIRL TO THE LADY.

WITHIN yon old baronial hall, Rich mantled o'er by ivy green,

Methinks I see thee sit, in state, Fair lady, in thy silken sheen.

24 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

The costly diamonds in thine hair Are gleaming in each golden braid,

Thy form so stately, gayly draped With costly velvet and brocade ;

Whilst I alone upon the hill

The wild rose in my hair do twine ; I fain would ask thee, lady fair,

Hast thou a nobler soul than mine ? I love my God, I love my queen,

My friend, my country, all my race ; I fear for nought, I've stood serene

When death had met me face to face.

I'd on my foe no vengeance wreak,

I'd scorn an action that was mean, I would not tread upon a worm,

Nor would I cringe before a queen. No gold have I, no costly gems,

No servile host my smile to woo, My riches are the wealth of love

I daily get from not a few.

Away in yonder old grey church,

As we one day sat side by side, I thought about the social gulf

That widely did us twain divide. And yet the gulf yawns not so wide,

But fools may bridge it with their gold ; How oft to an aspiring " Jeames '

Has Lady " Angeline " been sold.

But if beneath thy costly robe

Thy heart beats true, with kindness fraught, If innate greatness fills thy soul

With high resolve and lofty thought, Then, standing on the ground of mind,

The gulf is spanned 'twixt thee and me ; In heart and soul the peasant girl

Dares to claim sisterhood with thee.

LUINNEAG. 25

LUINNEAG.

A RINN III UAIR A FHUAIR MI DEOCH DE DHRCCH UISGE 'AN HAN6BHER.

FONN : — 0 hi-rl, ho raill 6, Raill 6, ho raill 6; 0 hi-ri, ho raill o, Mo chridhe trom, 's cha neonach.

'S e 'chuir mis' a dhianamh duain 'Mhiad 's a chuireadh orm de ghruaim, Leis an deoch de uisge ruadh A f huair mi 'an Hanbbhar.

O hi-ri, «fec.

'S ainneamh 'chaochail smth. os cionn A' chl&bair a bha ann an grunnd Na h-aibhne a bha 'ruith gun sunnt Le burn nach tugadh solas.

O hi-ri, &c.

Coma leam an t-uisge glas, Coma leam a dhreach 's a bhlas, 'S mor gu'm b'fhearr na feadain bhras A thig bho chais' nam mbr-bheann ! O hi-ri, &c.

Cha robh fionnarachd ann riabh Mar 'bha'n sruthanan nan sliabh, 'Chuireadh fallaineachd 'an cliabh Gach iotmhor a ni bl asd'.

O hi-ri, &c.

'S i mo run-sa Tir-nam-beann — Abhainn fhior-uisg' anns gach gleann ; Torman binn aig mile allt, 'S iad mar bhean-bainns' 'n brdugh ! O hi-ri, &c.

Cbmhdach min-fhebir air gach bruaich, Laist' ]e rbsan 's bbidhche snuagh ; 'S gur h-iocshlainteach a sruthain fhuar, Nach cruadhaich a' ghaoth-rebite. O hi-ri, &c.

26 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

A thir an fhior-uisg', 'thir mo cliridh', 'S beag an t-ioghnadh ged a bhiodh An ros 's an lili ag cur strith 'An gruaidhean mine d'bigridh ! O hi-ri, &c.

'S neartmhor d'osag learn, 's gur h-iir Ag eirigh luchdaiclite le tuis, 'N uair 'tlia 'ghrian ag bl an driuchd Bho d'thrusgan flurach, bbidheach. O hi-ri, &c.

Cha b'iqghnadh Debrsa 'bhi 'an diumb Ris an Og d'an d'thug tbu run ; Bu tu'n neamlinaid ann a chrun, A's cha b'i duthaich 'bige.

O lii-ri, <fec.

'S ged tlia mis' an so air chuairt, Tha * Gleann-Comhann ' eutrom luath ; 'S 'n uair a tlieid a siuil a suas, 'S ann tuath a iii i sebladh.

O hi-ri, &c.

'S 'n uair 'ruigeas mi tir an aigli, Tir mo dhaimh 'us luchd mo ghraidh, Naile, the"id mi-fhin gun dail, A dh'bl mo shath a Lbchaidh. O lii-ri, &c. HAKBURG, HANUBHER, Meadhon an Fhoyladr, 1866.

A FRAGMENT.

WE meet with thousands in the world

Whose friendship we would never woo, Whose sympathy we could not brook,

Their pity would but gall imbue. Sometimes we meet with those to whom

Mysterious cords our spirits bind ; Friendship or love comes at the call

Of that sweet something undefined.

A CHRISTMAS SONG. 27

One look in which the souls have met

Can make a stranger's image prove A changeless bliss within our breasts,

Embalmed in its own silent love. A voice wakes in our hearts a chord

We ne'er again can hush to rest ; Its music like some mystic psalm

Comes whispering o'er life's cheerless waste.

A CHRISTMAS SONG.

COLD winter from his icy throne was banished, And spring's pale beauties came in joy to reign ;

The summer roses sweetly bloomed, then vanished, And winter sways his blighting power again.

Another page of life's brief record written,

The same old mingling of our smiles and tears ;

Of joys by sorrows from their bowers beaten, Of love and gladness chased by cares and fears.

The bridal pomp forgotten on the morrow

Amidst the sable pageantry of woe ; Next day love's kisses on the cheek of sorrow

Making joy's embers into brightness glow.

Change is the law by nature's changeless order, But sin is not; and, in the race we've run,

"We've filled the pages of the stern Recorder

With wrong things cherished, duties left undone.

We've joyed to sit in judgment on another, And cast our stones in Pharisaic pride ;

Forgetting, in our zeal to slay a brother, Our own Cain hearts with lusts uncrucified.

Our sword and shield laid down, at honour's peril, To some vain idol, lightly to carouse ;

Or lost, through listlessness, the victor's laurel That angel hands held ready for our brows.

28 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

Some trodden gem lay at our feet unheeded.

Whilst, in our blindness, we have cherished stones ; We freely poured our balm where 'twas not needed,

Deaf to the wounded's bitter cries and moans ;

Crushed tender buds that fain would bloom for heaven, Struggling for life among the thorny sod ;

Hushed the faint notes to some frail wanderer given, To pour his paean on the ear of God.

On Caesar's shrine we've laid our temple shekel ;

Faith's wings are trailing, and our aims are low ; A mystic finger on each act writes "Tekel,"

And motives blackened what we deemed like snow.

Ah ! what a retrospect ! — ah ! what a reck'ning !

With feet unwashed, soiled robes, and broken palms, Whilst crowned saints our souls are daily beckoning

To where they sing their hallelujah psalms.

O Thou whose majesty and holy grandeur

Made even the smallest of Thy deeds sublime,

Who walked the earth in truth's un borrowed splendour, Our great Example to the end of time.

Ashamed we cower 'neath Thy robe of whiteness, Praying each passing year us all to find

Nearer the image of Thy glorious brightness, In sinless lives and loftiness of mind.

VERSES I ROM MY SCRAP-BOOK.

WHEN the aching soul is holden

In the darkness that enshrouds, Not a gleam of sunshine golden—

Not a rainbow in the clouds. Oh, the anguish ! oh, the sorrow,

Of the burden borne alone, Of the grief for which no morrow

Gives a promise to atone !

A RESPONSE TO THE FAREWELL TO EDINBURGH. 29

When we can our wounds discover,

All our heart-aches and our pain, Unto friend or unto lover,

'Tis like sunshine 'midst the rain. And the words so kindly spoken,

And the warmly beaming eye, Turn our sorrow to a token

Of a love that cannot die.

JTis the sigh that comes unbidden

From the soul by anguish torn ; 'Tis the grief that's deeply hidden,

When the mask of smiles is worn ; 'Tis the silent pain that shatters,

When the soul must make each flower That upon the grave she scatters

Seem to grace a festal bower.

A RESPONSE TO THE FAREWELL TO EDINBURGH

OF MRS. HARRIET MILLER DAVIDSON.

FARE-THEE-WEEL, my songbird,

My blessing gang wi' thee, Gentle be the breezes

That waft thee ower the sea.

'Maiig a' so fair and lovely

Thou sweetly sang as mine, Nought had a grace or beauty

That brighter shone than thine.

I've watched thee in thy childhood,

So fu' o' life and glee, A bonnie bud o' promise

On a grand old forest tree.

Thy beauty brought a gladness, A freshness day by day,

30 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

Like the first rose that blossoms On the bosom o' the May.

A freshness aye that made me think

O' sunshine and o' flowers, O' warbling birds and gushing streams,

And fragrant summer bowers.

Thine eye so kindly beaming Gave a more beauteous licht

Than ony star that sparkles In the jewelled croon o' nicht.

And when a thochtfti' matron, Wi' thy bairnies in thine arms,

A softer flood o' sunlicht Was haloing thy charms.

A child in sweet simplicity,

A maiden's witchin' wiles, A woman's noble tenderness,

An angel's loving smiles.

Return again, my songbird,

And warble fu' o' glee, Come, gladden my auld heart again,

Lang, lang, afore ye dee.

Tho' thou mayst spend in exile

Thy glorious harvest time, Oh, come and pass thy winter

In thine own native clime.

And tho' youth's passion may be chill, Thoul't get a welcome hame ;

I'll weave a boiinie chaplet To croon my child of fame.

And I will keep a quiet nook Within my auld grey breast,

Where thou, my ain dear bairn, mayst sleep, And nought disturb thy rest.

THE LONE MAIDEN. 31

THE LONE MAIDEN.

YOUR history, oh, transient flowers of earth !

Is beautiful and brief; Oft whilst your buds are in their early birth

Pale death assails the leaf.

Even so has passed away my joyous dream ;

There is nought remaining now But the shaded light that its golden gleam

Has left upon my brow.

And the sore pain that, like a wearied steed,

Would fain lie down to sleep. Whilst memory maddens it anew to speed,

Planting her rowels deep.

Speed on, mad pain, and beat thou down the heart-

The brow can still be calm ; Though memory often acts a cruel part,

She gives me soothing balm.

For all that she to my soul recalls

Of those dear bygone hours Is pure as the taintless dew that falls

Upon the silent flowers.

It is not conscience gives the aching wound

That crimsons thus my vest ; I'd rather treading on the thorns be found,

Than plant them in my breast.

O'er them I followed duty's cheerless face

With feet that sorely bled, Whilst love was beckoning with a winning grace,

To where her flowers were spread.

'Tis hard the gift that gold could not have bought

Was lavished in vain, 'Tis bliss to know my soul without a blot,

My hand without a stain.

32 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

LINES

ON BESSIE G. COLQUHOUN.

IN beauty on its parent stem

I saw a bright wee rosebud smile, A lovely fragrant little gem,

I watched its opening for a while. I wished to screen my fragile flower

From wintry winds, from frosts and snows, To keep it in some sunny bower,

A precious amaranthine rose.

A voice said, Hush ! dost thou not know

No amaranth on earth can bloom ; Death breathes on all things here below,

The world's one universal tomb. The rain will on thy blossom beat,

The tempest ruffle its repose ; But yet the sun will give its heat,

The dew its vigour, to thy rose.

Ask nought ; but when its leaves will fall,

In nature's course, into the grave, 'Twill have so richly bloomed that all

Will miss the gladness that it gave ; And when in the great spring again

Thy bud its beauties shall disclose, That by life's river it may then

Be found an amaranthine rose.

WRITTEN ON A VALENTINE SENT TO A

CHILD.

MY sweet wee rosie posie dear,

My fairy queen of flowers ; My violet, bright and beautiful,

In childhood's golden bowers. My little ducksadearie,

'Mong all the gems that shine ; My piccaniny, pure and blest,

Wilt be my valentine ?

LINES WRITTEN NEAR AULTNACRAIG, OBAN. 33

Tho' I'd not wound my valentine

With Cupid's fiery dart, I'd like a little corner in

My chickabiddy's heart. I do not want the little fay

For life to be my rib, But I'd like a little prayer at night

From Bessie's little crib.

LINES WRITTEN NEAR AULTNACRAIG, OBAN.

O'ER Morven's peaks bright glowed the golden west,

And I sat down upon a heath-clad hill To list the brook sing its sweet psalm of rest,

As on it rippled past the silent mill. So full of glory was the gorgeous scene,

Where seemed the beauties of all lands combined, The gay heath 'mong a thousand shades of green,

The ivy around tre^e and rock entwined.

The music of the bee, the bird, the brook,

The mirrored sea, where mountains gazed with pride, The hoary crag, the flower-bedappled nook,

The stately trees thro' which the zephyrs sighed. The crystal fountains and the fragrant air,

So cool and pure, and as the sun went down, The lingering glory crowning every where

The lovely braes beyond sweet Oban town.

The brook was hymning to the old grey mill,

As on it rippled to the silvery sea, And I beheld another on the hill

Who seemed to listen to its minstrelsy. Strangely in keeping with the scene sublime,

His flowing locks bathed in the mellow light Like some grand chieftain of the olden time

Taking his rest from weary chase or fight.

Friend of our mountain land, our tongue, our race, The sunbeams haloing thine hoary head

34 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

Are not the noblest crown that doth thee grace, Learning and virtue round thee virtue shed.

When musing in those bowers at morn or eve, Tho' fancy with her beauteous wings a-fold

No longer youth's own fairy visions weave,

Be thine, O Blackie, countless thoughts of gold.

From the rich chalice of the ancient sage,

Get precious draughts for the aspiring youth, Unseal the beauties of the classic page,

To fire his soul with nobleness and truth. Then bright young reapers to the harvest come,

Led by thine eye will bind their golden sheaves, And when they sing their joyous harvest home,

They'll bless the hand that gave their laurel leaves.

BIRTHDAY ACROSTIC.

W ALLACE, be thou as Wallace brave,

A s Wallace be thou good and great,

L oyal and noble, kind and grave ;

L ove all that's good, the evil hate.

A s God gives spring her countless leaves,

C rowns summer with the fragrant rose,

E nriches autumn with her sheaves,

K eeps for the winter frosts and snows, E ven so thy spring be glad dear boy, N o blighting frost of care or pain, T hy manhood crowned with purest joy.

C hoice be thy store of garnered grain ;

O f winter days we must not dream ;

L o, golden crocus, snowdrop white,

Q uickly upspring where sun's warm beam

U pon the earth pours silvery light ;

H ow bright the promise, and how blest !

O h ! may it to fruition rise,

U ntil, earth's birthdays o'er, thou'lt rest

N ear to God's throne in Paradise !

THREE SONNETS. 35

I.

EDITH, sweet child, as on thy fair young brow So softly falls the pure baptismal shower,

May Heaven record and seal the solemn vow, And bless thee with a more than earthly dower.

Not as the insect of the passing hour, That lightly dances in the noonday ray,

Nor as the summer's gaily painted flower, That gives its gladness but one fleeting day.

Be thy life, Edith, good and pure alway ; In storm or calm mayst thou be ever found A noble woman treading duty's round,

Strong as an oak — soft as the rose of May. Enjoy thy youth — be happy ; yet maintain A soul washed pure from sin's defiling stain.

ii. Pure as the snow upon the mountain top,

Be thou, sweet child, thro' all the changeful years, Life-giving as the evening's crystal drop

To those the hot noon of the world sears ; Breathing all sweetness that a soul endears

To Heaven's white throng or to the good on earth, Soothing rude sorrows, smiling away tears,

Making an Eden round their own dear hearth,

Where wisdom, smiling amidst thoughtful mirth, Will clothe thee in serenity and peace ; From carking cares will give thy soul release.

Duties well done to daily joys give birth. The wealth won in the shadow of the Cross Makes crowns and empires seem but passing dross.

in. I might have wished thee a more joyous life,

Queen-leader of the festive throng or dance, Instead of urging thee unto the strife

To fight life's battles with thy fragile lance.

36 GAELIC AXD ENGLISH POEMS.

But, ah ! fair maiden, as 1 upward glance

Towards yon beautiful blue starry dome, And think that we can live our lives but once,

I fain would keep thee treasured in thine home ;

The world's touch upon thee lighter than foam That leaves no impress on the silvery tide ; Thy pure affections filling a circuit wide ;

Thine heart from its true pole-star ne'er to roam ; Pouring thy spikenard on His blessed head, Whose wounds to wash thee have so freely bled.

THE OLD MAN TO HIS FIRST LOVE.

OH, when the day of passion 's fled,

And softly by life's gliding river We gather flowers to grace our dead,

From all but mem'ry gone for ever, The fairest wreaths I'll daily twine

Of every tender leaf and blossom To lay upon the hidden shrine,

Still sacred to thee in my bosom.

Though life's bright noon hath passed away,

With all its tales of love unspoken, My beauteous rosebud, 'neath its ray,

Untimely fallen, crushed, and broken, I'll keep its seared and withered leaves,

And find in them as pure a pleasure As doth the farmer in his sheaves —

The generous autumn's golden treasure.

Thy love has kept me oft from ill,

When I afar in youth went roaming, And thy sweet power is on me still,

When walking softly through life's gloaming ; Thy mem'ry kept my spirit young,

For still I felt I was thy lover ; And how could I, sweet, e'er do wrong,

Believing thou didst near me hover 1

SIR DUNCAN CAMERON OF FASSIFERN. 37

For thou so gentle wert and pure,

And now, when other ties have bound me, No mortal band seems to endure

Like that in which thy love hath wound me. As through a sacred fane, I rove

Where thou didst first my fancy capture, And though we never spoke of love—

Ah ! well we knew the passion's rapture.

Adown by yonder crystal brook

I see thee yet among the flowers — Thy beaming smile, thy radiant look—

A fairy in her woodland bowers j And in the bonnie hazel dell

I hear the music of life's morning — Thy voice, with all its softening spell,

Comes o'er the waste of years returning.

I hear it whispering in the trees,

And as to list its tones I linger, I seem to think the wooing breeze

The touchings of thine angel finger. Good night, my love ! I soon will sleep ;

And, oh ! how blest will be the waking — No more to part, no more to weep —

When the eternal morn is breaking !

LINES

WRITTEN AT THE GRAVE OF THE LATE SIR DUNCAN CAMERON OF FASSIFERN.

OH ! soundly sleep, thou noble Chief, In Callart's fragrant greenwood shade,

Full many a heart was fraught with grief, When thou in thy low bed was laid.

Oh ! soundly sleep, and gladly wake,

Thou scion of a lordly race, Whose frown the battlefield would shake,

Whose smile a royal court would grace.

GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

Laid low by no untimely stroke, But ripe in honours as in years,

Though stately bough of the great oat, That ages to our land endears.

Friend of the poor in time of need, Thou laid'st the topstone on the cairn

Of many a good and gallant deed Done by the house of Fassifern.

The house that gave brave heroes birth — Whose banners waved in many a clime —

The flowers of chivalry and worth —

Who made whate'er they touched sublime.

Sprung from Lochiel — their heroes shed A halo round that martial name ;

And gathered flowers, where'er they led, For proud Britannia's wreath of fame.

The good Sir Ewen's counsel sage

Did oft the poor from wrong defend ;

The guide of youth, the crutch of age, Oppression's foe, and virtue's friend.

And thou, of his brave sons the last, A harvest rich of love didst reap,

Then smiling o'er thy labours past, So calmly went in peace to sleep.

The woodland choir with songs will haunt Thy lone home by the silvery sea,

Whose rippling waves so quaintly chant Their low sweet requiem to thee.

The flowers that bloom around thy grave — The fragrant birch at morn and even,

Sweet incense from their censers wave Memorials of thee to heaven.

And tho' the wild bog-myrtle now

Is 'mong thine ancient oak-wreath twined,

May she who wears it on her brow Have honour, love, and joy combined.

ORAN MU CHALLART. 39

Sole daughter of thine house so true, From many a loyal chieftain sprung,

Who ruled in power when lords were few, And by a thousand bards were sung !

ORAN MU CHALLART. FONN : — " Or an nigheanfir Gheambaill"

Mo chruit chiuil le mbrchuis duisg, 'Us seinn gu siublach rann domh, 'S le mbran muirn gu'n innsinn cliu Air bruthaichean lurach Challart : B'e miann gach sul' a ;bhi dhut dluth, 'Us tu na d'chulaidh ghreadhnaich, 'An tus an Ogmhios 'us d'ur chbt' Lan nebnain agus shobhrach.

Gur bbidheach grian re fad an Ib, Gu h-brbhuidh air do chluaintean, Mar adharc-pailtis, 'taom gun airc ort Gach maise, a chualas, Gheabhadh am fear anmhann cail, 'S an f haileadh ghlan, gun truailleadh 'Tha 'measg do thulman, uaine, feoir 'S na rbsan, tha mu d'bhruachan.

O,'s beag a chailleas tu de d'sgiamh,

Ged dh'f halbhas fiamh an t-Samhruidh.

'S gach craobh dhiot snuaghmhor leis an uaine

Tha suaicheanta le sebrsa,

Bagailtean ruiteach air caoran,

'S fraoch na 'chulaidh-bhainse

'S ged thig le gruaiin a ghaillionn fhuar

Cha laidh ort tuar a' Gheamhraidh.

'S ann air do phaircean molach febir, A's lodail a bhios cruachan, 'Us air do dhailthean bhios an t-arbhar. Diasach, tarbhach, smuaiseach.

4:0 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

Mnathan gu luinneagach, gniomhach, 'Leagadh sios nan sguab dheth 'S an f hull chraobhach le teas iomairt A' mire na'n gruaidhean.

'S gur a bliochdor, laoghmhor, torrach, Do mhonaidhean sgiamhach, Feurach fuaranach gach coire, 'S am faighteadh am fiadhach, Tarmachain nan creachann fuara, An coileach-ruadh, 's an liath-chearc, 'S air do shealgair dol ri d'gharbhlach Clia Bhiodh 'fhalbhan diomhain.

B'e cebl mo ghaoil a bhi mu d'raoin, Ag eisdeachd laoidh na'n alltan, Cruitearachd mhilis an Ibin-duibh, 'S oraidean na smebraich, TJiseag 'dbrtadh blio na nebil oirnn Oran nach 'eil cainnt orr', 'S iad mar gu'n cual i pong no dha Bho chlarsichean nan ainglean.

'S ann air do lar tha 'n t-aitreabh aillt'

'S am faighteadh gradh 'us faoilteachd

Bhiodh cebl na piob, 'us cuirm gun dith

'S an arois ghrinn ri f haotainn,

Aig sliochd nan armunn b'iad 's an arf haich

Meangain ard na laochraidh,

Ursannan-catha na gaisge,

'S brataichean ga '11 sgaoileadh.

Cha 'b aim mar rainich, no luachair, 'Hum ur n-uaisle cinntinn, Daragan aosinhor na h-Alba, B' ainmeil anns gach linn sibh, Ceannardan buadhmhor nam feachda Mu ?m beil eachdraidh sgribhte, A leanadh tre dhiachainn an ceartas, 'S g'am bu reachd an fhirinn.

AM MARAICHE 's A LEANNAN. 41

Ged dli'fhalbh na daragan rioghail, 'Sheasadh sinn na 'r cruadal, Dh' f hag iad againn na fluraiii A's fiughaile buadhan, Rbsan air broilleach a' Cheitein, 'Chinn bho gheugaibh uaibhreach, 'S bho 'n dian fhathasd fiurain cirigli, Le treine an dualchais.

'S bho'n a dh'fhag mi tir mo ghaoil,

Gur h-ioma taobh 'bha m' fhalbhan,

Bho'n t-Suain, 'us Lochlunn, 's an Olaiiit,

An Fhraing mhbr's a' Ghearmailt,

Cha shasaich am briaghad mo shuil,

Ged 's pluranach neo gharbh iad,

'S mi 'cuimhneachadh d'fhalluinn 's a' Cheitein

Le seudan a' dealradh.

AM MARAICHE 'S A LEANNAN. FONN : — " Nighean bhdn Dhail-an-eas."

0, 's mairg tha'n diugh feadh garbhlaich,

'S ri falbhan 'am measg fraoich ; 'Us gaithean grein' gu h-brbhuidh

A' dbrtadh air gach taobh. Gu'm b'fhearr a bhi air barr nan tonn

Air long nan cranna caol ; 'S a' faicinn nan sebl ura

Ri sugradh anns a' ghaoith.

O, 'fhleasgaich big, gur gbrach learn

Do chbmhradh anns an uair, An fhraoch-bheinn ghorm ga 'samhlachadh

Ri gleanntan glas a' chuain ; 'S gur trie a 's aobhar caoinidh learn

A h-aon dh'an d'thug mi luaidh, 'Bhi as mo shealladh iad air falbh

Air bharraidh garbh nan stuadh.

42 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

A rimhinn bg dh'aii d'thug mi gaol,

B'e 'bhi ri d'thaobh mo mhiann, Bho'ii chiad la riabh thug mi dhut speis,

Bu tu mo reul 's mo ghrian, Ach taobh ri taobh, a luaidh ri d'ghaol,

Tha m'aigne 'g aomadh riabh. Gu marcachd nan tonn dubhghorm

A dh-aindeoin dudlachd shian.

O, learn bu mhiann a bhi 's an luing,

'S an stiuir a bhi na m' laimh, An uair 'bhios muir gu nualanach,

Na 'glinn 's na 'stuadhan ard, A' bruchdadh barra-gheal fo a srbin,

JS le crbnan seach a sail ; I 'g eirigh eutrom air gach tonn,

'Us fonn oirre ri gair'.

I 'g elrigh eutrom air an t-snamh,

Mar eala bhain 's a' chaol ; Gach sgbd aice a mach gu 'cheann,

'S gach sebl a' tarrainn gaoith' ; I 'falbh le cuinnein fiadhta

Thair tuinn a b'fhiadhaich gaoir, Mar steud-each cruidheach, uaibhreach,

A thug mu 'chluasa 'n taod.

'Us ged a bhruchdadh gaothan birnn

Le neart nam Faoilleach fuar, 'Us toirm na bagairt' basmhoire

'Bhi 'm bairnich ard nan stuadh, Le marachd mhath 'us curam,

Gheabh an iubhrach ghasd a' bhuaidh ; 'S thig fearalachd ;us mbralachd

Hi linn na comhstrith cruaidh'.

'S an uair a thigeadh siochaint,

'S a bhiodh grian a' dearrsadh caoin ;

Gu'm b'aotrom 'bhi le cebl 'us sunnt 'Cur siuil ri slatan caoil ;

AM MARAICHE 's A LEANNAN. 43

'S an uair a bhiomaid diomhanach,

Mo dhriamlach thair a taobh, ' Us mi gu h-ait a' seinn le fonn,

"Mo nighean donn mo ghaol."

" 0, 'bigeir uir, nach eisd thu rium,

Ged 's mbr do speis do'n chuan, Cha mhair an bige daonnan,

'S 'n uair 'thig an aois le gruaim, Gur bochd an obair seann-duine

'Bhi mach fo ghreann nan stuadh Fo chathadh geal nam bbc-thonna

Tre'n oidhche rebdhta f huair.

" O, 's mairg ri dorchadas 'us stoirm,

'Bhios air a' chladach leis Na gairdeanan 'bha laidir

Air failneachadh gun treis', Tigh-soluis air an fhuaradh,

'Us gaoth a's cruaidhe fead Ga 7n sparradh chum an fhuathais

'S an long mu'n cuairt cha leig."

" 0, 'ainnir dbonn, na sil do dhebir,

Mu bbrbn nach tig a chaoidh. Tna'n ti a' riaghladh air a' cbuan,

'Tha 'riaghladh cluaintean fraoich ; 'Us ged, a luaidh, a thriallas mi

Gu oirean cian an t-saoghail, Le 'thoil-san thig mi sabhailte

Gu broilleach blath mo ghaoil.

" 'Us ged a's goirt an dealachadh,

Bidh 'n coinneachadh d'a reir, 'S ar cridheachan 'an dealas ur

A' dluthachadh ri cheil', 'An gaol gun mheirg, gun fhailneachadh

Ach mar a bha gun bh6ud ; Gach turus-cuain ga 'urachadh

A mhuirneag a' chuil reidh."

44 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

ORAN

DO SGIOBAIR DE CHLANN-A-MHUIRICH AIR AN DO CHUIR MI E6LAS ANN AN LUNNAINN.

FONN : — "Gaol am Peutonach sughor"

'S ANN an Lunnainii nan stiopall,

Baile rioghail nan uaislean, 'Fhuair mi eblas 'us cairdeas

A' Ghaidhil 'bha suairce ; 'S beag ioghnadh an t-armunn

A bhi ailleasach, uasal, 'S e de shiol nam fear sgairteil

'Thogadh bratach fo Chluainidh.

Sgiobair calm a, glan, cuimir,

Dh'am b'aithne luingeas a shebladh ; Cha'n ann mu thimchioll nan cuiltean,

'S nan stucanna cebthar ; 'S ann a thairneadh tu 'cursa

Air gach duthaich fad bho d'eblas; 'S thilleadh dhachaidh gu buadhar

Dh'aindeoin nuallan thonn mbra.

Thoir mo shoiridh le beannachd

Dh'ionnsaidh Thearsanaich loinneil, Le durachd 'us failte

Anns gach aite 's an coinnich : 'S e mo ghuidhe gu'm buain e

Meangan uasal gun choire, Air 'na leag e a shuil

'Am barr urail na coille.

'S math learn agad a'mhaighdeann,

Bho'n 's i daoimein na tir' i ; 'S ged nach f haigh thu leath' saibhreas,

Gheabh thu oighreachd 'bhios priseil : Gheabh thu grinneas 'us suairceas,

Mathas, nails', a,gus siochaint, Bean nihaiseach ri d'ghualainn

Nach cuir bruaidlein air d'inntinn.

FA1LTE DO MHARCUS LATHARNA. 45

Suil mar dhearcaig a' bhruthaich,

Fait mar f hitheach nam mbr-bheann ; Mar shuth-chraobh tha a bilean,

Bho am mills na pbgan ; Agliaidh mhalda gun ghruaman,

Aig a' ghruagaich 'dh'f has mbthar ; 'S i a' dearbhadh a dualchais

Ann a gluasad gu cbmhnard.

Lamh 'chur grinneis air eideadh,

'S a dhianadh (hichd leis an t-snathaid ; 'Dhianadh sniomhach, na'm b'fheum e,

Cho math ri peurlainn no f aitheam ; I tuigseach na 'cbmhradh

Banail, mbthar, gun f haillinn ; 'S bho'n is math learn air dbigh thu,

Guidheam coir dhut air Mairi.

FAILTE DO MHARCUS LATHARNA 'S DO 'MHNAOI OIG RIOGHAIL.

CHUALAS iolach ann an Alba, Caismeachd:buaidh' air feadh nan garbh-chrioch, Piob gu tartarach anns na gleannaibh, Teintean-eibhneis air na beannaibh, Srannraich bhratach air na gaothaibh, Caithream aig Mac-talla aosda, 'N uair a shaoil sinn e gun luthas, 'Caoidh a chanain 's cloinn' a dhuthcha, B' ard-ghuthach e 'gabhail brain, 'Seirm gu binn le mic na h-bige. Spioraid aosmhoir tir nan Gaidheal, Ciod an diugh a's fath do 'n ghairich, 'Dhuisg thu cbmhdaichte le aighear, As an uaigh 's an robh thu 'd 'chadal 1 'S cb chuir ort an coron eibhneis, Le lainnir Jtha dalladh na leirsinn 1

4:6 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

II.

Thuirt an t-Aosd', 's e crath' le mbrchuis A leadan aighearach bbidheach, Tha toil-inntinn air mo chuartach', Mar bhruchdadh barra-gheal nan stuadhan, Mar dheoch fhior-uisge do 'n phaiteach, Mar mhiar ealanta air clarsaich, Mar bhroilleach gaoil do' n truaghan fhbgracli, 'Toirt iocshlainte do 'anam lebinte. Thainig sgeul a dhiiisg mo chridhe, 'S a chnir mi gu muirn 's gu mire, v Mar stoirni nan tonn mbr a' gleachdraich, 'S an Fhaoilleach ann an Coire-bhreacain. Tha gair nan c6ud mu 'n Chaisteal Aorach, 'S cha 'n e ar 'tha 'm beachd na laochraidh, Gean is gradh 's gach suil tha 'lasadh, 'S a dearsadh 's gach gruaidh mar an cadadh.

in.

A chlann nan sonn do 'n dual am breacan, Togaibh iolach air gach leacainn, O ghleanntaibh uaine nan Catach, Gu Earra-Ghaidheal nan gaisgeach, Mar mharbh* Diarmad donn an t-sugraidh, An tore fiadhaich 's a' choill' udlaidh, 'S a choisinn e cliu nach basaich, Thad 's a dh'innsear sgeul 'an Gaidhlig ; Fiuran aluinn a' chuil bhuidhe, Mharbh an Dragon 's bhuain an t-ubhal, Ubhal miadhar, miann an t-saoghail, Thug e 'n diugh do 'n Chaisteal Aorach. Chiosnaich e, nail' ! luchd na Beurla, Mbrchuis Shasuinn, 's ardan Eirinn, 'S thug e 'chreach a laimh na Gearmailt, Ged is mbr a righ 's a h-armailt.

Bidh Atha is Aora gu h-aobhach ri cebl, Gach alltan 'us caochan ri '11 laoidh mar is ebl,

FAILTE DO MHARCUS LATHARXA. 47

Dhuisg morchuis is solas luchd-brain nan gleann, 'S trusgan-bainse mu ghuaillibh tir' uaibhrich nam beann.

Failt ort, failt ort, failt ort, a laoich !

Failt ort le d'bg-mhnaoi gu beanntaibli an fhraoich !

Failt air an bigfhear, failt air le buaidh, Cha 'n ioghnadh nio ghradh a thoirt barr air an t-sluagh, 'S nach 'eil am pbraibh lompair no High 'thig thar tuinn, Boinne 's uaisle na ;n fhion-fhuil 'tha 'm fior Mhac O'Dhuinn.

Failt ort, &c.

'Fhiurain an br-f huilt, gur bbidheach do dhealbh,

'S gur airidh thu 'measg sluaigh air na fhuair thu 'ad

sheilbh.

O d'big' thu Ian uaisle, gun tuaileas gun bheum, Ach do churs' mar a' ghrian 'tha gun f hiaradh na 'ceum. Failt ort, &c.

Failt air an Daoimein 'tha 'boillsgeadh a'd 'chrun,

A' Bhana-phrionnsa ailt 'thug a lamh. dhut 'sa run,

Cha 'n ioghnadh sinn 'thoirt uidh dh'i an duthaich nam

beann,

'S i simplidh na 'mbrachd mar nebinean nan gleann. Failt ort, &c.

'S ioma pluran 'tha 'bruchdadh troimh urlar gach glinn, Le'n tiiisearan ciibhraidh 's le 'n uraireachd ghrinn, Gun mheas air am f aile, no 'n aillealachd mhbir, 'S ar miann air a' gheal-rbs nach ceannaicheadh an t-br. Failt ort, &c.

A nighean na mna ceutaich rioghail sin gu'r miann, A shliochd nan lebmhan calma 'bha'n Alba o chian, Tha e do ar beanntaibh 's do 'r gleanntaibh mar dhriuchd, D' f haicinn ann an aoibhneas aig oighre an Diuc. Failt ort, &c.

Oighre nan treun-f hear, 's a' gheug 'rinn e bhuain, Geal mar chanach sleibh no mar eiteig a' chuain

48 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

Driuchd o na h ardaibh fad laithean an saoghail, Beannachd agus gras bhi air caraid mo ghaoil !

Fai.lt ort, failt ort, failt orb, a laoich !

Failt ort le d'bg-mbnaoi gu beanntaibh an f hraoich

Failt ort, failt ort,' failt ort, a laoich !

Failt ort gu d'eblas le 6g-mbnaoi do ghaoil ! HABBUKG.

TRANSLATION OF THE ABOVE BY SHERIFF NICOLSON.

I.

FROM Scotland conies a joyful voice, All her rugged bounds rejoice, In the glens the pibroch thrills, Bonfires flash upon the hills, Banners to the wind are rolled, And the voice of echo old Sounds again a note of gladness, When we deemed him sunk in sadness, Mourning for the fallen place Of his native tongue and race ^ Now his voice is loud in song, The glad sons of youth among. Spirit of the Gaelic earth, Wherefore is this wondrous mirth That hath waked thee from the tomb, And to triumph turned thy gloom ? Whence thy crown of joy so bright, Gleaming on the dazzled sight?

ii.

Said the Spirit, shaking proudly His bright locks of comely hair, Gladness hath been shed around me Like the bursting of the wave When the crested rollers bounding Toss their white foam in the air ; Like cold water to the parching, Like skill'd fingers on the harp-string,

WELCOME TO THE MAKQUIS OF LORNE. 49

Like love's breast to wretch forlorn, Bringing balm, to spirit torn, Such hath been the news to me, That hath stirred my soul to glee, And my heart to joy did waken, As when waves of wintry sea Wildly dash in Corryvreckan. For on Inverary's green Rings the shout of hosts afar, Where the gathered clansmen muster, And in every eye is seen, Not the dreadful light of war, But love's warm, and kindly lustre.

in.

Raise, ye children of the heroes, That have worn the Highland tartan, Lusty cheer on every hillside, From the far green glens of Cataibh,* To Argyll, the nurse of valour. As brown Diarmad, loved of women, Slew the wild boar in the dern wood, And won glory never dying, While a tale is told in Gaelic, So the golden-haired young hero Slew the dragon, plucked the apple. Apple noble, world's desire, Which he bears to Inverary. He hath vanquished all the English, Pomp of England, pride of Ireland, And from German hands he carried Off the spoil that princes longed for, Great as is their king and army !

Let the waters of Awe and of Aray rejoice, Each burnie and_streamlet in song lift their voice,

* Sutherland.

E

50 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

With pride and with joy wakes the music of the glens, When the wedding-robe decks the proud land of the Bens, Hail to thee Lome, and thy Princess together, Welcome are both to the hills of the heather !

Hail to thee, young chief, and yet again hail ! No wonder my darling o'er all should prevail, For no blood of Kaiser or King ever born Is better than flows in the blue veins of Lome.

Thou well-favoured youth of the gold-yellow hair, Full worthy thou art of thy heritage fair, From the dawn of thy days thou wert pure without spot, Thy course like the bright sun that wavereth not.

Hail to the diamond that beams in thy crown,

The Princess whose true heart and hand are thine own,

Well may the mountain land bid her all hail,

Who is simple in greatness as flower of the vale.

Sweet blossom the flowrets, unheeded of men, With censers of fragrance perfuming the glen, The bloom of their beauty unvalued doth fall, But the peerless white Rose wins the worship of all.

O child of good Mother most royal in worth, Whose fathers of old wore the crown of the North, As dew to the mountains and glens of our Isle, Is thy coming in joy with the heir of Argyll !

Thou heir of great fathers, and thou his young bride, Fair as down of the mountain, or shell of the tide, May the best dews of blessing descend from above, To the end of their days, on the pair of my love !

Hail to thee Lome, and thy Princess together ! Welcome are both to the hills of the heather, Hail to thee. Hail to thee, Hail to thee, Lome ! With thy love to the land where thy fathers were born.

AIR LATHA ORDUIGH DHUNEIDEANN. 51

AIR LATHA ORDUIGH DHUNEIDEANN.

GED tha mi 's an Fhraing 'g elsdeachd srannraich na gaoith', 'S'e baile Dhune'ideann 'n diugh m' elbhneas 'us m'uigh, 'Us cluig bu bhinn brain ri ceblraidh do m'chridh, 'Toirt cuiridh gu cuirm ann an cuirtean an Righ. FoNN — Airfaillirin, illirin, uillirin d,

Airfaillirin, illirin, uillirin d,

Airfaillirin, illirin, uillirin d,

Mo run air a'chomunn 's mo thogradh 'bhi led!

'Bhi 'g eisdeachd a'bhuachaill,* a fhuair mi na m'fhe'um, Gu beanntainnean Bheuladh a'stiuireadh mo cheum ; ;S air tiis chuir 'am laimh a'ghloin'-amhairc de 'n or, Troimh 'm faca mi sealladh air fearann na glbir', Air faillirin, illirin, &c.

A chuideachd mo ghaoil, gabhaibh aobhacli an sbgh 'Th'air a sgaoileadh le faoilt aig Fear-saoraidh nan slbgh ; 'S 'n uair a thig e n'air dail dh'iarruidh bhlMthean 'us meas, Na biodh aon gheug gun phairt oirr' ri aireamh 's an lios. Air faillirin, illirin, &c.

B'e mo mhiann-sa ur ciocras 'bhi riaraiclit' le gradh, 'S ur n-bl 'bhi gun airceas fo bhratach an aigh ; Ged 'tha mis' mar neach paiteach air ard-bheannaibh mbr, 'G eisdeachd torman nan caochan 's nach f haod dol na'n coir. Air faillirin, illirin, &c.

A nigheanan Shioin co geal 'us co dearg, Ged 's dubh mi seach sibhse na gabhaibh rium fearg ; Bidh mise thair chuaintean ga m'bhualadh le grian, 'Us sibhse gu muirneach le buthaibh ga 'r dion. Air faillirin, illirin, &c.

Gu 'm b'annsa na h-brain tha 'n cbisridh nan saoidh,

Na osag a' Cheltein ged 's eibhinn a laoidh ;

'S 'n uair thig cruaidh-ghaoth a' Gheamhraidh 'cur greann

air gach duil, 'S ann bho Shinai 'tha'm fonn 'tha 's gach pone d'ar cruit-

chiuil.

Air faillirin, illirin, &c.

* An t-Ollamh Maclachainn, Eaglais Chaluim-Chille, ann an Dun- eideann.

52 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

Ged 's ciatach learn searmoin nan garbh-thomian mbr Mu uamhas lehobhah, mu mhorachd 's mu ghloir ; Cha chluinnear a'luaidh iad air Uan Chalbhari, 'S a chaoidh cha toir cuniitas mu Chiimhnant na Sith. Air faillirin, illirin, &c.

Ach leanaidh mis' ceuman ur treud-se le deoin,

'S '11 uair 'ruigeas mi 'n t-ait' 'm bi ur tamh mu thrath-

nbin,

Mar fhior-uisge Mim 'n deigh Mara 'bhi searbh, Bidhsuaimhneas nan cluaintean'n deigh cruaidh rathaidean

garbh.

Air faillirin, illirin, <fcc.

A L O NE.

MY babe, thou'rt like a pretty bud

Upon a blasted bough ; A bird come from the shady wood

To shiver in the snow ; Or like the fragile butterfly

That spreads its downy wing Ere yet the sun begins to dye

The blossoms of the spring.

The moonbeam soft and purely shines

Upon my baby's face, And my heart closer round her twines

As I thy features trace. My Mary — once as fair to see

As summer's blooming flowers, Whose smile made home as bright to me

As summer's gayest bowers.

But now the beauteous rose may bloom

Upon the breast of May, The scented violet may perfume

The breath of closing day j

LAME WILLIE. 53

The lily pure, the primrose fair,

The daisy on the lea, May grow again, but ah ! they ne'er

Can summer bring to me.

The snow is on the flowery nook

Where I so oft did rest, And frozen is the crystal brook

Whose waters made me blest. The golden sunbeams that were showered

So freely in my home Are gone, and a dark cloud has lowered,

Through which no light can come.

The whisperings of the silver sea

That ripples to the shore ; The sighings of the fragrant breeze

That sweeps my garden o'er ; The warblings of the little birds,

Earth's softest voices all, My Mary dear, thy winning words

And gentle tones recall.

And, darling, oft at night I dream

I see thee near me stand With beauteous ones, who to me seem

Thy sister angel band. And oh ! thy words come like sweet balm

To this lone heart of mine, As in the selah of your Psalm

Ye tell them — I am thine.

LAME WILLIE.

A CHRISTMAS BALLAD.

THE sun was shining on the dappled meadows,

Where lambs were frisking in their lightsome glee,

Whilst poor lame Willie, from his wee dark garret, Could neither lamb, nor flower, nor sunshine see.

54 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

And if sometimes a stray sunbeam came streaming In through his cracked and broken window pane,

Gilding the miseries of his lone chamber, It woke a yearning that became a pain.

No song of bird had ever cheered lame Willie, Except the sparrow's chirpings 'neath the eaves ;

Yet of their warblings he was ever dreaming — Dreams that untaught poetic fancy weaves.

His soul was hungering for some thing of beauty, On which to feast his brightly-beaming eye ;

No pretty thing could he see from his garret, Except the stars that lit the evening sky.

" Oh, tak' me to the green my ain dear mither " He cried, " some day when ye are no' at wark ;

And we can gang as sune's we get our breakfast And no' come back again until it's dark.

" I want to hear the rolling o' the river,

To list in quiet to the city's hum ; — Mither, altho' I'm lame I'm very thankfu'

That God has made me neither deaf nor dumb."

His mother turned from him to hide her anguish : She oft rebelled because her boy was lame ;

" He's far too wise," she said, "my ae wee lammie, My bonnie doo will ne'er a grey head kame."

" Ye couldna walk, my Willie," she said, smiling, " And carrying ye is mair now than I can ;

Ye've grown sae, laddie, near as big's your mither — How could I carry ane that's maist a man 1 "

" I'll never be a man, my ain dear mither,

" And I'm glad I'll never, never be j But I would like to see the bonnie simmer,

And hear its voices ance before I dee."

When Ted, the coalman, heard the lame boy's wishes (For Ted tho' rough, had got a kindly heart),

He said he'd drive him out next Sunday morning, With old dun Jeru and the cuddy cart.

LAME WILLIE. 55

Good Teddy came in all his Sunday grandeur, And carried Willie down the creaking stair ;

And to the South Side Park led out old Jeru, Softly exhorting him to walk with care.

Was ever boy so happy as lame Willie

When he beheld the bright and beauteous scene,

Whilst the kind sun his beams were show'ring on him As free and golden as on Scotland's queen.

He ne'er again was lonely in his garret, — That gorgeous picture never left his mind ;

It was a book that he was always reading,

Where night or day he perfect bliss could find.

The soft green grass, the splendour of the flowers, The fragrant perfume of the red June rose,

The rustling trees that softly waved and quivered, The birds that warbled 'mong their leafy boughs :

The bees that hummed upon the beauteous blossoms, The fairy butterflies so gay and bright,

The sunshine streaming upon all from heaven, Each to the boy was a most pure delight.

When Christmas came the frost was keen and biting, And coals were heaped upon the rich man's fire ;

And yet of cold he night and day complained

Though wrapped in broadcloth to his heart's desire.

Lame Willie shivered in his cold lone garret, Till sickness laid him fast upon his bed ;

And his sad mother wailed that she must leave him The lee lang day, to earn their daily bread.

Good Teddy often came with bits of candy, And tales of Jeru's sly and tricky ways,

And promises of visits to the gardens

When summer brought again the sunny days.

Lame Willie smiled to please the kindly coalman, Tho' well he knew he'd ne'er again be whole ;

And yearned for some one who could bring to order The tangled mass of beauty in his soul.

56 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

For strange thoughts haunted the neglected laddie

About a higher life than he saw led, And visions of a great and beauteous garden

That was the home of all the happy dead.

'Twas then a lady left her cosy chamber,

Filled with compassion for the sick and poor,

And bravely daring cold, and filth, and rudeness, Went like an angel in at misery's door.

She, like a sunbeam, came to Willie's garret ;

And tho' she comforts gave a goodly share, He said her kind face was the truest balsam —

"'Twas like a breath o' caller garden air."

And when she told him the great Christmas story, Of how the Lord left His bright courts of joy,

And for our sakes bore all the keenest sorrow— The manger-born despised and suffering Boy.

But yet how angels carolled o'er His coming;

How stars were heralds to proclaim His birth : And how they still sang hymns of joy and gladness

When sons were born to God upon the earth.

And when she read him of the golden city, The crystal river, and the trees aye green,

The songs of joy that in the home of heaven Await the throng who turn away from sin.

The lame boy's face was all aglow with gladness— The face so pinched with early want and care—

And told with rapture how he knew that heaven Must, like that garden, be so fresh and fair.

And when he dying lay, he told good Teddy The happy boy that Jeru's drive had made,

But how that angels from that bed would bear him Where tree nor flower could never, never fade.

"You, too, must come, Ted, and my ain dear mither; But you'll no ken Willie, for he'll no be lame,

A CHRISTMAS CAROL. 57

The Great Physician lives and reigns in heaven, I'll soon be healed if I but ance get name."

Lame Willie sleeps in peace beneath the daisies, And oft his mother tells, with show'ring tears,

His pretty ways, and ere he went to heaven, How strangely wise he was beyond his years.

And blessings follow that good gentle lady, Who told these Christmas tidings to the boy,

Smoothed his rough pillow, and gave him rapture That seemed a foretaste of the heavenly joy.

A CHRISTMAS CAROL.

ROBIN upon yonder thorn, Welcoming this Christmas morn, Sweet, oh, very sweet to me Is thy joyous minstrelsy. Yet not thine the only lay Celebrating the glad day : One great harmony's abroad, One great psalm is sung to God — In the deserts, in the floods, 'Midst earth's deepest solitudes. Hark ! among the forest trees Wildly chants the swelling breeze, Whilst the sea, with voice sublime, Rolls and sings from clime to clime And the tiny waterfall Adds its plaintive madrigal : Yet nob theirs the sweetest lay Heard by God on Christmas Day.

Bird of beauty, in life's spring, Lisping cherub, tune thy string ; Give thy precious little gem To the Babe of Bethlehem.

58 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

Youth, who on your tiptoe stand Of your manhood's promised land, To get brief but golden gleams, Sing to-day, forget your dreams. Maiden in thy beauty's bloom, Sire who tott'rest to thy tomb, Queen and peasant join the throng, Swell the Halleluia song ; Dear to God shall be each part Rising from a grateful heart : Yet not yours the sweetest lay Heard by Him on Christmas Day.

All ye righteous ninety-nine Who have kept the laws Divine — Stern unbending ones who've ne'er Charity for those who err — Sour ascetic souls that frown Every harmless pleasure down, Frowning on the infant's wiles, Frowning on the maiden's smiles ; Who forget amidst your gloom Birds do sing and roses bloom ; Laud — but yours is not the lay Dear to God on Christmas Day,

Sinner, hopeless and forlorn, Thou whom the self-righteous scorn, Ope thy heart in spite of sin, Christ the Lord shall enter in — Thy heart the palace of a king— What a carol thou shalt sing ; Then o'er thee frail child of earth, Gladly as at Jesu's birth, Th' angel host shall sing again, " Peace on earth, goodwill to men." And our God shall bend His ear, Graciously thy song to hear — 'Tis by far the sweetest lay Heard by Him on Christmas Day.

ORAN. 59

ORAN

MU'N CHOINNIMH-CHOMHRAIDH 'BHA ANN AN DUN^IDEANN AIR SON CATHAIR GHAIDHLIG FHAOTUINN ANNS AN ARD OIL-THIGH.

FONN : — "The Laird o> Cockpen."

DIAN, a dhuthaich nan tr^un, iollach eibhneis as ur, Chualas nuallan nam piob an tigh riomhach nan tur ; 'Us d'uaislean na'n ceudan gu h-6udmhor 'tighinn cruinn, 'Chumail suas na cainnt' buadhair 'bha dual do na suinii.

Chruinnich baintighearnan min-gheal na'n side 's na'n srbl, 'S iad a' boillsgeadh le seudan, mar reulltan 's na neoil j 'Am maise 's an ailleas 'toirt barr air a cheil' ; 'S an gaol air a' Ghaidhlig ga 'ghnath chur 'an geill.

O lionaibh dhomh corn 'us gu'n bl mi le fonn, Deoch-slainte nan uaislean sliochd uaibhreacu nan sonn, JS air tus cuiream failt air an t-sar 'bh'air an ceann Am morair bho Cholonsa nan gorm ghleann 's nam beann.

A shliochd nan lebmhan treun chleachd 's an teiigbhail a'

bhuaidh,

Tha subhailcean gun aireamh a ghnath ort ri luaidh ; 'S 'n uair 'bhios maithean as gach ait' anns an "Ardthigh"

le cheil', Cha bhi aon ann 'bheir barr air a Ghaidheal Macneil.

'S bha Cluainidh gu h-uaibhreach le 'shuaichantas fh6in Ceann-feadhn' ga'm bu dualach 'bhi cuantachail tr6un, Bha na Pearsanaich riabh ri am diachainn ro-chruaidh j 'S bhiodh am brataichean sgaoilt' air na gaoithean le buaidh.

'S tha fuil uasal bho 'mhathair ag ^iridh na 'phbr, Dream nach reiceadh an f hirinn air ni no air or ; Na camshronnaich mheamnach bha ainmeal 's gach strith, 'Bhiodh na'n leomhain 's an tuasaid 's nan uain 'n am na sith.

'S bha 'n Siorra MaoNeacail 'am breacan 'bha grinn Gaisgeach rioghail nam buadh 'sheinneadh duanag gu binn ;

60 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

Cridh' 'fearail an t-saighdear 's mur mhaighdinn e ciuin, Suil mar lainnir nan le"ug 'bhios air eldeadh mo ruin.

Sealgair 'an daimh chracaich 's an ard chreachunn ghlas, 'S bheireadh brad an gu bruaich as an fhuar linge chais Bidh ceartas 'us trbcair 'triall cbinhF riut tre 'n t-saoghal, 'Us claon-bhreith gu brath cha toir armunn mo ghaoil.

'S a stucannan cebmhor ur nebil cuiribh dhibh, Ged b'fhada ann an dblas 's am brbn a bha sibh, Tha 'ghrian bhuidh' 'dbrtadh a h'bir air gach sliabh, 'S a gathanan aigh mu gach ard-bheinn a' sniomh.

Thugadh clarsach nan teud nis bharr geugan a' bhrbin, 'S cha leig sinn rithist annt' i, ri'r 'n am, no le'r debin. Buailidh sinn gu h-ard i le gairdeachas mbr, 'S sinn ag cluintinn na Gaidhlig 'bhi 'fas ann an trebir.

A chanain mo mhathar, a chanain mo ghaoil,

Bidh tu 'fas ann an sgiamh, gus 'm bi crioch air an

t-saogh'l

'S ged bha thu gu tinn gheabhar cinnteach dhut leigh 'S bidh tu luinneagach binn feadh gach linn 'thig na'r deigh.

'S trie a chuala mi dan a rinn Bard do shiol Duinn,

'S e mu mhac mo dheireadh Adhamh ri' faidhdearachd

dhuinn,

E 'bhi labhairt ris a ghrein 's iad le cheil 'dol gu bas ; 'S ann an Gaidhlig gur cinnt' learn a dh'innseas e 'chas.

CRONAN AN LATHA DHORCH.

CHA'N fhaod sinn caoidh, no gal, an diugh,

Ged nach 'eil grian a' dearrsadh ; Tha 'n t-uisge 'biathadh a' mhaoth-rbis,

Air broilleach caomh a' Mhaigh ; Gu tartmhor chroni na fluir an cinn,

Ach uraichidh an ailleachd ; 'S gur maiseach bhios iad, 'n uair 'thig grian

A ris le gathan aigh.

CROONING FOR A DARK DAY. 61

Na nebil tha dorch ach theid iad seach,

'Us seinnidh sinn gu ceblmhor ; 'S le fiughair sealltuinn, air son soills',

Gu'm fuadaich sinn gach brbn ; Am maireach bidh a' ghrian a mach,

S a' choill air chrith le brain; 'S gach cuiseag 's febrnain 'n deigh nam fras

Na's urair' air gach Ion.

Tha 'n iarmailt flinch, 'us fuar, an diugh,

Ach cha bhi sinn fo ghrtiaman ; Thig creideamh, 's gradh, air aoidheachd leinn,

'S bidh dbchas nasal grinn ; Ag itealaich gu manranach,

Mu 'n mhaireach shoillear bhuadhar, 'S am bi gach flur fo bhlath na'r ce"um,

'S na h-ebin ri ceileir binn.

Agus ged a thig an Geamhradh birnn,

Le gaillinn 's cathadh fiadhaich ; O, cumamaid air cridh'chean treun,

Le cuimhne gu '11 tig grian ; Gu ceblmhor direamaid a' bheinn,

Ged 's cas an ceum 's ged 's fiar e, Na 'mullach bidh sinn fad o's cionn

Gach ceathaich agus sian.

TRANSLATION.

CROONING FOR A DARK DAY.

WE must not weep nor grieve to-day,

Altho' the sun's not shining ; The rain will feed the budding rose

Upon the breast of May ; The flowers that drooped around our path,

"Were for the rain-drops pining ; And when the sun comes out again

They'll all be bright and gay.

62 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

The clouds are dark, but soon they'll pass,

We'll spend the hours in singing ; And, looking for the sunshine, we

Shall banish care and pain ; To-morrow, when the sun is out,

The woodlands will be ringing, And every leaf and blade will be

The fresher of the rain.

The air is damp and chill to-day,

Yet do not droop in sorrow, For love and faith will be our guests,

And hope will spread her wing, To revel on the bosom of

A beautiful to-morrow, When round our path the flow'rs will bloom,

And all the birds shall sing.

And even in the winter storm,

Altho' the drift is blinding, We must be strong and brave of heart,

The sun will shine again. We'll singing climb life's hill, altho'

The path is steep and winding ; Upon the top we'll get beyond

The darkness and the rain.

GLASSMAKING SPIRITUALISED.

WRITTEN IN THE GLASSWORKS OF MR. A. JENKINSON, 10 PRINCES STREET.

I STOOD by the glowing furnace,

Into which was cast the sand That had once been counted worthless,

Tossed by billows on the strand.

And I watched till all the darkness From the burning heap did pass,

And it molten in the furnace Seemed a flaming lava mass.

GLASSMAKING SPIRITUALISED. 63

On his rod a workman gathered

Tiny bits of what seemed flame, Rolling each upon his anvil

Till it crystal clear became.

Calm and quietly then were fashioned From that molten sand such things

O

As seemed bright enough to gladden The gay festive halls of kings ;

Coming ready from the furnace

For flowers, water, fruit, or wine, All in beauty, all according

To the master's wise design.

And I thought of all those beings,

Tossed upon life's weary strand, Careworn, aimless, almost worthless

As the grains of ocean sand.

God could in His glowing furnace

These poor wretched souls refine ; Turning them to beauteous vessels,

To be filled with heavenly wine ;

Water from the holy river ;

Fruit the tree of Zion yields ; Flowers, fragrant, sweet, and precious,

Culled from the celestial fields.

Christian whom the Lord hath ransomed,

Wilt thou for Him gather sand 1 Girt with love, wilt thou not venture

To the dark and stormy strand ?

It is faith that in the sand-grains

Sees the goblet fit for wine ; It is faith that in the loathsome

Seeth souls that yet may shine.

Bring them, dark and lost, believing

There is no transforming rod To turn beauty out of blackness

Like the wondrous grace of God.

64 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

If you cause a sinful Mary

On Christ's head to pour her balm,

You in heaven shall join the chorus Of her hallelujah psalm.

Lead the poor degraded drunkard To be filled with heavenly wine,

And thy face shall in his beauty With a brighter radiance shine.

Oh, the beauty ! oh, the glory,

Of the souls that God makes bright

Vessels for the marriage supper, Shining like the stars of night.

Christian, whom the Lord hath ransomed, Wilt thou for Him gather sand 1

Girt with love, wilt thou not venture To the dark and stormy strand 1

LINES ON EDINBURGH.

WRITTEN IN NORWAY.

How graceful on the hills thou sit'st,

Dear Edina, the blest, As calm and proudly as a queen

Upon her couch of rest ; And beauteous as a maiden fair

Within a sunny bower, 'Mong crystal brooks and woodlands green,

And many a fragrant flower.

Thy guardian lion by thy side

Looks down upon the Forth, And lovingly he watcheth thee,

Fair Empress of the North. A foeman's hand with touch unkind

Will never dare, I trow, To pluck one single leaflet from

The thistle on thy brow.

LINES ON EDINBURGH. 65

I love to see thee, Edina,

When, in the summer time, Thy hills and parks so beautiful

Are in their gayest prime. Thou hast no darkening city smoke,

No deafening city din, But humming bees and warbling birds

Are in thy gardens green.

How massive are thy palaces,

And lofty are thy towers ! Yet trees and summer greenery

Make them like fairy bowers. When leaf and blade are twinkling in

The sunlit morning dew, How fresh and balmy is thy breath,

Thy sky how bright and blue !

And, e'en though frowning winter comes

With tempests and with snows, She cannot rob thee of the bliss

That in thy bosom glows, When gaily at the social board,

Or 'round the cheerful hearth, Friend meets with friend, to drink unscant

The purest joys on earth.

I in the moonlight love to stand

Alone upon thy bridge, And watch the twinkling lights along

Thine old historic ridge :

o y

And, as they star-like glimmer on

The hoary Castle's crest, In the deep hush I seem to hear

The throbbings of thy breast.

Between the Old Town and the New

Thy railway line seems cast — Type of the progress that divides

Thy present from thy past.

66 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

And as the busy severing vale

Is by thy bridges spanned, So may thy rich and poor be joined

In sympathetic band.

God guard thee, Edina the fair !

In love to thee I cling ; Where'er I roam, my soul still turns

To thee on eager wing. I yearn to see thy face again,

And hear thy Sabbath bells, That seem to welcome weary souls

To Elim's blessed wells.

Though I have wandered far away

To many a foreign clime, I've met with naught in any land

So lofty and sublime As the deep quiet and holy rest

Of thy dear Sabbath days, When, soaring from earth's mists, we rise

To bask in Heaven's bright rays.

DEATH OF DR. NORMAN MACLEOD.

THY warfare's o'er, great chieftain, now's thy rest,

" Beyond the voices " of tumultuous time, Quenched is the genial glow that warmed thy breast,

And made the beauties of thy life sublime. Sleep soundly near the old beloved home,

Where often thou life's golden dream did weave ; Sleep soundly by the hills o'er which did roam

Thy youthful feet on many a joyous eve.

We mourn the silence of thy noble voice,

That charmed the ears, and swayed the hearts of men, That made their souls with purest joy rejoice,

And brought life's hidden things within their ken.

. Ah ! thou, with sympathy's own magic touch,

Could heal life's broken springs, and bring again

OBAN. 67

Sweet music from the chords where over much Of care and sorrow had left only pain.

And with thine eloquence thou couldst unlock

The worldling's heart, and bring his hoarded gold Like streams of water from the flinty rock

To bless life's poor ones — hungry, faint, and cold. And 'midst thy greatness and thy power, thou

With grace and tenderness did'st rich abound, Like a great rock whose high majestic brow

With simple ivy and with heath is crowned.

Thou, like thine own " Wee Davie," had become

A glorious centre where affections met, Where sweet good-will had found a gladsome home,

From which to scatter drizzling clouds of jet. ^

Monarch and peasant claimed thee as a friend,

Their loves met, beauteously around thee twined ;. And as in life, so in thy latter end,

Sweetly was lowliness with state combined.

They laid thee to thy rest beneath thy plaid,

The Highland plaid that thou didst love so well,. And o'er it proudly gentle hands had laid

The Queen's sweet offerings of immortelles. Sleep soundly near thine own beloved home,

Till the great morn in golden light will break, Sleep soundly till God's mighty voice will come

In joy and gladness to bid thee awake.

OKAN

A HO 's toigh learn, 's toigh learn, 's toigh A ho 's toigh learn f hein na Gaidheal,

Luchd nu'm breacan, gorm, is uaine,

A chleachd buaidh-chaithream, 's na blaran,

68 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

Thainig sgeul a tir na gre"ine,

'S gur mor m'eibhneas, 's mo chuis mhanrain, Freiceadan. Dubh nan ceum e"utrom,

'Bhi gu h-euchdach mar a b'abhaist,

A ho 's toigh learn, &c.

Leomhain churanta 'n am cruadail, C Dhuibh bu dualach buaidh 's an ar-f haich, Sliochd nam mill reachd 'ar uaibhreach, 'Bha nan uamhas do gach namhaid,

A ho 's toigh learn, &c.

Sliochd nam fear a chleachd an f hraoch-bheinn, 'S an cruinnichteadh na laoich le crois-taraidh,

Cha chualas an eachdraidh an t-saoghail, Feachd a chuir na saoi gu naire,

A ho 's toigh learn, &c.

Cha b'e gleachd ri feachdan rianail,

'Bha ri dhianamh anns a' chas so, Ach 'bhi 'ciosnachadh nam fiat-f hear,

'Bha mar fhiadh-bheath'chan an fhasaich,

A ho 's toigh learn, &c.

'S ged bu smachdail borb an righ ud, Fear 'thoirt suas nan iobairt graineil,

Thug ur gniomh air tighim gu diblidh, 'Phaigheadh cise do Shir Garnet,

A ho 's toigh learn, &c.

B'eutrom ur ceum anns gach cruadal,

Mar bu dual do mhic nan Gaidheal, 'Bha mar fheidh nam beannaibh fuara,

Gun chuing, gun bhuaraich, gun sgath orr',

O gur toigh learn, &c.

'S ged 'n Amoaful chaidh lebnadh,

Dheanadh air na sebid nach d'f hailnich ;

Thog iad iollach 's lean an tbrachd

'S dh'aindeoin db-bheairt chaidh an la leo.

O gur toigh learn, &c.

bhac garbhlach iad no bruthach, 'S misneach cuiridh aig gach sar dhiubh,

ORAN DHOMHNUILL. 69

'S cha robh 'n abhainn ach mur reidhlean, 'S iad guaillean ri cheil mar b'abhaisd.

0 gur toigh learn, &c.

Mile f ailt 'an diugh do'n chommun,

Luchd nam boinead 's nan coc-arda, Luchd nam breacan greadhnach rioghail,

Dan ceol nuallan piob 's na blaraibh.

O gur toigh learn, &c.

O Bheinn Nibheis 's o Bheinn Uabliais, 'S o gach fuar-bheann 'rinn ur n-arach,

Tha Mactalla ri ard-luagh-ghair,

'S air gach gleann tha'n sluagh gu gaireach.

O gur toigh learn, <fec.

Gheabh sibh gradh 'us meas o'r duthaich,

Taingealachd 'us cliu o'r Banrighn, 'S bheir mi-fheiii le debin duibh bran,

Bho'n a rinn a' Cheolruidh bard diom.

O gur toigh learn, &c.

ORAN DHOMHNUILL.

'S ANN moch Diciadain 'thug sinn ar culaobh

Ri tir ar duthchais 's bu shunndach sinn ; Gu'm b'aotrom siubhlach a dh'fhalbh an iubhracL,

Air bhar chuan diighorm bu chiuine leinn. Bha ghrian gu bbidheach a' dearsadh oirnne,

'S a gathan orbhuidh' toirt sblais duinn, A's air Hanbbhar rinn sinne seoladh,

'S a' mhuir ri ceol dhuinn le cronan binn.

Ach cian m' an thriall a' ghrian do'n iar uainn,

Gu'n dhorch an iarmailt le inoran gruaim, Thoit a's dhuin i gu tiugh m'ar culaobh,

'S bha'n fhairge 'g uinich le moran fuaim ; Bha " Gleann Comhann " ro mhath gu seoladL,

'S bha sgiobadh corr air a bord ;s an uair, Ach ged bha each uile mar bu choir dhaibh,

Gur ann air Dbmhnull a bhios mi luaidh.

70 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

O's aim a Uidhist a thainig Domhnull,

?S bha e de sheorsa Chloinn-ghille-mhaoil, A's clia bu Spainnteach a bha's an oigeir,

Ged's iomadh seoladair sud a shaoil. Bha fhalt cho dorcha ri sgiatli na rocuis,

'S a shuilean colgail le lainnir bhaoth, 7S a chraiceann ciar-dhubh cho sleamhain romach,

Ri bian an roin a bhios anns a' chaol.

Cha teid mi'n drasta a dheanamh sgeoil duibh,

Mu'n obair mhoir a rinn e's an am, Ach leis an spairn 'bh'air a'tarruing corcuich,

Gu'n chaill e bhrogaii * gu h-ard's a'chrann ; 'S an uair bu chruaidhe bha ghaoth a'seideadh,

Gu'n d'rinn e eifeachd dhuinn nach robh gann, *N uair gheall e tasdan do chaillich airceil,

A bha Ian airsneil an Uidhist thall.

Bha " Gleann Comhann " air bharr thonn uaine,

A' falbh cho uallach ri h-eala bhain, 'S gu'm b'e an solas bhi leis a' ghuamaig,

A mach air chuan far nach faicteadh traigh ; A's i le sinteag a' dol gu fuaradh, • A dh-aindeoin nuallan nan stuadhan ard, Bha briseadh barra-gheal gu doirbh mu cruachainn,

'S ga 'crith gu guailnean's a' h-uile clar.

'S an uair a rainig sinn Heligoland,

A' dearsadh oirnne bha 'sholus grinn — Sealladh aigh sud do shnil an t-seoladair,

An deigh bhi comhrag ri muir a's tuinn. " Seall tu an lochran," thuirt mis' ri Domhnull,

" Gur fad o d'eolas a tha thu, shuinn, Sinn fad o Albainn a nis 's a' Ghearmailt,

Measg dhaoine garg 's iad gun seanchus dhuinn."

Le gaire magail 's ann labhair Domhnull, " Och ochain, 's gorach, a Mkeistear, t sibh,

* Ghoid Domhnull brogan 's a' phort 's an robh sinn. Bha iad mbr dha, agus thuit iad dheth anns a' chrann.

+ Bh'fhairtlich air Domhnull riamh, "a Mhistress" a.radh. Is e " Mheistear " a gheibhinn daonnan uaith.

A BALLAD. 71

Sibh an duil gur a buraidh 'n t-oigear, Ach cha'n 'eil Domlinull cho fada clith ;

'S ann leis dhinn shios ud tlia duthaich m'oige, Ochoin 's ann domhsa is aithne 'n tir,

'S e'n solus sonraicht tha dearsadh oirnne,

Ceann Bharraidh bhoidhich — air 's eolach mi."

Ach arms a' mliadainn 's ann sheall an t-oigear,

Le ioghnadh mor air gach taobh mu'n cuairt, Oir ged bha'n abliainn gu sinteach farsaing,

Gu'n d'inn's a cladach nach b'i sud Cluaidh ; Thuit geilt a's airsneul air cridh' an lasgair,

'S cha labhradh facal 's cha sheinneadh duan, 'S a chas air tir, 's e cho fad o eolas,

Cha chuireadh Domhnull air mhoraii duais.

A BALLAD.

WITH heart unscathed, and fancy free, I through the

world had gone For years, till maidens whispered that my heart was

made of stone ; Though pretty eyes looked into mine, still proof against

their wiles, No answering glance I ever gave to all their witching

smiles.

I fain would love, would fain have met some fay the spell

to break, Some maiden fair whose fingers could the heart's still

chords awake ; For well I knew my ardent soul was filled with hidden

fire, I knew what music wild could pour from the long silent

lyre.

A void was in my life, arid my ancestral hall seemed cold, Nought in it that could gladness give but what was bought with gold ;

72 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

Fain would I wed, but ah ! that void no one I knew

could fill, And marriage would but crush the heart whose chords

were silent still.

I wandered far to distant lands, o'er mount, and sea, and

plain ; I've seen the Moorish maidens, and the dark-haired girls

of Spain,

Italia's soft-eyed daughters, and the blondes of Germany— But home I turned with heart unscathed and fancy roving

free.

Ah ! that it aye continued so, and I been spared this

pain;

Ah ! for the wasted music poured upon the winds in vain ; Ah ! for the beauteous flowers dead beneath the frost and

snow; Ah ! for the heart so lone and sad, that ne'er can pleasure

know.

At length, near my ancestral hall, I found the sought for

As I rode out one morning in the bonnie month of May ; Pale as a lily blooming fresh, and beautiful and fair, And brightest golden were the braids of her most lovely hair.

That flower-like face, that queenly form, methinks I see

her now, The crown of truth and goodness on her pure white angel

brow, Her mourning dress, her small gloved hands, her basket

full of flowers ; I see them all as when she stood among the hawthorn

bowers.

" Oh ! welcome home again, Sir Hugh," cried laughing

Alice Hay ; " I'm led in quest of beauty here by gold-haired Cousin

May,

A BALLAD. 73

She says her skin is white because she likes the early

hours, And her only charm for beauty is the dew-drops off the

flowers.

" And you have come in time to aid us damsels in distress, We tried to get that hawthorn branch, and May has torn

her dress ; We sought the fragrant prize in vain, and wept in our

despair, And, though I did not tear my dress, I vowed to tear my

hair.

" And when did you return, Sir Hugh 1 and will you long

remain 1 Or have you not brought home a bride from the dark

maids of Spain ? "

"While Alice prattled thus, I gazed upon the lovely fay, The little nut-brown maid had called her gold-haired

Cousin May,

Our eyes met, and the deepest tint upon the red June rose, The brightest glow that sunset casts upon the mountain

snows,

The crimson cloudlets that adorn the gates of opening day, Were ne'er so lovely as the blush upon the face of May.

I gazed, and felt these violet eyes could wound or make me whole,

That lily hand could wake to joy the music of my soul ;

The mystery of life had come — the magic spirit band —

The charm that gives to common things the look of fairy- land.

My bosom thrilled, but as I caught the snow-white

hawthorn spray, Its petals ripe came show'ring down, upon the head of

May; And Alice cried out "poor Sir Hngh, to grief and sorrow

born, You've given all the flowers to May, and you have but

the thorn."

74 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

Oh! lightly spoken words of truth ; oh ! fatal thorn to me, The emblem of the misery I've borne, dear love, for thee ; And all the joys to thee I've given, where fain I'd heap

my sheaves, Might well, alas ! be likened to that shower of scattered

leaves.

Oh ! how I loved my darling May, May of the golden hair, May of the deep bright violet eyes, and skin so snowy fair, May of the heart as pure as light, the high-toned loving

soul, May who has wounded me to death, but ne'er can make

me whole.

I saw she loved me in return, I read it in her eyes, And hope was sweetly whispering that I would gain the

prize; Though when I lingered by her side, and saw her look so

grave, I often wondered if my love a painless pleasure gave.

And Alice ceased to tease me as she had been wont to do, And there was pity in her tones whene'er she said "Sir

Hugh;"

And her gentle mother hinted in the softest, kindest way, Of some lover who was writing to my darling gold-haired

May.

As the joyous golden summer days had flown into the

past, And the roses, once so beautiful, were scattered in the

blast ;

A shadow o'er my spirit fell, a strange and nameless pain, The brightness of the dream was gone that ne'er could

come again.

One autumn evening as I walked out through the woods

alone, My heart was yearning, hungering for the queen upon its

throne,

A BALLAD. 75

And I turned to the dear old spot — the fragrant hawthorn

bowers, And found my darling weeping there alone among the

flowers.

" What is it, May 1 what is it, love 1 the tears are on thy cheek,

You must have read, my own dear May, the love I dared not speak.

Oh ! can I dry thy beauteous eyes, or ease thy bosom's pain?

What is it, May 1 what is it, love 1 why do these tear- drops rain 1 "

" Oh ! do not speak of love, Sir Hugh ; oh ! help me to

do right ; I've wandered far from duty's path, and conscience now

doth smite ; I've lingered gladly by your side, and listened to your

voice, And in the love-light in your eyes, I've let my soul rejoice.

" Whilst I am pledged, this hand is pledged, and soon I'll

be a bride ;

My father gave my hand away upon the day he died ; And now I've let my soul indulge the golden dreams of

youth, Nor thought that I was wandering from the higher ways

of truth.

" The dream is broken — my betrothed will here to-morrow

come, And he says I must name the day when he will take me

home. Oh ! help me to do right, Sir Hugh ; my heart is aching

sore, And you must bid me here farewell, and see my face no

more."

I loosed my neckerchief and vest, to ease my bursting

heart, I gazed upon my darling, and I knew that we must part

76 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

She like a priestess, pure and high, stood by the altar fire, To sacrifice, at truth's command, her heart's most dear desire.

Sublime, and beautiful, and bright, stood darling gold- haired May,

Like the first star that sheds its light upon the closing day,

And though my soul all passion-tossed, was filled with bitter pain,

For her dear sake I strove my grief and sorrow to restrain.

I could not tell her of the love that in my bosom burned, How hungering, thirsting, aching sore, my spirit o'er her

yearned ;

I saw the depths of sorrow in her lovely angel eye, As she called on me to aid her in her purpose pure and

high.

The dew was falling heavy, and my love looked chill and

cold,

And, as her mantle o'er her form I silently did fold, A sudden impulse made me strain my darling to my heart, Saying, " May, does truth indeed command our aching

souls to part."

Her bosom lay one moment on my wildly throbbing

breast, And I knew her dearest wish was that it were her place

of rest, But she raised her face, serene and calm, and whispered,

" Now 'tis o'er, And you will bid me here farewell, and see my face no

more :

"For we must part — my mother's wrath, I would not

dare to brave,

Nor would I stain my father's word, for he is in his grave, And I'd rather you would go through life all lonely and

forlorn Than that you'd wed a perjured bride, whom all the

world would scorn.

A BALLAD. 77

" And this grief I in my breast must hide, 'twould be

unkind to tell Guy Stanford of this cruel pain; I know he loves me

well : He said my sisterly regard would grow to love through

time : It never can, and ah ! this pain seems near akin to crime."

I took her face between my hands, and gazed into her eyes, The eyes I thought would light me on to every high

emprize ; And if my lips had lingered long, on cheek, and brow

and hair, Each kiss was but the seal of woe, the signet of despair.

As when, in Eastern climes, the sun goes down, night

comes apace, With no twilight, where the footsteps of departing light

we trace ; So the clouds of night and darkness took the place of

golden day, When my arms again were empty, and my love had gone

away.

No moon was in the heavens that night, no star shone down on me,

As I lay all torn and bleeding 'neath that dear old haw- thorn tree ;

I tried to cool my burning brow among the weeping flowers,

And meet my sorrow there alone, in the dark midnight hours.

I wandered far to distant lands, o'er mount, and sea, and

plain, I saw the Moorish maidens, and the dark-haired girls of

Spain,

Italia's soft-eyed daughters, and the blondes of Germany, But there was none among them all could healing bring

to me.

78 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

At length, when tired of wandering, I thought of turning

home, I strolled alone one evening through the guaint streets of

Rome, Where I met young Harry Leslie, who, with pleasure

and with pride, Said I must see his painting of a fair young English bride.

" Not her white skin," he said ; " tho' it with pink sea

shell tinge glows, Not her fair cheek, tho' on it blooms the early summer

rose, Not even her golden hair, nor yet her eyes tho' bright

they shine, But the secret charm that makes her seem less mortal

than divine.

• "A streak of the Madonna's grief, in shadow of the

cross, Softens her smile as if her heart had known some scathing

loss; And tho' her joyous bridegroom seems true-hearted, good,

and kind, He ne'er can touch in sympathy her deep, poetic mind.

" If she has loved, she has given all the passions of her

life, But he's of lighter feeling, though he dearly love his

wife; And he would weep in sorrow if he'd hear her funeral

knell, Yet he would wed another bride, and love her quite as

well."

I smiled at the enthusiast, and bade him guard his heart, Lest Cupid, without asking leave would aim at him a

dart. " No, no," he said ; " though I was glad her glorious face

to paint, I felt but as a devotee that kneels before a saint.

A BALLAD. 79

" She has a cousin much less fair, but such a joyous heart, She is my dream — were I but rich, we never more should

part ; Her buoyant soul could sweeten the most bitter cup of

life, And her eyes have told she'd not say nay, if asked to be

my wife."

As thus we chatted on, we reached the artist's shady

bower, Round which the vine trees thickly twined, and many

a fragrant flower; But, oh ! my cry of anguish did my heart's deep wound

betray, When from the canvas gazed on me the face of gold-haired

May.

I fled from Rome, a poisoned sword had pierced my

aching soul, And the deep passion of my heart was stirred beyond

control ; I fled and sought the loneliest wilds, far from the haunts

of men, Until my grief again was locked beyond all human ken.

For she was wed, my darling May — May of the golden

hair, May of the deep bright violet eyes, and skin so snowy

fair, May of the heart as pure as light, the high-toned loving

soul, May who had wounded me to death, but ne'er would

make me whole.

One night, as I lay down to sleep, in a far southern wild,

"Where the night birds warbled sweetly, and the moon- light softly smiled,

Where the deep hum of busy life would never wake the morn,

And seldom even the quiet was broke by peasant's pipe or horn.

80 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

I know not if I slept or waked, but o'er me there did bow A white-robed form of beauty, that knelt down and

kissed my brow, And whispered in such heavenly tones, " Arise, go home,

Sir Hugh, Redeem again your wasted years, there's work for you to

do.

"Go to the suffering and the sad, and heal life's broken

springs, Go to the weary and oppressed, help faith to spread her

wings ; The wanderers on life's byways shield from the dark ways

of crime, There's flowerets, craving for thy care, among the thorns

of time."

Gone was the lovely vision ; but, obedient to the call, I turned homewards once again to my neglected hall, And there, with mingled joy and grief, I learned from

Alice Hay, That in the grave was laid to rest my darling gold-haired

May.

My dear one seemed again my own, no severing wall

between,

My ardent love no longer pained, as if it were a sin. And there is rest, and balm, and bliss, in the assurance

given, That those who had been wed on earth, will not be so in

heaven.

And oft I see May's white-robed form, as o'er me she did

bow, And the pressure of that angel kiss still lingering on my

brow,

Seems daily urging me in life my duties to fulfil, And prove a true interpreter to man of God's good-will.

And little nut-brown Alice now is Harry Leslie's wife, And they have proved the comforters and blessings of iny life;

ORAN DO THOBAR A CHUNNAIC. 81

And my companion, night and morn, is a tiny prattling

Who has the name, and angel looks, of darling gold-haired May.

And when I'm weary, oft I sit, beneath the old grey thorn, And long with sweet expectancy for the bright coming

morn;

I gaze across the silvery stream that doth us twain divide, For I know my love is waiting till I go to yonder side.

ORAN DO THOBAR A CHUNNAIC MI ANN AN TRAIGH LOCH ERIBOL.

SONG TO A SPRING IN THE BEACH OF LOCH ERIBOL.

CIOD e chuir thu, Thobair f hior-uisg', Dh'iarraidh amis an traigh do chuaich',

Far nach tig an t-eun a dh'61 dhiot, 'S nach cinn feoirnein air do bhruaich

Gur milis 's gur grinn thu, Fhuarain, 'S air learn fhein gur cruaidh do dhan,

Am falach am broilleach na mara, Fhad 's a mhaireas am muir-lan.

B'fhearr learn d'fhaicinn anns an fhireach,

No an innis ghuirm nan craobh, Far an oilt' thu moch us feasgar,

Leis an eilid 'us a laogh.

Far an tigeadh an damh cabrach, O 'leabaidh 's a' chreachunn f huar,

'Dh'ol gu deothasach de 'n fhior-uisg, 'Rinn fhalluinn co sgiamhacb tuar.

Far an iarrt' thu leis an t-sealgair,

Sgith 's an anmoch tighinn o'n bheinn,

'S 'n uair a dh'oladh e a lebir dhiot, Cha lubadh e 'm feoirnein fo 'bhuinn.

G

82 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

Far an tigeadh eoin a' bigil,

'Fhliucheadh ribheid nam pone binn,

Seal mu'n duisgeadh iad a' choille, Le coireall nan laoidhean grinn.

Far 'm bu mhiann le maighdinn bhbidhich 'Bhi curaail na cbmhdhail aigh,

'G eisdeachd as ur cliu na maise, 'Chuir lasadh an cridh' a graidh :

I 'gold seallaidh trie a d'sgathan, De 'n ailleachd mu'n d'rinn e sgeul,

'S 'n uair a chromadh i a dh' bl diot, E 'maoidheadh dhut pbig o 'beul.

B'annsa learn an sud thu, thobair, Na 'bhi feadh nan clachan garbh,

'Dbrtadh do shruthanan soilleir Am broilleach nan tonnan searbh ;

'Dbrtadh d'fhior-uisge gu diomhain, 'S ged dh'fhiachadh tu gu La-Luain,

Cha dean thu ;n cladach na's grinne, 'S cha dean thu mills an cuan.

FREAGAIRT AN TOBAIR.

Ciod a chuir thu, 'bhean, 'g am chumha, Ged is garbh 's is dubh mo chuach,

Ged nach e grinneal is grunnd dhomh, 'S nach cinn fliiran air mo bhruaich.

Tha mi anns an traigh cho suaimhneach, Ag Eisdeachd ri nuallan nan tonn,

'S ged bu cheol dhomh na h-ard langain Aig leannan nan aighean donn.

Cha 'n eil grinneas na mna-uaisle

Ceangailte ri luach a seud, 'S ged bhios riomhadh daor mu'n fhiodhuill,

Cha dean sud na's binn' an teud.

'S ged bhiodh rbsan, feur, us biolair, Mu m' bhile 's an aonach ard.

THE ISLE OF CANNA. 83

'S e na b'fheairrd mi fhein sud again, 'Bhi maiseach an sealladh Baird'.

'S ioma bean tha 'm bothan brbnach,

Aig a' bheil solas 'n a crann, Nach eil aig baintighearnan mbrail,

Aig a' bheil an t-br neo-ghann.

'S ioma bean a tha mar mise,

A' dbrtadh ionmhas a gaoil Far nach fhaigh i meas no pris air,

Gus an ruig i crioch a saoghail.

'S ged tha mise leth mo latha

'M folach am broilleach an loch, Eadar traghadh agus lionadh

Bheir mi do 'n iotmhor a dheoch.

7S ged nach tig a ghreadhan uallach, Dh'iarraidh fuarain feadh nan clach,

'S trie ag bl dhe' m' shruthain fhior-uisg' An eala, an giadh, us an lach.

'S ged bhithinn gu flurach 's na tolmain,

No an innis ghuirm na tuis, Cha deanadh tu fhein dhomh bran,

'S cha 'n fhaiceadh tu bbidhchead na m' ghnuis.

Cha dean mi 'n cladach na's grinne,

'S ris a' chuan cha bhi mi 'stri, Ach bheir mi mo shruthan gu milis

Do'n aite anns 'na chuireadh mi.

ST. PETERSBURG, a's t-Fhoghar, 1875.

THE ISLE OF CAKBTA.

OH, tell me not of Eastern groves, With palm-tree and banana,

Give me a cot, and let me dwell In the green isle of Canna.

84 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

Though bright the sun shines in the West

On Prairie and Savannah, More soft his smiles fall, and more sweet

Upon the braes of Canna.

Oh, were I sought by Eastern King

To be his loved Sultana, I'd rather list thy winds and waves,

And rest in thee, fair Canna.

With one loved friend, whose smile would be

To me like daily manna, I'd gladly live and calmly die

In thee, my bonnie Canna.

I would not in the moated Grange

E'er wail like Mariana ; I'd drink the sunshine of the heart,

And happy be in Canna.

The wines of France we ne'er would seek, Nor weeds from fair Havanna,

Contented with the homely fair And balmy air of Canna.

Though Syria's haughty chief might praise

His Pharpar and Abana, I'd rather bathe in the blue waves

That kiss thy shores, fair Canna.

And sweeter than the sweetest songs

On harp played or piano, The voices 'mong thy terraced braes

That waken day, green Canna.

Oh, I have been in all the lands

From Russia to Hispania, And thou art gem of all I've seen,

Thou sunny, breezy Canna.

Farewell, farewell, thou happy isle,

Abide in thee I maunna ; But smiling years, with plenty crowned,

Be aye thy dower, 0 Canna.

A BALLAD. 85

May day's high king grant thee his beams ;

And silver-bowed Diana Give summer dews in crystal showers,

To steep thy flowrets, Canna.

In wintry mists, though winds may rave,

The storm king's wild Hosanna ; His songs to thee be soft and low,

Pearl of the ocean, Canna !

A BALLAD.

THE restlessness that makes the heart in grief desire to

roam, Made me one summer long gone by oft wander from my

home,

My little prattlers one by one were laid beneath the sod, And I ne'er tried to bend my soul, or kiss the smiting rod.

I often roamed thro' Erlingchase, where once the hunting- horn,

And merry men with horse and hound, would wake the early morn ;

But now throughout the lordly parks reigned silence still and deep,

And there, when weary, oft I turned, and sat me down to weep.

I went one eve to rest within a flowery little dell, Where the grass was strewn with the rose-leaves that in

the light winds fell, And there I found a wearied one, whose look of pain

foregone, And patient sweetness 'midst her woes, would melt a

heart of stone.

But though her garb was stained and worn, her proud

imperial grace And sweet-toned voice told she had sprung from some

old kingly race.

86 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

I gazed upon the beauteous one that sweetly on me smiled, And thought of an exotic cast to die upon the wild.

"O worn and weary-looking one," I said, "tell me thy

tale : What is the wound within thy breast that makes thy

cheek so pale, That lined so deep the rosy mouth once curved with love

and pride, The soul took from the smj.le that now but whispers hope

has died 1

" Hide not thy cruel wounds, dear heart, for I have skill

to bind And soothe with sympathy's good balm the bruises of the

mind; For I have borne within my soul sore anguish, grief, and

pain, That you might search a thousand hearts, and seek for

such in vain."

" And if thy griefs were more than mine," she answered

soft and low,

" Thou'lt say when I to thee unfold my tale of bitter woe, I would not mourn, methinks, though all my hopes and

joys took wing ; But 'tis to blight where fain I'd bless that gives the cruel

sting.

" I stood on fortune's golden height, where velvet lined

my way, Where laden came each fairy hour with all that's bright

and gay. Friends thronged my home to woo my smile, or glad

me with their own, Though now I wander far and wide unaided and alone.

" And lovers came to tell their tale, with rapture in their

eyes, And vowed they cared not for my gold — I was their

sought-for prize.

A BALLAD. 87

But all my love was Cecil Vere's, a thousand times I said ; I wished I had an empire's crown to place upon his head.

" If I could have made Cecil blest, oh ! I would ne'er

repine, Unseen, unnoticed, and unknown, if but his love were

mine.

My sire was gay Sir Ralph de Clare, I was his only child ; I've heard my mother weep, and say his ways were

strange and wild.

" She died, and I, a thoughtless girl, danced merrily and

And knew not in his hands my wealth was ebbing fast

away. One morn they found him in his room all cold, and stiff,

and dead ; A pistol in his hand was clutched, a shot was through

his head.

" These must be raindrops on my face — I never shed a

tear; Their fountain all was scorched and dried with grief and

pain and fear. "Well, when my sire was in his grave I had to leave my

home, With nought but the great agony that to my soul had

come.

" 'Twas then I thought of all the times my father to me

came With cheques on which, with gifts and smiles he bade

me write my name. Oh ! madness — with what faith I wrote on what I never

read ! And I to-day am lone and poor, and he is with the dead.

" The friends that thronged my tiny court, and hailed me

as their queen,

When ruin's whirlwind came forgot that I had ever been. But, oh ! I cared not for them all if Cecil had but come. He came not, and as I have said, I had to leave my home.

88 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

" My maid, a girl who served me long, wept o'er my

hapless lot, And begged of me with her to share her brother's humble

cot. My helplessness and wish to leave a world that seemed

so cold, Made me consent, for I had gems that could be turned to

gold.

" There Mary, with a beauteous grace, aye strove to make

me feel That she was but my humble maid, and I her mistress

still ; And Harold was so great and strong, so tender, true, and

wise, With his dark crown of curling locks, his large, deep

azure eyes.

" I rested in their lowly home among the Scottish hills, And gladly drank their kind good-will, pure as the

mountain rills,

Until at length a shadow fell, and I beheld with pain Young Harold gave his wealth of love where all his love

was vain.

" I pitied him, as day by day I watched his cheek grow

pale ; His manly form drooped as the bough that bends before

the gale,

My griefs had made me pitiful and grateful to this youth, Who seemed the first who ever gave me love that was a

truth.

" I thought at length if I this soul could fill with joy

and love,

My aimless, wasted life might still a nobler mission prove. My mother's string of pearls, with which I used to braid

my hair, Might bring life's higher things to him who blessed me

with his care.

A BALLAD. 89

" For he was of no common mould ; ther£ met in him

combined

A knight's most graceful chivalry, a poet's lofty mind ; And as he read to us at eve, or played the violin, His beauteous face beamed with the light that shone out

from within.

" In honour he concealed his love, so I one summer eve Went to him where he often sat his chequered dreams to

weave. And when I offered him my hand he gazed like one

gone wild, Then calmly said, 'It cannot be, thou good and lovely child.

" 'I'd die to get thy soul's embrace, though doomed to

live apart ; But, oh ! my love, I could not take thy hand without

thine heart. I could not do so great a wrong, though my heart tempts

me sore To strain thee to my breast as mine, and keep thee ever

more.'

" ' Then Harold, we'll not part,' I said, ' thy love is so

divine ; The smoking flax of mine must burn near such a flame

as thine.' He kissed my hands in silent joy, and feasted on each

kiss, "Whilst I thought what a bliss were mine had Cecil loved

like this.

" Upon our bridal morn he came and took my hand so

grave,

And asked if I would ne'er regret to him the gift I gave, My high-born self, so young and fair — a prize for belted

earl, I whispered ' No ; ' he smiling, said I was a foolish girl.

"His worship beamed in his bright eyes, he kissed my

hands and face, And spoke of his resolve to win for me a higher place,

90 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

I, laughing, said I was content with this our humble lot, And I would learn to bake and spin, and clean our pretty cot.

"At noon that day the words were spoke that made us

one for life,

And Harold proudly hailed me then his own beloved wife, I trembling stood, I knew not why, I felt such pain and

fear; I raised my eyes — they fell upon the face of Cecil Vere.

" My own loved Cecil, with the old sweet lovelight in his

eyes; And there he stood, as dumb as stone, with anguish and

surprise. I gazed at him in speechless woe, then shrieked in my

despair, I, fainting, fell, and when I woke my Cecil was not there.

" I felt my mind was giving way, and, oh ! I'm thankful

now I clung around dear Harold's neck, and kissed his lips

and brow. I shrieked aloud, he gently soothed, and asked in tender

love, ' Who was the hawk that frightened thus his own sweet

wounded dove 1 '

" * Alas ! ' I cried, ' 'tis him I love, and he has come too

late ; ' And then I thought how my rude words embittered

Harold's fate, When he said, as he clasped me close, ' Ah ! idol of my

soul, Thine Harold would be glad to die if thy wounds were

made whole.'

" Then reason fled, and ere night came a maniac I was

bound And borne to a rude place whose name even has a hateful

sound.

A BALLAD. 91

Some years passed o'er, then I was free, an I sought dear

Harold's home ; The one sweet, quiet, peaceful spot where rest to me

could come.

" His home had quiet and peace and rest, but no place

for his bride,

Beneath a grassy mound he slept, with Mary by his side. Oh, Heaven ! what anguish filled my soul as from that

grave I fled, A widow that was ne'er a wife, a maid that had been wed.

" A bitterness to all I loved more direful than a foe ; Where'er I sought to waken joy I brought but pain and

woe. And now I know I'm near the end, and I have wandered

here, That ere I die I may behold the face of Cecil Yere."

She ceased to speak, and seemed so faint I bade her lie

to sleep

An hour upon the fragrant grass, and I a watch would keep. And as I watched, a gentleman of noble form I spied j I gazed at him as he drew near, then eagerly I cried,

" Now, by thy locks of curling gold, and by thine eyes so

brown,

And by thy stately loftiness that fits thee for a crown ; And by the griefs that softly veil the glories of thy face, I think thou must be Cecil Vere, the Lord of Erlingchase.

"And if thou art, behold the wreck of one who loved

thee dear, And who to see thy face and die in weakness wandered

here."

He listened, breathless, as her tale in eager haste I told, Then knelt in silence, wept, and kissed her locks of

shining gold.

He took her gently in his arms, and in such tones caressed As mother whispers to the babe that's dying on her breast,

92 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

" My beautiful Adele — my own, my fair and tender flower, Why didst thou not thy Cecil trust in dark misfortune's hour?

" My sire had heard thy wealth was gone, then sent me

off to sea,

By cruel guile, ere I had learned what had befallen thee. When I returned and heard the tale of thy most bitter

fate, I madly sought thee far and near, and found thee, love,

too late."

" Too late again; we meet," she said, " my Cecil but to

part;

But, oh ! my love, 'tis bless enow to die upon thine heart. Fold thy dear arms around me close, light's fading from

my view ; But to my soul 'tis bliss untold to know that thou were

true."

The setting sun poured forth his beams of crimson and

of gold

Upon the sad and weary face that grew so wan and cold. She saw them not — her beauteous eyes in death were

getting dim ; She knew but that her love was near, and she was dear

to him.

She pressed her pale lips to his face, and whispered as

she died,

" With Harold Gordon bury me on green Benledi's side ; Thou, Cecil, wert my love thro' life ; but sacred still

must be The sorrow of the kindly youth that died for love of me."

He gazed in anguish on her clay, then gasped forth, " It

is best — Death has been kind — thou didst not know I would not

break thy rest.

Within the halls of Erlingchase there reigns a stately dame, Who neither gave nor sought for love, yet wears thy

Cecil's name.

ON SEEING A LITTLE CHILD DYING. 93

" My sire, alas ! thy thirst for gold a wealth untold has

cost,

The love, the tenderness, the joy, that to my life are lost ; And thou, loved martyr, fair Adele, thou'lt sleep by

Harold's side, And oh that I even thus could be in death to thee allied."

I raised a rebel voice no more against the chastening rod, Nor murmured that my little ones were safe at home

with God ; The deep despair in Cecil's heart my loved ones ne'er

could feel. Nor yet the untold agonies that crushed the fair Adele.

ON SEEING A LITTLE CHILD DYING FROM THE EFFECTS OF SCALDING.

POOR bleeding hearts though to your garden came, The dark-robed angel and your bud he called,

Trust Him who sent him — Love is still His name, Although your now'ret was so roughly pulled.

Reason would question, where Lord is the love 1

Seeing yon prattler on her little bed, All beauteous and gentle as a dove,

Tossing in anguish her bright golden head.

Faith sees the hieroglyphics, writ by thee

Though it can't read them, yet it knows them right,

We go to Calvary, and there we see,

The heart of love, moving the hand to smite.

Each life vicarious is — so is each death,

Though not as His who for His people died,

Our hearts are hard, before the seed of faith Can e'er take root, we must be deeply tried.

Our tenderest hopes grow oft round transient things, In mercy God will chase them from our sight ;

Our eyes strain upwards as they take their wings, Till earth grows dark and heaven alone seems bright.

94 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

And this one's death is better than his life,

We loved and lost — they were to us but given,

That our deep love for the frail child of earth, Might twine on high around the child of heaven.

FRAGMENT OF A POEM WRITTEN ON THE DEATH OF D. C. KILMALLIE.

WHERE Christ His glorious mansions builds, Where angel hands each chaplet weaves,

Where fruit the tree of knowledge yields, And death lurks not among the leaves.

o

There, victor over death and strife,

Although our loved one waves his palm,

The God who gave him endless life We praise, with sorrow in our psalm.

Faith gladly sees him 'mong the blest, But nature fain would to the throne,

To pluck him from Immanuel's breast, And press him closely to our own.

Still though our cry goes up to God, Our darling, would we died for thee,

He knows our wish to kiss the rod, And loving, humble children be.

'Tis not the tear that's lightly shed That God will in His bottle keep,

But that which from the soul is bled, Though it might ne'er the eyelids steep.

THE DYING WORDS OF RACHEL JENKINSON.

MOTHER ! will my own Jesus Not come and take me away 1

For, oh ! I am so weary, In this falling cot of clay.

BOWSING THE JIB. 95

Why do His chariots linger,

On these borders of unrest 1 Oh ! for a dove's swift pinion,

To bear me to His breast.

I long to see my Jesus,

To get my blood-bought lyre, To sing sweet halleluias

Among the white-robed choir. To hear the angels' welcome

That awaits me in His home, And Maggie joining sweetly,

Dear Sissy, I'm glad you've come.

Oh ! for the glorious mansion,

From sin and sorrow free ; Oh ! for the band so radiant,

That walks the jasper sea. I love you all, my dear ones,

But would not longer stay : Mother ! will my own Jesus

Not come and take me away 1

BOWSING THE JIB.

DEDICATED TO ALL THE WIVES WHO REFORM THEIR HUSBANDS WITH THE SPELL OF LOVE.

I ONCE was a jovial chap, social and happy, Wha lo'ed wi' a cronie k> sit ower the drappie ; Though I seldom got fu' — I'll no tell a fib — There was whiles I gaed hame wi' a bowse in my jib.

My mither said, " Laddie, I think ye maun marry — There's Elspet M'Tavish and Kirsty M'Quarry ; Ye ha'e slipp'd frae my hands ; gin ye had ane o' they, She aiblins could guide ye the gait ye should gae."

I lauched and said, " Mither, I'll no wed wi' either, Though Kirsty 's a han' ane could trust wi' a tether ;

96 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

Tis ne'er for a wife tae auld Clootie sae sib I'd barter the pleasure o' bowsing my jib.

" A bee has a sting aye although it has honey, And Elspet a tongue has although she has money ; And a wee bird has whispered 't wad tak' a bit stell Tae mak' a' the drappies she tipples hersel'."

She shook her auld head, and she groaned and lamentit, And vowed that the day wad come when I'd repent it, And syne fleeched as vain that the apron and bib I wad wear, and gi'e over the bowsing my jib.

'Mang a band o' fair maidens, wi' frolic and laughin', In a bonnie May gloamin' sae lichtsomely daffin', I saw a young fay wi' the grace o' a fawn, And a beauty as soft as the licht o' the dawn.

I dreamed a' the nicht as I lay on my pillow

O' her bricht, laughin' een that were blue as the billow ;

And I vowed if I got the sweet fay for a rib

I'd ne'er again seek tae gang bowsing my jib.

I coorted her lang, for sae firm was my lassie 'Gainst wedding wi' ane who lo'ed goblet and tassie ; Syne I pledged her my word, if my lot she wad share, For her sake that the apron and bib I wad wear.

She cam' tae my hame wi' her love's gowden dower, And my life has been ae dream o' bliss since that hour ; My wine's noo rocking a white-covered crib, And I never seek tae gang bowsing my jib.

COMEADH

EADAB AM BARD 'S A' CHLARSACH AIR A SGRIOBHADH AIR SON COMMUN GAIDHLIG INBHERNIS.

A CHLARSACH ghaoil, O ! cuime nochd, Nach cluinn mi uat ach osna throm ? 'Nuair b'aill learn luinneag bhi gu binn Seirm feadh gach coill, is machair lorn.

COMHRADH. 97

O mosguil, a Chlarsach na Tuath ! Cha b'e do dhualchus caoidhrean brbin, Is toinnidh mis' umad iadh-chrann, Min-fhraoch nam beann is canach loin.

Is trie a mhol thu le h-ard phone Na mic shona a thoill do rainn, Duisg is seinn do'n Chomunn chaomh A tha an diugh na d'aobhar cruinn !

Is iomadh sar bhios cruinn a nochd, 'S an comhradh ard mu thir an f hraoich, Tir riam beann 's nan gleanntan aigh Is trie a dh'araich na sar-laoich.

An comhradh binn mu chainnt nam Fiann

Learn is miann bhi 'g e"isdeachd riu,

Is pioban tartrach le binn cheol

A' toirt na tim' a dh'fhalbh dhuinn dluth. —

A' dusgadh f earalachd 's gach sonn ; Is baintighearnan le fonn neo-ghann A' deanamh gairdeachais le h-aoibh An cuimhneachan nan saoi a bh'ann.

A' CHLARSACH.

A nighean ghaoil, gur mor mo run Air Comunn ur nam fiuran treun ; Mar bhata do laimh an fhir aosd' Tha comhnadh nan laoch dhomh fhein. —

lad dhomh mar bhraonaibh ciuin a' Mhaigh, A bheir caoin-bhlath air lus is geig ; Mar ghathan soluis na coinnle, A bheir drills' air soillse na leig'.

Mar aiteal grein do'n duine thinn, Mar chopan f ion' do'n chridhe f hann, Tha na Comuinn so toirt beath as ur Do chlarsach bha tursa feadh bheann.

Ach cha sheinn mi luinneag a nochd, 'S air caithream ard cha dean mi luaidh,

H

98 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

'S ann tha mi ri mulad 's ri caoidh

Mu thir mo ghaoil 's mu chlann mo shluaigh.

Thig leamsa gu Beinn Nimheis aird, 'S a ris gu Beinn Fhuathais an fheoir, Is ma tha faireachduinn na d'chridh' CM thu na bheir uat do threoir :

Na bothain chleachd bhi air gach raon, Is gu dlu mu thaobh nam beann, 'S fuar an teallaich 's fad air faontraidli An dream ghaolach chleachd bhi annt'.

Far am biodh mnathan caoin-gheal, grinn, A' togail am maothrain a suas, Gu ceatharna f hoigheantach laidir, Bu ro mhath a phaigheadh an duais.

Gu ursainnan-catha nach geilleadh,

Ged a bhiodh an eiginn cruaidh ;

Bu smior iad an cnaimh nan ceann-feadhna,

Ged 's e nochda sgeul mo thruaigh !

Nach f haicear an claim air na raoin, No 'n oigridh na'n sgaothan 's na glinn ; Is luinneag bhuana, bhleothainn, no luaidh Cha chluinnear o ghruagaichean grinn.

Dream mhor gun fheinealachd, gun cheilg, 'S na'n rioghalachd bu choma leo Ged a mharbht' an teaghlaich 's iad fhein Na'm biodh an cinn-f headhna beo !

Cha chluinn mi 'nochd an tir an f hraoich Ach coin is caoraich, 's glaodhaich Ghall, 'S cha'n ioghnadh mis' a bhi ri' caoidh 'S mo theud a bhi gu h-aoibhneas mall.

AM BARD.

Is ioghnadh learn fhein do chainnt, A chlarsach ghrinn nan teudan oir, Ged is sgapt' tha sliochd nam fear A thogadh creach 's a leanadh toir.

COMHRADH. 99

Cha choir do d'phonc-sa a bhi tursach, Is uaibhreach a dh'fhaodas tu seinn, 'S lionmhor, ainmeil feadh an t-saoghail Sliochd na laochraidh bha na d'ghlinn.

Cha'n eil ni bh'ann ri m'linn f hein Do ghniomh euchdach a sheinneadh Bard Anns nach robh pairt de d'chloinn air tus A' cosnadh cliu is urraim aird.

Bha Sir Cailein le Ghaidheil threun' Biamh buadhar 's an streup mar bu dual, Le 'm pioban 's am brataichean sroil 'S an claidh'an mor is goirt a bhuail !

Ach cha 'n ann 's a chogadh a mhain A choisinn deagh chliu le d'shuinn, Cha mho 's ann a' direadh nam beann A shealg an daimh 's na h-eilde duinn.

Ach 'an cogadh a mhath ris an olc, Na'n treun ghaisgich churanta mhor, Ag claoidh luchd foirneart anns gach tir, 'S a' cumail neart ri luchd na coir*.

Ag giulan soluis gu duthchan cian

'S 'am measg f hineachan a b'f hiadhaich greann,

Mar ghathan oir troimh na dubh-neoil

An casan glbrmhor air gach beann.

An t-ollamh Duff 's a chiabhan Hath Na 'n coron sgiamhach air an treun, Sar ghaisgeach 'an cogadh na firinii — 'S tha am mili ud leat-f hein.

'S am Muileach, Daibhidh Mac Dhunleibhe, Mar reul na maidinn 's an tir chian, Thriall e troimh neoil is deuchainn gheir A dh-innseadh gu'n eireadh a' ghrian.

Mar abstol ard bha e do'n t-sluagh Nach cuala mu f hlaitheas no Dia, Is bhriseadh leis cuibhreach an traill Mu'n d'f halbh e gu Parais an Triath.

100 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

Dh'fhag e mar dhileab g'a dhuthaich Cungaidh a chur ris an lot chruaidh, Slabhruidh an truaghain a bliristeadh 'S a thoirt gu meas 'am measg an t-sluaigh.

'S an t-oigfhear a chaidh mach na 'lorg Feadh fhineachan borba tir na grein', Is Camshronach o Lochaidh e, Meangan ard dhe d'chraobhan fhein.

'S tha air do chul na dh'innseas deas Do bhuadhan 's a sheasas ard-chuis Do dhaoine, do dhuthcha, 's do cheol, O'n Bhanrigh mhoir is caomha gnuis.

'S Ceann-feadhna gaoil a' Chomuinn aigh A sheinn sinn, a chlarsach nan tend, An t-ard-fheallsanach, Blackie nam buadh, Ceannard uasal 'measg nan ceud !

'N uair tharruingeas e 'chlaidheamh le smachd Is niarachd mac bhios dhut na 'namh Is ge b'e labhras foil mu d'thir Blieir e cliridh' dha 's a dlieas lamh.

Mile failte do'n Cheann-f headhna !

'S do Choruunn greadhnach tir an fhraoich,

Tir thuathach nam feara laidir

A bhios, mar bha iad riabh, na'n laoich !

A NIGHT SONG.

WRITTEN IN A TIME OF TRIAL.

AIR : — " My Jesus, I love Thee.1'

THOU hope of the sinful and help of the weak,

Thou stay of the weary, Thy smile will I seek,

Guide of the wanderer, Star of the Sea,

Oh, beam on my darkness,

Oh, beam on my darkness,

Oh, beam on my darkness,

And lead me to Thee.

CONVERSATION BETWEEN PET LINNET AND CANARY. 101

Balm of each sorrow, oh come to my soul,

The wounds of my heart Thou canst soothe or make

whole ;

Alone in the tempest, bright Star of the Night, Oh, beam on my darkness Thy beautiful light.

Give me Thy manna, Thy water to drink, Or, fainting in anguish, to death I will sink ; 'Midst beasts of the desert, low pillowed on thorn, Oh, beam on my darkness, Thou Star of the Morn.

Jesus, Thou fairest, Thou storehouse of love, Hide in the rock Thy poor weak trembling dove ; Foes are pursuing — I'm weak for the strife — Oh, beam on my darkness, Thou Day-star of Life.

Tho' I've been a traitor too oft to my trust, The bright sword Thou gavest corrupted with rust, And soiled the banner so snow-white unfurled, Oh, beam Thou in mercy, fair Star of the World.

In weakness, in wandering, in sorrow and pain, The palm of the victor and crown let me gain ; Thou stay of the weary, Thou star of my soul, Oh, beam Thou in mercy, and guide to the goal.

CONVERSATION BETWEEN MY PET LINNET AND CANARY.

I can only account for the last verse by the fact of my reading Good Words aloud whilst seated beneath the cage.

CANARY, bowing politely and looking sweet : —

Yes, I lo'e thee, and though free,

Wadna say thee nay, laddie, But we'd baith thegither flee

To my land awa', laddie ; Where the sun is warmly shining, And the vines their tendrils twining, Offering such luscious dining.

102 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

Tho' it's far awa', laddie, We wad be sae happy there ; 'Mong myrtle bowers, free o' care, We'd roam and sing, and never mair

Dream o' prison wa's, laddie !

LINNET, lovingly but independent :—

Could I burst these prison bars,

Glad I'd flee awa', lassie, Yet I wadna gang sae far

As ye'd hae me gae, lassie. We wad wander baith thegither A' the joyful simmer weather, 'Mang the bonnie bloomin' heather,

And the broom sae braw, lassie. We wad spend the gowden hours 'Mang the fairest o' the flowers, Syne in scented birken bowers

Nestle till the daw, lassie.

I wadna leave my native hills

To gang far awa', lassie ; The like o' their crystal rills

Germany ne'er saw, lassie ! Drinking frae their siller treasure, Bathing in their wave wi' pleasure. O our joy wad hae nae measure,

Gin we'd win awa', lassie. And ye wad be my bonnie dear Amang beauties far and near, Dressed sae rich in gowden gear,

Queen aboon them a', lassie !

Both together : —

Let us not, my love, repine,

Tho' oor cot's but sma', laddie — lassie; Tho' we to your land or mine

Canna win awa', laddie — lassie ; Tho' we cross no plain nor ferry,

Mount nor vale, for blade nor berry,

FAILTE DO LOCHIAL. 103

Love can mak' oor hame as merry

As a festive ha', laddie — lassie. How sweetly J. S. Blackie sings The bird that does not fret its wings, But with full-breasted joyance flings

His soul in song awa', laddie — lassie !

FAILTE DO LOCHIAL AGUS D'A MHNAOI OIG DO LOCHABAB,.

AIR FONN : — " Fair a nuas dhuinn am botul Cuir an deoch so mu'n cimirt."

TOG le muirn, a Lochabar, do bhrataichean srbil,

Biodh Lochial is Loch-Airceig gu h-ait mar a 's cbir ;

Seideadh suas mar bu dualach piob nuallanach mhbr, Gus am freagair Mac-talla le caithream an ceol.

Piob dhosrach nam badan, biodh gu h-aigeant air ghleus, Gach clarsach is fiodhull a' ritheadh nan t6ud ;

'S gach ian anns a ghiusich gu siubhlach air gh6ig, Seinn ceilearan-bainnse le seannsairean reidh.

O dhuthaich Chloinn-Chamshroin, drearn mheanmnach

mo ghaoil,

Cha choigreach le leannan tha 'tarruing na d'ghaoith, Ach meangan de'n Daraig ann 'ad thalamh tha aosd' 'Tighinn dachaidh le 'bhaintighearn' gu teampul na h-aoidh'.

O Dhomhnuill nan Domhnull g'am bu chbireach deagh

bheus, Sliochd nan cuiridhnean gasda, sliochd nan lasgairean

tre"un,

A bha uasal nan cleachdadh 's ioma eachdruidh rinn sge"ul, Agus Bard a rinn duan mu an uaisle 's an e"uchd.

A mhic nam fear gaisgeil bha Lochabar dhuibh dual, 'S ioma linn chunnaic ann sibh na'r ceannardan sluaigh ;

'S trie a threoraich sibh feachd as fo'bhratach nam buadh, 'S co a dhianadh air tilleadh ann an iomairt nan tuagh !

104 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

Is tha thusa, 'fhir cheutaich, a'n am beus mar bha each,

Ann an uaisle 's an tuigse 's ann an gliocas ro ard ; Fhuaradh meas anns a' chuirt leat 's thug do dhuthaich

dhut gradh,

B'annsa trocair no toic leat — 's caraid' bhochd thu '& gach cas.

Gur tu iasgair a' bhradain sealgair ro mhath nan ian, 'S eutrom dhireadh tu'n leacainn gu creachtmn nam

fiadh;

Le d'ghillean, 's le d'ghunna, 's le d'chuileanan dian, 'S 'n uair a theid thu na d'eideadh gur e 'm feileadh do mhiann.

Ceud failte dhut dhachaidh do Lochabar nan laoch, Ceud failte le morchuis is d'bgbhean ri d'thaobh ; Cha b'ann do choille na crionich chaidh tu dh'iarruidh

mna-gaoil,

'S ann a bhuain thu gheug chubhraidh, 'an doire dlu nan ur chraobh.

'S ann a bhuain thu'n ros aghmhor 'an lios aillidh nam flur,.

Caoin lios a bha sgiamhach le grian agus driuchd ; A bha gaolach le h-Albuinn 's ioma calm-f hear glan dhiubh,

A rinn eirigh gu tatrach a thogail bratach na cnis.

Dream churanta laidir a dhol do 'n arfhaich le fonn, Scotuich uasal na'm feachdan sliochd nan gaisgeach 's

nan sonn ;

Luchd a dhianamh a'chasgraidh an am stailceadh nan bonn, Claidh'each, sgiathach, neo-chearbach, ag comhstri ghail- bheach nan glonn.

'S trie a chriothnuich fir Shasunn roimh ur caisimeachd

gharbh, 'N uair a chluinnte' ur slogan bhiodh an cogadh dhoibh

searbh ; 'S ged a thogadh iad creach uaibh bhiodh 'ur n-aicheamhail

. v

'S ioma mill bhiodh reubte 's bhiodh na ceudan dliiubh marbh.

THE BLUE BANNER. 105

'S 'n uair a thigeadh an t-siochaint gu'm bu mhm bhiodh

gach gnuis, 'S ann an talla a' chaoimlineis gheabhte aoibhneas is

muirn;

'S 's e chuir mise le h-eibhneas a dheanadh sgell air ur cliu, Sibh thoirt neamhnuid ghlan ailli ga chur am fainne mo ruin.

Gu ma buan bhios am fainne, 's gu'm bu slan bhios[an leug, Gathan oir o na h-ardaibh, a bhi gach la mu air ceum ;

Gum bu duilleach an Darag Ian de shnothach 's gach geug, Cnothach meanganach laidir 's i gun fhaillinn na'freumh.

THE BLUE BANNER.

Composed in May, 1876, on the occasion of the Union of the Keformed Presbyterians with the Free Church.

WAVE grandly old banner, baptised in blood, Great heroes have borne thee through fire and through flood, The brave have gone forth to the fields of the slain, When tyranny threatened thy beauty to stain.

Oh, joyous and free, on the breezes unfold, Show proudly thy motto in letters of gold,' Thou flag of the mighty, thou flag of the true, Thou flag of our fathers, so bonnie and blue.

Stream high on our towers, for to-day to our Hall Come the sons of the free, whom no power could enthrall ; Who down through the ages, made Scotia ring, With " The Crown and the Covenant," of Jesus, our King.

Oh, wreathe we with roses, dear Cameron's name, And in letters of gold write the, scroll of their fame, The patriot band, who so gallant and true, Kept the flag of our fathers so bonnie and blue.

Our freedom to-day has been purchased by those Who held it aloft from the reach of its foes ; Ye sons of the sires who enfranchised our land, We welcome, and hail ye, with heart and with hand.

106 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

Thrice armed they rose, and withstood every shock, As the waves in their wrath are withstood by the rock ; Through "Well wood's green valley " their blood did bedew, They aye kept the banner so bonnie and blue.

Then shoulder to shoulder, and hand clasped in hand, Let us stem every torrent of wrong in our land ; God's love in our hearts, like an orient beam, On our towers the blue flag in its glory will stream.

There's over us hov'ring God's beautiful Dove, As gladly we join in sweet kindness and love, And vow heart and hand to be faithful and true, To the flag of our fathers, so bonnie and blue.

DUAN GAIRDEACHAIS.

DO CHOMUNN GAIDHLIG INBHIRNIS.

MOCHTHRA an de fhuair mi an sgeul,

Chuir mi gu glens orain ; 'S buailidh mi'n teud, togaidh mi'n t-seisd,

Aighearach, reidh, cheolar. Seinneam neo-throm failt' agus fonn —

Comunn nan sonn mora — Sliochd nam fear fial, b'ainmeile gniomh,

Air an cuala sinn riabh comhradh ; Sliochd nam fear donn a b'euchdmhoire glonn

'N uair bhiodh iad am fonn comhstrith — Gaisgich neo-f hann — am misnich neo-ghann

'N uair thogteadh ri crann srol leo. 'S trie dh'fhairich an naimh cudthrom an laimh,

'N am tarraing nan lann ro-gheur ;

Bhiodh na Goill gu Ian fiamh, 's chrith na Sasunnaich riabh,

'N am faicinn an dian chomhrag.

Gu'm bu trom a bhiodh smachd nam fear colgarr' Ian reachd,

'S claidh'mhan mora na'n glaic dheonaich.

DUAN GAIRDEACHAIS. 107

Ach mar dhuilleach nan craobh no moll air ghaoith,

Chaidh muinntir mo gliaoil fhogradh ; 'S gheobhar ar sluagh, deas agus tuath,

Gu iomall nan cuan bocach. 'N ait uaislean mo ghaoil a bha daimheil ri'n daoin,

Thainig Goill le'n cuid chaorach mora, Agus Sasunnaich chiar a shealgach nam fiadh,

Feadh gharbhlach nan sliabh snodhar. Cuid mhor dhuibh gun f hiu, gun eachdraidh, gun chliu

Ach gu'n d'rinn aon duibh orach ; Gaidheil ghlan ac', a' falbh air gach lie,

'Tional nam feachd crocach, 'S iad a' fanoid le gair, 's a' labhairt le tair

Mu mhacaibh nan sar dorn geal ; 'S iad a' labhairt le fuath mu theanga nann buadh,

Ceol is binne na fuaim orgain. Mar fhlur ann an gleann, le cion driuchd a bhios fann,

Chrom a' Ghaidhlig a ceann boidheach \ 'S ann theireadh an sluagh gu'n d'fhosgladh a h-uaigh,

'S gu'n rachadh i luath chomhnuidh

Far nach cluinnt' i aig sonn, 's nach biodh nighneag gheal dhonn

Ga 'seinn dhuinn le fonn ceolar. Bha caochan nan gleann ri caithream gu fann,

'S Mac-talla nam beann bronach ;

'S 'n uair a chluinnteadh a' ghaoth a' seinn feadh nan raon,

B'e tuireadh a's caoidh bu cheol dhi. Ach dh'eirich 's an Tuath muim'-altruim nam buadh

"Thug do chanan mo luaidh solas ; Le curam nach treig chaidh a togail o '11 eug

'S o mhasladh luchd-bhreug dobhaidh. Shiab iad le truas na deura bho 'gruaidh,

'Us dh'uraich iad snuadh a h-oige ; 'S tha i nis mar a bha, 'faighinn urraim 's gach ait'

Measg chinneach is aird' foghlum. ^

Mile beannachd le gradh gu Comunn nan sar —

Guidheam furan a's failt' d'an comhlan ; 'S ged nach cogadh le lanii a dh'fheudar 's an am,

A chosgradh ar namh shonraicht',

108 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

Feumar misneach a's ciall, gliocas a's gniomh,

'S gaisge 's an dian chomhraig, Chum 's gu'n togar a suas ceud-fath ar sluaigh

A's teanga na fuaim' ceolair. Mile beannachd do'n t-saor rinn a' chathair bha daor,

JS an suidh i le h-aoidh 's mor-chuis — Slat shuaithnis na 'dorn 's i a' lionadh nan corn—

Fion gliocais am piosan orbhuidh'— Piob thartrach ri 'taobh, 'us i cruinte le fraoch !

'S nach mill ceathach no aois a boidhchead.

A WISH FOR A FRIEND.

I'LL breathe a prayer for thee, my friend ;

And frown not if the boon I crave Be not what with thy wish may blend,

But what I think 'twere best to have.

I will not seek thy greatest dower Be glittering heaps of precious gold ;

Nor yet the dangerous gift of power : The heart oft in her grasp grows cold.

Nor would I wish thee e'er to be The lauded among worldly men ;

Nought charms the soul like flattery, And man is weak when he is vain.

But I would have thee great of soul Among the noblest sons of earth ;

And, as the years still onward roll, Increasing still thy store of worth.

Thy simplest act a thing sublime, Above all meanness and all strife ;

And marching to the shores of time With a bright halo round thy life.

Be lofty, friend ! Be never thine

The pleasures that must leave a sting ;

But freely drink the glorious wine The virtues from life's vintage wring.

THE FORSAKEN ONE TO THE DEWDROP. 109

A king of men, above all blame,

Who'll follow good though it be odd,

Who counts that sin's the only shame, And bends his soul to none but God.

A man in all the hidden sense

That gives the grand old word its might ; A man who finds his recompense

In knowing he has done the right.

Thus would I wish thee, day by day,

Thy soul in beauty still to grow, And dwell, when life shall pass away,

Where streams of joy will endless flow.

THE FORSAKEN ONE TO THE DEWDROP.

AIR : — " Rousseau's Dream."

SPARKLING dewdrop, clear and pearly,

Listen to my earnest call. I'm a faded drooping flower ;

On my brow and bosom fall.

I have seen the rosebud hide thee In its bright and beauteous breast,

Like a blushing bride her diamond As a love-gift pure and blest.

And it grew so fair and lovely, And such fragrance round it shed,

That bright smiles were lingering o'er it When its beauty all was fled.

Come to me, thou fairy jewel ;

From my heart all moisture's gone, — None to love me, nought to cheer me,

Dreams all vanished, sad and lone.

Come to me, O drop of heaven, Pure and fragrant from the sky,

Like a drop of love and pity From my guardian angel's eye.

110 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

Sparkling dew-drop, clear and pearl}7", On my brow and bosom fall.

I'm a faded drooping flower ; On my brow and bosom fall.

LINES ON THE DEATH OF A BOY.

LITTLE fragile, bonnie flower, Meet to grace a fairy bower ; Ray of sunlight, that had come To give gladness in thine home ; — Quenched is now thy rosy light 'Mid the shadows of the night. Oh, the wealth of tender joy Lost with thee, fair baby boy.

Golden locks and sunny smiles, Rosy cheeks and baby wiles, Pattering feet that ne'er would rest, Waking joy in every breast ; Lisping words, that to our ears Seemed like music from the spheres. All are vanished — all are hid 'Neath the joyless coffin lid.

Beautiful in death wert thou, With thy pure-white parian brow, And a smile upon thy lip As if dreaming in thy sleep. Like the snowdrops pale, that lie On thy little breast to die, Thou didst sweetly bloom thine hour, Bonnie fragile little flower.

High upon the crystal sea, Clothed in immortality, Where the tender Shepherd leads All His lambs to all their needs ;

A SONG FOR THE TIMES. Ill

Among flowers that never fade, Where the tree of life gives shade ;— There again, in purest joy, May we meet thee, baby boy.

A SONG FOE THE TIMES.

THERE'S an unco fracas in the Churches,

And the cheeks o' the faithfu' grow pale At the odour of heterodoxy

That's floating aboot on the gale. Ye preachers wha, rivin' and tearin', Are seeking tae widen yer claith, Even tho' ye may tak' oor Confession, We pray ye tae leave us oor faith. The faith ye ha'e vow'ed to uphold — The faith that is better than gold ; Without it the heart is an altar,

That's lifeless, and fireless, and cold.

I£ Germany sends us her legions,

Tae sap out the life o' oor creed ; Tae leave us nae staff tae lean on

For strength in the hour o' oor need— For, wae's me, her rational tenets

Are just but religion's puir wraith ; A thoosand times nobler and better Is Scotland's Confession o' Faith. A thing sae unlovely, unblest,

A corpse that's in finery dress'd ; And when we go near to embrace it We find it in deadness confess'd.

Ah, weel, if she sends us her legions Tae sap out oor beautifu' creed,

'Twould be better by far if she sent us Her Uhlans our country tae bleed.

Her daughters are peripatetics,

That dance frae their birth to their death,

112 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

And no like the douce wives and maidens Taught frae the Confession o' Faith. Although they are comely and kind,

Among them I never could find

The thocht o' oor ain Scottish woman,

Nor sic a backbane tae the mind.

Like Germany dinna ye mak' us,

A land without Sabbath or creed, A land where the churches are empty —

Wha lives but for pleasure is deid. Tho' stern was the mother that rear'd us,

Tae rnak' her mair saft I'd be laith ; We love her in all her auld grandeur, Wi' even her Confession o' Faith. Ye spns o' auld Scotland sae grave,

Oh, dinna ye be like the lave, Like bairnies, delighted wi' gim cracks, And cowries from over the wave.

In the auld Scottish ship there's a captain

Wha lives awa doon by Roseneath, Wha for fallen humanity's haffets

Has woven sae bonnie a wreath ; Croon'd wi't tae the bar o' oor conscience,

Confession and Bible come baith ; What we see we believe, and nae mair o't, And sing the death wail o' oor faith. O captain, you've sailed in a fog,

And wrang things are doon in your log, That maist wad mak tars like me wonder If e'er ye mak free wi' your grog.

His compass he should get adjusted,

As he lives sae near the Gareloch, Or else his auld ship may get wreckit

Ere he loses sight o' the Cloch. For there's shoals aye and rocks under water

That may work his craft muckle scaith, Tho' naebody ever has seen them,

But only received them wi' faith.

A SONG FOR THE TIMES. 113

And besides, the auld ship ance sae braw,

I fear me is wearin' awa, For Plimsoll declares her a coffin,

Altho' they've repaired her and a'.

On the banks o' the Clyde there is Dauvid.

Wha is without doubt a big gun, Maybe no just sae muckle at preachin'

As laugh in', romancin', and fun. Ance bravely he hunted the Hydra,

That workit the drouthie folk scaith ; Nbo, wae's me, he levels his lance At his faither's Confession o' Faith. But he is among the TJ.P.'s —

Wha arena' sae strict as the Frees — Where a' body seems to be licensed Tae weave their ain web as they please.

There's ane that wrought hard in a smiddy,

Awa up in gay Bon Accord, Wha clured the bricht croon o' auld Moses,

And hammered awa at his sword. I ken ye hae lear, sir, and knowledge ; But hech, sirs, and were ye na laith, Tae blaw wi' you're bellows sic sparks up, Tae burn oot the laity's faith.

I fear me, guid Smith, your na strong, And, aiblins, they were in the wrong Wha placed the big hammer sae early In hands o' a callant sae young.

I've seen a bit bairn in a temper,

And he'd have nae toy but the moon, And surely you, sir, were as foolish,

When you took to during this croon. For there's wark for a strong honest workman,

That's nobler and guidlier baith, In making the armour for heroes,

Wha fight wi' the foes o' oor faith.

i

114 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

Gude Smith, put this nonsense aside, And let whatsoever betide,

In the glow o' the bush that was burning, In peace and in safety abide.

Yestreen, I confess, in the morning

My heart was all gruesome and cauld, When I thocht that e'en some o' the fathers

Wad tak' this new wine for the auld. But the cry was there's death in the chalice,

And keeping still spotless their claith ; They rallied around oor dear Bible And kept us oor beautiful faith. Hurrah for the gallant and true, The faith ever auld ever new, Wave o'er covenanting auld Scotland Thou banner sae bonnie and blue !

OKAN DO CHAIPTEIN SIOSAL, FEAR ALLT

NA GLAISLIG. FONN : — " Cha mJwr nack coma lean cogadk no sitk."

0 GHAIDHEIL a 's ciataich, " do bhliadhua mhath ur," Ged chosdadh i 'n t-br dhomh gu'n blainn le sunnt ; A phiobair' an fheadain, 'fhir leadannich dhuinn, 'S tu-f he"in 'chuir le d'sheannsair gu dannsadh na suinn.

Bu shiiibhlach an ribheid, 's bu mhilis an gleus, 'Us b'fhileant' na mebir 'thug an cebl a bha reidh ; Gu'm b'uaibhreach an aigne 'bh'aig gaisgeach mo ghaoil, 'S bu rioghail an Gaidheal mac aillidh nan laoch.

O Shiosalaich ghasda, 's ceann-feachd thu le buaidh, Sar shaighdear gun ghealtachd, gun mheatachd dhut dual ; Thu 'shiol nam fear calm', agus dhearbh thu do chbir Air giulan ard-ainm agus meanmna do shebrs'.

'S i 'n deise 'bu mhiann leat, an deise 'bu dual, An deise 'bha gradhach le armuinn do shluaigh ; Cha b'i 'bhriogais lachdunn a thaitinneadh ribh Ach feileadh cruinn socair 'an cogadh 's an sith.

ORAN DO CHAIPTEAN SIOSAL.

O Fhir Allt-na-Glaislig gur math 'thig dhut-fhein A' bhoineid 's am breacan aig clachan no felll, Am feileadh-beag-cuaiche 's do shuaicheantas ard, 'S do leugan a' boillsgeadh mar dhaoimean gu h-aillt' !

A lasgaire chiataich 's tu 's fiachail' 's gach cuis, Tha seirc agus maise a' lasadh na d'ghnuis ; O c'ait an robli cuachag 'measg ghruagach na tir1 Nach rachadh 'am fuadach leat, 'uasail mo ehridh' !

'S tu sealgair an f heldh agus sealgair an ebiii,

'S tu sealgair na h-eal' agus sealgair a' ghebidh,

Le d'ghunna neo-chearbach 's tu dh'fhalbhadh an fhrith,

'S a shiubhladh an. fhuar-bheinn air cruaidhead na sin'.

Do mhiann 'bhi 's a' chreachann 's am faighte' 'n damh

donn —

G-ed Js luthor e leum bithidh e reubt' air an fhonn 'N uair 7chuireas tu 'n cuilbhear gu cuimseach ri d'shuil,. 'S a shradas gu buadhor do luaidhe mu 'chul.

A Phiobair' an f headain, ged 's beadarach binn 'Bhi d'eisdeachd 'an sebmar 'n am cebl 'bhi ga 'shelnn, Tha d'aigne cho ard ann an ar-fhaich nan tuagh, 'S an taobh air am bi thu gur cinnteach dha buaidh.

O, ard biodh do bhratach 'us tatrach do phiob 'Fhir labhairt na Gaidhlig gu manranach binn ; Tha m'earbsa, 'fhir chalma, a d'ainm 'bhi ga 'ghairm Le cliu mar is coir dha, na d'chbirnealair airm.

O, 's rioghail an Gaidheal thu, 'ghraidh nam fear treun', 'S e caismeachd do phioba 'chuir m'inntinn gu gleus, Thu 'leantuinn seann dualchas nam fuar bheanna fraoich — An tir ghlan a b'abhaist 'bhi 'g arach nan laoch !

A mhor Ghaidheil chiataich, do " bhliadhna mhath ur," Ged chosgadh i 'n t-br dhomh, gu'n blainn le sunnt ; A phiobair5 an f headain, 'fhir leadanaich dhuinn, 'S tu-fhe"in 'chuir le d'sheannsair gu damhsa na suinn 1

116 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

TRANSLATION BY MR. WM. MACKENZIE, SECRETARY OF GAELIC SOCIETY, INVERNESS.

HURRAH to the Chieftain — a happy New Year- Delighted we'll pledge him, the bold Mountaineer ; In the tongue of the Celt we the Captain shall hail- He has set with his chanter a-dancing the Gael !

When sounded the pibroch aloud in the hall

The glorious days of the past to recall ;

As the brave Highland captain his war pipe did blaw,

The clansmen replied with a martial hurrah !

In the field, while commanding, the Chieftain is bold — A soldier as brave as his sires were of old ; His ancestors' valour hath won them their fame, And well he preserves both their mettle and name !

Like his sires he delights in the Garb of Old Gaul — The garb for the battlefield, forest, or hall ; As his freedom and vigour the gray trousers mar, His joy was the kilt both in peace and in war.

The Captain of Glassburn in tartan He rescues the tongue of the Celt from decay — With his sporran and dirk who can with him compare In courage and splendour, at kirk or at fair ?

His wisdom and valour are marks of his race, Like the honour that beams in his fair Highland face ; O where was there one 'mong the nymphs of the land That would not fly with him and give him her hand 1

Oft sallies he forth on the track of the deer, Where the eagle floats high o'er the stag's swift career ; With his death-dealing musket behold him go forth, To tread with a light step the hills of the north !

The stags in the corrie are oft in the morn Aroused from their sleep by the sound of his horn ; To his rifle's report the lone echoes reply — " The red-deer has fallen, has fallen to die ! "

A DAY IN THE COUNTRY IN JUNE. 117

In the hall of the mansion he's sportive and gay, When his music breathes softly its magical sway, While in midst of grim battle triumphant he'll charge 'Gainst the foes of his country, with broad-sword and targe.

While a glance of his eye will a foeman control, The sound of his pipes will enrapture the soul : His delight is the glory of Alban to save, And his joy is the land that has nurtured the brave.

Then high be his banner, and welcome the strain Of his warpipe when sounding aloud in the glen ; Let clansmen their chieftain with cheering all hail — And long may he cherish the tongue of the Gael !

Then hurrah to the chieftain — a happy New Year — Delighted we'll pledge him, the bold mountaineer ; In the tongue of the Celt we the captain shall hail — He has set with his chanter a-dancing the Gael !

A DAY IN THE COUNTRY IN JUNE.

THE summer sun is pouring down

In golden floods its mellow light, And who, when joy the year would crown,

Would think of darkness and of night 1 Away, away all care and pain,

This is the year's sweet rosy noon ; We know the frost will come again,

But who would think of it in June

The summer whispers in the breeze,

Its voices are in dell and hill, It dances on the silver seas,

It sings in every brook and rill. Come let us, then, this happy while,

My darling, in the woodlands roam, And learn from Nature how to smile,

Without a thought of ill to come.

118 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS. .

To-morrow in the future lies —

To-day, to-day, my love, is ours ; Each passing moment as it flies

Will find us still among the flowers. See yonder shines the sun's red gold

Among the greenwood's quivering leaves- On every tree that he enfolds,

A crown of fire he deftly weaves.

And as he gleams 'mong oaks and pines,

A shower of light falls on yon pool, Till like a gem it gaily shines

Among the sedges soft and cool. How sweetly glows its bosom bright,

Unruffled by the faintest breeze ! And 'neath the streams of rosy light

Are mirrored fair the stately trees.

The rose tree blooming near its side,

So beautiful, and fresh and gay, Rejoices in its hour of pride,

And give its sweetness while it may. Then let us like the flowers be wise,

And drink the sunshine and the dew, Nor seek to speck our summer skies

With cloudlets of a wintry hue.

The frost and snow will come again,

And we of grief must have our share ; And like the earth our time of pain,

In faith and hope we'll bravely bear. But now to-day her heart is glad,

And so, my darling, shall be ours; We must not be one moment sad

Among the sunshine and the flowers.

HOME-SICKNESS.

OH ! for the beautiful sunlight That smiles on hill and lea,

And oh ! for thy glorious freshness Thou rippling western sea !

HOME-SICKNESS. 119

The smell of the purple heather,

The myrtle wild, and thyme, And the balmy fragrant sweetness

Of the Autumn's golden prime !

Oh ! for a sight of Ben-Nevis !

Methinks I see him now, As the morning sunlight crimsons

The snow-wreath on his brow. •

As he shakes away the shadows,

His heart the sunshine thrills And he towers high and majestic

Amidst a thousand hills.

And grand old " Sgur-a-Dhonuil,"

That guards thy head Lochiel, Whilst o'er his shoulder he casteth

An eye upon Loch-Sheil. The morning sun on Ben-Nevis

May weave a fairy crown, But on thee he showers s glory,

When at eve he goe4 & own.

And "Lochiel," that "streak" of silver,

Where mountains wild and steep Seem stretching in all their grandeur,

Far down in its blue deep. A narrow stripe in its bosom

Reflects the azure skies. That made me think in childhood

Of streams in Paradise.

But dearer far than Ben-Nevis,

And thy blue shores, Lochiel, The touch of the hand that bringeth

Emotion's gladsome thrill; And the sight of the kindly faces

Mine eyes have yearned to see; And the music of living voices,

That sound like psalms to me.

120 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

Oh ! fair is the face of Nature,

But fair all things above Is the soul that from her window

Beams forth the light of love. The wealth of affection treasured,

In hearts that ne'er grow cold, Is better than all earth's riches

Of priceless gems and gold.

THE MOUNTAIN BREEZE.

The first two stanzas were written in anticipation of a visit ; the second two, on beholding the changes ten years have wrought.

AWAY on my native mountains

How sweet the balmy breeze ! It has kissed the clear cool fountains,

And fanned the silver seas ; It stole the breath of the flowers

In every nook and dell, And touched the fragrant honey

The bee hstd in his cell.

It got the smell of the clover

Down by the river side, And incense from the heather bloom —

The mountains' crown of pride. And oh ! to drink its perfumed breath,

So fragrant, pure, and free, As once it came, in days gone by,

With health and joy to me. * # # #

On my own dear native mountains

The breeze is balmy still ; It always has the freshness

Of fountain, sea, and rill. But it cannot give the gladness

To me that once it gave, For it bears the smell of the flowerets

That bloom upon the grave,

MO NIGHNEAG GHEAL OG. 121

And alas ! to me how changed

Its once gay minstrelsy ! Of old its songs were only

Of joyousness and glee ; But now so weird its wailings,

So sad its voices come, They seem but solemn dirges

That echo from the tomb.

MO NIGHNEAG GHEAL OG. FONN : — "The Laird o' Cockpen." A BHANRIGH nam maighdean, a dhaoimein nan seud, 'S tu ur-ros a' gharaidh gun fhailinn gun bheud ; 'S tu'n ainnir a's cuimir 'tha 'g imeachd an f heoir 'S tu'n t-ailleagan priseil, mo nighneag gheal 6g.

Gur aoidheil, gur flathail, 's gur maiseach do ghnuis, Do mhin-ghruaidh cho bbidheach ri rbs 's e fo dhriuchd j Gur daite na bilean o'm milis 'thig ceol, 'S do dheud mar an ibhri, mo nighneag gheal bg.

Gur mor 'tha ri leughadh 's an eudann a's ailt,

Thu tuigseach 'n ad chomhradh, gun mhor-chuis gun

straic,

Tha buaidhean ri innseadh le firinn gu leoir 'Rinn reul a measg mhiltean de m'nighneig ghil big.

'S i'n ur-shlat 's a' choill thu, mo mhaighdean deas donn, Gun choire ri luaidh ort o d'chuailean gu d'bhonn, Mar ubhal tha d'anail, bias meal' air do phoig, 'S do bhriathran Ian millseachd, mo nighneag gheal bg.

Mar anail nan ainglean 's na speuran a' snamh,

Bidh neoil gheal an t-Samhraidh mu'n ghrein amis an aird,

'S e sud an t-aon choimeas a bheir mi le deoin

Do d'bhraighe caoin min-sa, mo nighneag gheal og.

'S tu'n euchdag dheas, donn, thogadh fonn air mo chridh', Le misneach do naduir, 's do mhanranaich bhinn, 'S 'n uair dhuisgte piana gu h-ard le d'chaol mheoir, Bhiodh m'acain air di-chuimhn', mo nighneag gheal og.

122 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

Gur buidhe g'ad leannan O ainnir nam buadh ! Gur boidheach do nihala, seimh banail gun ghruaim, Gur iomadh duin'-uasal gu d'bhuannachd tha'n toir, 'S gur lion tha 'cur pris air mo nighneig ghil big.

Gur buidhe g'ad leannan, o ainnir an aigh, 'N uair gheabh e gu deonach uat coir air do laimh ; Gur f hearr dha le cinnt na ged sgriobhte' dha or 'Bhi 'g eisdeachd do bhriodail, mo niglineag gheal og.

Gur binne na coin learn 'an doire nan cuach, Fonn oran o d'bhilean mar shirisd nam bruach, 'S do cheum tha cho eutrom air reidhlean an f heoir Hi eilid na frithe, mo nighneag gheal og.

O ciamar a chuirinn do mhaise 'an ceill,

No buaidhean do naduir ged 's ard dut mo speis ?

Cha ruig air do sgiamh mi le briathran. mo bheoil,

'S cha'n urrainn dhomh sgriobhadh, mo nighneag gheal og.

Mo shoiridh 's mo bheannachd dhut, 'ainnir nam beus, Am meangan a's cubhraidh tha'n dlu choill' nan geug ; Ge b'e co ni do bhuain gheabh e duais a bhios mor — 'S tu'm beairteas 's an iocshlaint, mo nighneag gheal bg.

ALONE— IN THE TWILIGHT.

ALONE — and yet I'm not alone — My loved and lost are in the room,

They gather round me one by one, Amidst the silence and the gloom.

Methinks they are so near me now, They twine their fingers in my hair ;

Their kisses are on lip and brow,

They charm away each pain and care.

And yet, ah ! yet, those shadows dear, That haunt me in the twilight grey,

And whisper softly in mine ear, Do only come, then haste away.

ALONE — IN THE TWILIGHT. 123

No hand to touch, no kindly eye

To flash its gladness into mine, With mystic might, that bringeth nigh

A joy akin to the Divine.

That thrilling touch of loving hands, That none but kindred hearts can feel ;

That glance that knits our spirit bands In stronger bonds than chains of steel.

Oh ! eye that tells of love and hate,

Whence bringest thou thine awful power,

To seal a breaking spirit's fate,

Or with such gladness to endower ?

From thee how strangely doth the soul Look forth her passion and her pain ;

O'er thee the thunder cloud can roll With lightning flash and stormy rain.

And even in my solitude,

Across the waste of years there streams The light that in its loving mood

Shone from one eye in sunny beams.

And voices that with magic spell Come from afar with silvery chime,

Peal forth my sorrow's passing knell, And lead me fairer heights to climb.

There's music round me in my room That hath my spirit deeply stirred j

Amidst the silence and the gloom

Sweet vesper songs I've faintly heard.

And though I named my passing pain,

The darkness of a starless cloud The silvery moon shines forth again,

And opal shadows round me crowd.

And I will hush this yearning moan, And quench my spirit's wild unrest.

Alone — I cannot be alone,

When with such radiant visions blest.

124: GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

SONNET TO A DEVOTED LADY.

LIKE a fair lily that in secret blooms

And gives to heaven its beauty's precious dower, Like a sweet-scented violet that perfumes

Some peaceful, lone and unfrequented bower, Mild as the moonbeam on the dewy flower

That sheds unseen its pure and silvery ray, Calm as the day-dream of a golden hour,

Soft as the dawning of a young spring day, Thy path lies far from the cold worldling's way.

The gentle voice that whispers ne'er in vain, The hand that heals the wound and soothes the pain—

These are thy weapons in the world's affray ; Be thy reward, then, from the lips Divine,

" Thou what thou couldst has done for Me and Mine."

TO MY MUSE,

ON BEING FORBIDDEN BY MY DOCTOR TO WRITE.

I MA.Y not woo thy smile, they say,

My sweet and pleasant friend ; Yet thou to life, my tuneful fay,

Could sweet enchantment lend. And though I at the stern command

Must part from thee awhile, In love I bow and kiss thy hand,

And beg thee yet to smile.

Come yet again on angel wings,

And wake the silent lyre ; Thy touch upon the silver strings

Can set my soul on fire. Again the voices, old and dear,

Will whisper in my brain, And on the desert wild and drear,

Will roses bloom again.

Come midst thy darkness with a ray Of fair celestial light,

WASTED AFFECTION. 125

Give joy and gladness in the day,

And songs give in the night. Come with a sad and solemn psalm,

Or thrilling songs of joy, Thou comest always with the balm

And bliss that cannot cloy.

A prisoner alone am I,

Who fain would break the bars, With thee in glorious liberty

To soar up to the stars ; With thee to climb each blessed height

For which mine eyes I strain, And linked with thee I'd bravely fight

Life's battles o'er again.

And when thy Promethean spark

May on mine altar burn, I, like a liberated lark,

Will sing thy glad return. Again the voices, old and dear,

Will banish care and pain, And on the desert, wild and drear,

Will roses bloom again.

WASTED AFFECTION.

"Affection never was wasted : If it enrich not the heart of another, its waters, returning

to their springs like the rain, shall fill them full of refreshment."

LONGFELLOW.

"AFFECTION never was wasted,"

I've read in a poet's hymn, But they who the bitterness tasted Say that's but a poet's dream.

Affection is wasted often,

And though its streams may return,

They may come as waters to soften, Or lava to blast and burn.

126 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

And how can a flowret blossom, Or summer herbage grow,

In the land o'er whose arid bosom The molten streamlets flow ?

" Affection never was wasted :"

Alas ! and would it were not ! Then woman on sweets would be feasted In palace, and hall, and cot.

Souls cradled by wrong into malice Would glow with love Divine,

And many a water-filled chalice Would overflow with wine.

How many a lovely blossom Has wasted its fragrant breath,

To sweeten the careless bosom On which it drooped in death !

When it lay broken and shattered, By the way-side left to die,

Its beautiful leaves all scattered As the winds blew wild and high,

Not a breath of its once sweet perfume Could wake it to life again,

Nor will aught to the aching heart come Of its wasted love but pain.

WASTED AFFECTION.

OH thou who with bosom aching, Thy wounds all bleeding and sore,

Thy kind heart nigh unto breaking With the anguish at its core ;

Thou thinkest affection wasted Can never return to thee,

Unless that thy soul is feasted, As thou wouldst have it be.

WASTED AFFECTION. 127

But time with its gentle healing Will come to thy soul with balm ;

The end of thy grief revealing, And teaching a loftier psalm.

Thou wilt learn that to sow in sorrow

Is in joy to reap the grain ; And the plough that makes the furrow

In the heart is always pain.

Oh, bitter the night of weeping

When the cup of grief runs o'er, Till we envy those that are sleeping

By the dark eternal shore.

But when the fair sun is beaming

At morn on our fallen tears, The bright rainbow in them gleaming

Will make glad the coming years.

The flower may be sometimes shattered,

By the wayside left to die, And its leaves may be loosely scattered

When the winds blow wild and high.

Yet these messengers rude may bear it

To a garden rich and rare, Away from the hands that would tear it,

To a keeper of gentlest care ;

Away to a garden vernal

With its fresh and pearly dew, Where the sunshine that's eternal

Makes its beauty ever new.

The heart — 'tis the voice of nature — Would be clasped to a kindred heart ;

The eye would feast on each feature That can joy and love impart.

But alas ! when a word is spoken That shatters the soul's deep faith,

We must drink from a cistern broken The waters that taste like death.

128 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

Then we think our affection wasted, When stricken with sorest pain,

And 'tis hard when the bitter is tasted To know that our loss is gain.

GRAN GAOIL.

'S TU bi'gh nam mbr-shul, 'S tu reul nam ban-oga, 'S e se"ughead do bhoichead, Tha 'leonadh mo chleibh, 'S cha bhi mi dheth fallain, Le h-or no le h-earras, Mur leamsa do ghealladh, Air d'fhaighinn dhomh-fhein.

Suil lionta ghlan shocuir, Tha 'g innseadh gu toirteil, Mu'n chridhe neo-lochdach, Tha'm broilleach nan seud, Na'n laist' i le gaol dhomh, Gur mise 'bhiodh aobhach, 'S cha bhiodh learn 's an t-saoghal, Ach foineis gun

Gur bbidheach do chuaillein, Gur dathte do ghmaidhean, Gur lionmhor do bhuadhan, A chuachag, nam beus, Gur binne na'n smeorach, Do chaol ghuth ri h-bran, 'S gur caoin' thu na'n rbs, Anns 'an bgmhios air ghlig.

Gur riomhach a' mhaldag thu, Siobhalt neo-dhana, 'S e grinneas do naduir, A thalaidh mi-f hein,

A

ORAN GAOIL. 129

'S e m'aighear 's mo luaidh thu, Mo chonas, 's mo shuaimhneas, 'S mur dean mi do bhuannachd, 'S mi 's truaighe fo'n ghrein.

O's trom mi fo airsneal, Gun aon ni na 'thlachd dhomh, 'S mo chridhe Ian acrais, Is tart air do dheigh ; 'S na'm faighinn air laimh thu, Le deagh-ghean do chairdean, Mo mhisneach bhiodh ard, Is mo nadur bhiodh treun.

Gu'n gleidh mi thu riomhach, Le guntaichean sioda, Is seudan nan Innsean, Bidh cinnteach dhut reidh ; O'n bheinn bheir mi fiadhach, 'S o'n abhainn an t-iasg dhut, 'S cha'n iarr mi de mhiann, Ach bhi 'riarach do speis.

O thig mata, 'chuachag,

'S le cagar 's an uaigneas,

Do m'chridhe thoir suaimhneas,

Neo 's buan bhios mo chreuchd ;

Ma 's mise do leannan,

Na gleidh mi fo smalan,

'S gur fhearr learn do ghealladh,

No fearrann is spreidh.

Do shuil tha mar dhaoimean, No reul bheul na h-oidhche, O tionndaidh le caoimhneas, 'Us soills' air mo cheum ; 'S gu'n teid le a solus, Gu euchd is gu sonas, Is m'eibhneas do m'bhroilleach, Mar shnothach do'n gheig.

K

130 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

MO EUJST AN T-OIGFHEAR. FONN : — "Ho ro, mo ni'an donn bhoidheach"

Ho ro mo run an t-oigfhear, Hi ri mo run an t-oigfhear, Fear ur an leadain bhoidhich, Do 'm mor thug mi dh'uigh.

O's mise tha gu truagh dheth, 'S an gaol 'an deigh mo bhuaireadh, 'S an t-og dh'an tug mi luaidh, Ann 'am fuath rium 's an diom. Ho ro, &c.

O's muladach mar tha mi, 'S nach feudar learn a raitinn, Ged tha mo chridhe 'sgaineadh, 'S mi craiteach Ian turs'.

Ho ro, &c. .

O ciamar chi mi, 'luaidh thu, 'S te eile ri do ghuallainn, 'S mo chridhe-sa cho fuaight' riut, 'S nach buan mi gun thu. Ho ro, &c.

'N uair rinn thu la na faighreach, Dol seachad orm gun m'fhaighneachdr 'S te eile ann 'ad chaoimhneas, Chaidh m'aoibhneas gu turs. Ho ro, &c.

A ghaoil cha'n e do bhoichead, A rinn mo chridh' a leonadh, Ach manran binn do bheoil, A bha dhomhsa mar dhriuchd. Ho ro, &c.

Mo ghaol tha toinnt' mu'n cuairt ort, Cho teann 's nach gabh e fuasgladh, 'S gu'rn brist' mo chridhe, 'luaidh-ghilr Mur buannaichd mi thu.

Ho ro, &c.

AN IARRUIDH DHIOMHAIN. 131

O's truagh nach robh mi caraicht', Le m'atliair is le m'mhathair, Far 'm bheil iad ann an samhchuir, 'An tamh anns an uir.

Ho ro, &c.

Ged gheabhainn-sa do storas Na cheannachadh an Roinn Eorpa, Gu'n tugainn air son poig e, O d'ros-bhilean ciuin.

Ho ro, &c.

AN IARRUIDH DHIOMHAIN.

C'AIT am bheil fois, agus c'ait am bheil tamh, C'ait am bheil fois, agus c'ait am bheil tamh, C'ait am bheil ioc-shlaint do chridhe fo phramh No c'ait am bheil suaimhneas o namhan 's o chradh ?

Mar thonnan, na fairge, a' bualadh, gu dlu, 'S e nuallan, is Hionmhur, mu oirean nan stuc, Tha luasgan is gluasad 's an t-saoghal mu'n cuairt, 'S gach ni cho beag socair ri broilleach nan stuadh.

Chuir mi flur, 's rinn e fas ann an garadh ri deas, 'S 'n uair shaoil mi e cubhraidh le driuchd agus teas, 'S ann thainig gaoth reot' 's air mo rbs thainig bas, 'S bha dhuilleagan caoin' a' dol aog air a bharr.

Thug mi eun as a' choill dhianamh seinn domh gu binn, 'S 'n uair shaoil mi bhi 'g eisdeachd a cheileiridh ghrinn, 'S ann shuidh e air geig, 's e gu h-eisleanach trom, Gu marbh-shuileach tursach, 's e tuchta gun phong.

Sheall mi 's a' ghleann air son fois agus taimh

Ri latha geal samhruidh 's a' ghrian anns an aird;

'S mu'n deach i 's an iar, gun robh'n iarmailt fo ghruaim,

Is beithir, 's beum-sleibhe, a' r6ubadh nam bruach.

132 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

Dh'iarr mi gu fois agus dh'iarr mi gu sith

Dh'iarr mi gu teiclieadh o chogadh 's o strith ;

O 'n uair 'shaoil mi gu'n dh'f huair mi gu cala nam buadh,

'S ann bha mi gu h-anrach air taisdeal nan stuadh.

Dh'iarr mi gu fois, is gun fhois air an t-saogh'l, Is leag mi mo cheann air geal-bhroilleach mo ghaoil, 7S bha 'chluasag ud Ian de chaoin-dhuilleach nan rbs Ach ochan na'm measg gu'n robh'n dris mar bu nbs.

O ciamar bhiodh fois, ann an arfhaich nan tuagh,

'S gur cruaidh bhios an cogadh, mu'n coisinn sinn buaidh,

Bidh leagadh, is leonadh, is dbibheairt, 's an strith

7S ged 's truagh e, gur diomhain bhi 'g iarruidh na sith'.

Ach'n uair'choisneas sinn buaidh mar is dual do gach sonn, Air a' gheal-ghaineamh airgid tha thall th'air an tonn, Gheabh sinn suaimhneas 'bhios buan thair gach uamhunn

is strith. 'S bith sinn cruinte le gaol an tigh aobhach na sith'.

TO A SPRIG OF HEATHER SENT ME FROM A HIGHLAND GLEN.

THOU hast come with the smell of my dear native mountains,

And tales of the freshness of moorland and lea ; From the wild misty glens, where in glory thou bloomest,

A whisper of love thou hast brought unto me. O dear to my heart are thy sweet purple blossoms,

That grow 'mong the brackens that curl on the braes, And by the green banks of the clear winding rivers,

Whose murmers I hear, as upon thee I gaze.

Thou hast brought me the fragrance of briar and myrtle,

The bright shining gold of the furze and the broom, The plover's wild cry, and the whirr of the heathcock,

That sleeps on thy bosom, and feasts on thy bloom. Methinks I behold the soft fringe of the pine-tree,

The beautiful rowan, in scarlet and green, And white foaming streamlets that rib the steep corrie,

Whose life-giving breezes are bracing and keen.

AN DEALACHADH GAIDHEALACH. 133

Thou hast whispered of cot and of high mountain sheiling,

Where heroes were reared in the days that are gone ; Of maidens that sang in their beauty and gladness,

Where now there is stillness, so sad, and so lone. The clear silver fountains, that gleam in thy bosom,

No longer give life to our brave Highland men ; They refresh but the deer and the sheep, whilst our heroes

Are exiled afar from the strath and the glen.

Thou honey-sweet heather, 'mid visions of beauty,

And sweet songs of love that for me thou dost weave, And memories soft, as the down of the canach,

That waves in the breath of the mild summer eve : Methinks the last breeze that had stirred thy red blossoms

Had chanted the wail thou hast borne unto me, A dirge for the brave, who will ne'er tread the heather,

Nor see thy dear mountains, thou land of the free.

AN DEALACHADH GAIDHEALACH.

LE PROFESSOR BLACKIE. FONN : — lt Cuimhneachadh air d'fhuran."

'S GLAN dearrsadh na greln', 'S geal cobhar na tuinne ; 'S aotrom nebil a' snamh

Os cionn aird' nan tulach. 'S caoin a sheideas gaoth, Bho bharr fraoch a' bhruthaich ; Baineach 's itich geig',

Bi h-elbhneas gu subhach. Tha gach ni fo'n ghrein, Talamh 's speur Ian aighir, 'S mise 'n so learn f he"in,

Gun mo che"ile mar rium.

Bu shunntach sinn an raoir, 'S sinn aig taobh an teine ;

134 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

Suil ri suil Ian baigh,

'S comunn blath 's gach cridhe. Grain thruais 'us ghraidh, 'G an seinn ard le binneas — Do neach aotrom gair',

'S do'n f hear chrionnta gliocas. Nis leam-fhein ag caoidh, Talbh nan raon gun aighir ; Thu cho fada bhuam,

B'e mo luaidh 'bhi mar riut.

Ged 'sheinneas mi dan, Cha dean sid mo mhealladh ; 'S ged a ni mi gair',

Tha mo chridh' fo smalan. Mar ghiullan tha mi, 'Bhios gu din ri feadail 'Dol seachad air cill,

'S e air chrith le h-eagal. Ged 's aotromaid am fasach. 'Bhi 'seinn dhana-mulaid, Cha tig flur fo bhlath

Gun thu, 'ghraidh, na 'chuideachd.

'S bbidheach raineach uaine, 'S aillidh snuagh a' bhruthaich; Chi mi 'n gorm-bhrat ard

Troimh na nebil gu lurach ; Shios ud anns a' ghleann, 'S brbhuidh dreach a' choirce ; An iarmailfc uile Ian

De reachd fais 'us toraidh. 'S ged bu pheacadh e A bhi 'n so fo smalan — Gura trom mo dheur,

'S gun mo cheile mar-rium.

ALLT-A'-CHINNAIRD. 135

ALLT-A'-CHINNAIRD. LE PROFESSOR BLACKIE.

O CHRiiN Beinn-a'-Bhreachdaidh troimh chreagan, 's troimli

ghlinn,

TJia Allt-a'-Chinnaird 'tighinn le thoirmeanaich bhinn, Gur h-aoigheil, 's gur sunntach e, 'sior-ruith le surd, Gas an teid e 'am falach an Teathuil nan lub, Bheir mise dhut bran, a Gharbh-shruthain dhuinn, 'S bu chomaine dbomhs' sud, gu ceolarach binn, 'S an t-sitb, is an solas, a fhuair mi gacb la, Mu d'bhruachagan, greannar, 0 Allt-a'-Chinnaird.

Moladb each mar is aill leo, 'n tuil uaibhreach nach fann, 'Tha toirt beatha do 'n Choptach, 'us clabar neo-ghann, Far am bheil Titanan mora nan laithean a dh'fhalbh A' sealltuinn le oillt air a' bhochduinn na 'n sealbh, Par 'm bheil aintighearnan borb a' fas reamhar Ian uaill', Air saothair na traill', is an acaraich thruaigh, Ach thoir dhomhsa na glinn anns nach cluinnear gu

brath, Guth ainneartaich, smachdail mu Allt-a'-Chinnaird.

Moladh each mar is aill leo tuil Tiber nam buadh Sabinich, is Romanaich, mor thair' gach sluagh Ard-chri'ach, ard-lamhach, luchd foghlum gun sgath, Luchd-reubainn, luchd-riaghlaidh, nan ioghnadh thair

chach ;

Bho Thigris, gu Thames, chuir iad rioghachdan fo smachd, Le buille an claidheamh, is tabhachd an reachd, Na Csesaran uaibhreach nach caomhnadh aon narah Ach an cuing cha robh riamh, air Allt riabhach' Chinn-

aird.

1

Moladh each mar is aill leo, cas-bhruachan na Rhine,

'S iad sgeadaicht' le duilleach, is dearcan an fhion,

Ard Eaglais, Tighmanaich, is luchairt, is tur,

Is sagairt, is Imp'rean, le 'n stri co dhiu 's mo ;

Bha Impirean ann a spion feusag a' Phap,

Is Imp'rean a chriothnuich roimh spionnadh a lamh,

136 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

'N uair bha 'n Gaidheal gu saimheil, le 'chbraichean ard,

Mu d'ghorm bhruachan, greannar, O Allt-a'-Chinnaird.

^ x \

O Allt-a'-Chinnaird, 'n uair le gruaim 'thig a' ghaoth,

Is uisg', agus ceathach, air monadh, is fraoch,

'N uair thig toirm a'bheum^sleibhe, 's i'reubadh nam bruach,

'S do thonn geal le cobhar, 's a' bhruthach ri fuaim —

O, an sin a bhi lorgach, tre dhorcha nan sian,

Do lubagan donna, b'e m'aighear, 's mo mhiann,

'S m'fhuil chraobhach bhiodh uraicht', 's mo bhroilleach

bhiodh Ian, Do ghaoth Beinn-a'-Bhreachdaidh, O Allt-a'-Chinnaird.

O, Allt-a'-Chinnaird 'n uair thig Samhradh an aigh 'S a 'mhaoth raineach uaine mu d'bhruachan a' fas, Cha'n 'eil oran bean-talaidh* mo chri' bheir fo bhuaidh Mar bheir do bhinn chronan, learn 's ceol'ar do dhuan, 'S cha'n 'eil cathair cho socair an Cuirt air an t-saoghal Ris a' chloich chrot'laich ghlais 'tha 's an lionaig ri d'thaobh Far 'm bi barrach is giuthas gu h-urar 's a' Mhaigh, Toinnibh gairdeanan greannar mu Allt-a'-Chinnaird.

0, Allt-a'-Chinnaird, o ghorm lub do chuid gleann, Falbhaidh mis' mar an sgail 'bhios air aodann nam beann, Ach mairidh tus'n uair nach faicearah-aon de chlann daoin' A' sealltuin le tlachd air do thonn, no do raon ; Agus mis', ged nach eisd mi do thorman ri d'bhruaich, Bidh tu 'm shealladh gach la, is na m'chuimhne bidh buan, Ail t-sith is an solas a dh'uraich mo chail, Mu d'ghorm luban greannar, O Allt-a'-Chinnaird.

AISLING OISEIK LE PROFESSOR BLACKIE.

BI'N oidhch i, 's ged chaidil mi seimh air mo chluasaig ; Bha m'inntinn co luaineach 's co luath ris an steud, 'Us chunnacas leam clarsach, air seann seileach seargta, 'Us lamh thana chruaidh a' fann-bhualadh nan t<§ud ;

* Siren.

iSV

_, \

AISLING OISEAN. 137

Gheur-sheall mi 's o'n laimh ghrad-chinn ard choluinn uasal Mar an geamhradh geal, fuar, bha a thuar is a lith,' 'S bha 'chiuine 's a' mhaldachd bha dearsa na 'ghruaidhean. 'S a mhoralachd uasal, mar shuaicheantas righ ; Bha chiabhagan tana, a' snamh air na gaoithean 'S e cruinte le ur-fhlea^sg, do bharr-geal an fhraoich A mhala mur gheal-chloich gun salachadh le gaillinn, 'S air learn nach robh fradhare an suilean an laoich.

Thuirt e 'mhic na tir galld' tha thu eol domh is caomh learn, Thug thu gaol do mo shluagh, agus buaidh thug dh'an dan, Na baird rinn mi arach, fhir-ghraidh dhut is ceolruidh, 'S rinn an duanagan boidheach, thu ogail, 'us slan; O's trie is mi snamh air glas-cheathach nam beanntan Mar thaibhse, na'n taibhs', aig cinn-fheadhna nan treun, Ghabh mi beachd air do cheum, lu-chas eutrom 's a'

gharbhlach,

'S do bhinn-ghuth 's a cheol, 's ghabh mi coir ort dhomh fein ; A mhic ghaisgeil a' ghoill, ni mi 'ghloir dhut a thiodhlac Bho'n leoman gu'n dion thu an sgialachd 's an duan ; Gun duisg thu gach pong, do sheann uirsgeoil, nam

Fianntan, Chum cuimhn' nam mor-ghniomh rinn na saoidh a bhi

buan.

•

O's trie mise ag gal a measg ceathach nan ard-bheann

'S mi sealltuinn air laraichean fasail nan gleann,

'S gun aoii ghuth ri chluinntinn ach caoidhrean, nan

caochan,

'Us osnaich na gaoithe, feadh aonach, nam beann ; ^ 'Us monmhur na tuinne 's a' phlosgail ag iathadh A gairdeanan ciara mu iochdar nan stuc; 'S nach cluinnear learn caithream nan oighfhear 's nan

gruagach,

Le luinneag an dualchuis, 's a buaidh mar an driuchd ; 'S nach cluinnear learn glaodh nam fear mbr-bhroilleach

soilleir,

Na baird 'bhiodh le coireal a' dusgadh an laoich, Tha'n coigreach air bristeadh roimh d'bhallachan uaibh-

reach, 'S e 'n Gall tha na 'uachdran an duthaich an fhraoich !

138 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

0 ghuil mi 's ged ghuil, ciod am fath tha na'm dheoir

dhomh,

Cha till iad na sloigh a chaidh f hogradh a m'ghlinn ; Ach, 'Albannaich ghraidh, thoiream dhutsa ri thasgadh An canan a chleachdadh le laoich nan guth binn ; ' Us liubhram dhut laoidhean a' cheathaich 's a' chruachain, Nam mbr-thuiltean uaibhreach 'us nuallan nan tonn ; Beum-sleibhe nan garbh-eas 'us crbnan nam fuaran, Nan coireachan uaigneach 's nan coilltichean donn ; 'S a' phiob 'bha gu tatrach 'n uair 'leagadh righ Lochlunn, ;S a laidh e gu diblidh'aig casan nan sar; 'S a' chaithream a sheinneadh 'us Fionn air a chuartach Aig fleadh, leis na h-uaislean thug buaidh anns an ar.

'Us bheir mi dhut bran a' bhaird aig Bheinn-Dbrain, Le abhachd an f hoghair 'us ciuine a' Mhaigh ; 'S an sruthanan caoimhneis gu h-aoibhneach a' dbrtadh, 'S mar ur-bharrach-samhraidh air chrith anns a' ghaoith ; 'Us bheir mi dhut leabhar an Dbmhnullaich ghaisgeil Cho borb ris a' ghaillinn 's cho laidir ri beinn ; 'N uair chuir e gu saile deagh bhirlinn Chlann-Raonuill Le gairdeinean laidir 'toirt "hugan" air tuinn; Kach 's teagaisg do d'shluagh canan uasal nan Gaidheal, 'S ged rinn iad oirr' dimeas, o, duisg iad gu baigh ; 'S thoir beatha as ur ann an tir nam beann fuara, Do'n chebl bhios 'g a luadh 'f had 's bhios cuan tigh'n gu traigh.

Do'n mhaise ni'n dorus 's a' chreathall a chuartach,

O, abair ri m'shluagh iad a thabhairt am miann ;

'S gun iad 'mholadh mar dhleasnas, no dh'iarraidh mar

shblas

Bhi 'tional an eblais bho dhuthchannan cian. Air an ailein an cinn 's ann 's bbidhche an t-sobhrach, Cha'ii 'eil flur a ni monadh cho sgiamhach ri fraoch ; 'Us an smuain ud is doimhne tha i 'n taice do chridhe, Thig a leum thun an la ann an canan nan laoch. H* Bithibh dileas do chanan ur mathar, mo mhuinntir, A blath-fhuil ur n-big gheabh ur fearalachd Ion. Bithibh dileas do'n chainnt 'tha aig ceatharnaich mhbra, 'Toirt sgiathan dh'an solas, 'toirt gath as am brbn.

' *

LUINNEAG. 139

O, innis do m'mhuinntir-s' tha tamh an Dun6ideann, Gur naire dhaibh cuimhne mo bhaird bhi fo lie ; yf*~ 'Us Greigich 'us Bbimhichoag imeachd gu mbrail An duthaich mo shlbigh-sa air urlar nan glic. O, gbrach, mi-dhileas, c'uim' bhios sibh ri dimeas Air ionmhasan priseil deagh dhuthaich nan tre"un, ~ 'N aite fleasg duillich uaine, a' strith ri bhi fuaghal Or N Cruin luideagan suarach bho righeachdan c6in !

* O, labhair ri m'chloinn, seid an seann teine Gaidhealach Gus an enrich bho elbhlean an lasair le buaidh ; Bi ceolruidh nam beann, lean gu teann agus faic i, Leis a' Ghre"ig s' leis an Bbimh an oil-theampull mo shluaigh.

Sguir an taibhse a labhairt 's e snamh as mo shealladh, 'S ged a dh'amhairc mi geur air son eudann an laoich, Chaidh e bhuam ann an tiota ann an dorcha na h-oidhche, Mar leug le grad-bhoillsgeadh theid as anns a' ghaoith ; Cha robh ami ach a' chlarsach 's an seann seileach seargte, 'S am meur tana fann ud a' dusgadh na laoidh' ; 'Us laidh mi gu deurach a sios air mo leabaidh, Mar neach brbnach mu'n charaid nach till ris a chaoidh ; 'Us thug mi mo bhbid a bhi dileas dh'a fhainte 'Us gu'm faicteadh an Gaidheal an aros nan glic, Mar-ri Greugaich 'us Bbimhich a' triail tre na h-alaibh, Le cliu nach teid bas 's ainm nach cairear fo lie.

LUINNEAG.

THILL, GU'N DO THILL THU, BHLACKIE.

FONN : — "Theid i *s grin teid i learn."

TH!LL, gu'n do thill thu, 'ruin, Thill, gu'n do thill thu dhachaidh, Thill, gu'n do thill thu, 'ruin.

'S coma co a thig no theid leinn, Bho'n a thill thu-fhein, a Bhlackie. Thill, &c.

LI*

u£rfc V*f*

140 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS.

Caraid' 's fear-tagraidh nan Gaidheal, Mo chuis-mhanrain thu blii fallan. Thill, &c.

'S ged a bha thu anns an Eiphit, Gu'm b'e d'elbhneas 'bhi 's na gleannaibh. Thill, &c.

B'annsa leat 'bhi 'n Allt-na-Craige, Na 's an Eadailte 'bhi d'bharran. Thill, &c.

B'annsa leat am faile caoin, A thig o'n roid, o'n fhraoch, 's o'n chanach. "Thill, &c.

No ged 'bhi tu'n garadh cubhraidh, Spiosruidh 's tuis an duthaich d'aineoil. Thill, &c.

'S binn an ceol leat fuaim na tuinne, A bhuaileas ri Muile a' bharraich. Thill, &c.

'S gaoithean samhruidh 'tighinn le cronan, 'Bho ghlinn ard na mbr-bheinn bheannaich. Thill, &c.

Mile beannachd, f hir mo ghaoil thu, 'S mi tha aobhach thu 'bhi dhachaidh. Thill, &c.

'S binn an naigheachd leis na Gaidhil,

Thu 'thighinn sabhailt as gach carraid.

Thill, &c.

Togar bratach, seldeav pioban, Lionar 'piosan a bhitheas barrach. Thill, &c.

'S coma co a thig no theid leinn, Bho'n a thill thu-fhein, a Bhlackie. Thill, &c.

LOKIMEK AND GILLIES, PRINTERS. 31 ST. ANDREW SQUARE, EDINBURGH.

LIST OF GAELIC BOOKS

And Works on the Highlands

PUBLISHED AND SOLD BY

BOOKSELLERS TO THE UNIVERSITY, 63 & 64 SOUTH BRIDGE, EDINBUEGH.

A liberal discount allowed on orders for exportation or for private circulation.

s. d.

M 'Alpine's Gaelic and English Pronouncing Dictionary, with

Grammar, 12mo, cloth, 90

Ditto, ditto, Jif. -bound calf, 11 0

English and Gaelic, separately, cloth, . . .50

M'Leod and Dewar's Gaelic Dictionary, cloth, . . . 10 6 Aleine's Alarm to the Unconverted, . . . . .16

Saint's Pocket Book, cloth, Is. sewed, . . .06 An T-Oranaiche, by Sinclair, complete, cloth, . . .106

Assurance of Salvation, 18mo, sewed, 06

Baxter's Call to the Unconverted, 18mo, cloth, . . .16 Saint's Rest, translated by Rev. J. Forbes, . .26 Beith's Catechism on Baptism, 18mo, sewed, « . .01 Bible in Gaelic, 8vo, strongly bound in calf, . . .76

Blackie's (Prof.) Language and Literature of the Scottish

Highlands, 8vo, cloth, 60

Book (The), of the Dean of Lismore, a Selection of Ancient

Gaelic Poetry, with a Translation and Notes by Rev.

Dr. M'Lauchlan, 8vo, cloth, 12s. for . . . .76

Boston's Fourfold State, 12mo, cloth, 40

Bonar's (Rev. Dr. H.) Christ is All, 18mo, seived, . .03

God's Way of Peace, .10

Buchannan (Dugald) of Rannoch's Life and Conversion

with his Hymns, 18mo, cloth, . . . .20 The Hymns, separately, 18mo, sewed, . . .03 Reminiscences of, with his Hymns, and an English

version of them by Rev. A. Sinclair, Kenmore, cL, 30

Bunyan's Come and Welcome, 18mo, cloth, . . .20

World to Come, or Visions from Hell, cloth, . .16

Grace Abounding, 18mo, cloth, . . . .20

Pilgrim's Progress (three parts), cloth, . . .26

Water of Life, cloth, . . . . . .10

Sighs from Hell, 18mo, cloth, . . - . .20

Heavenly Footman, 18mo, cloth, . . . .10

2 Gaelic Books Sold by Maclachlan & Stewart.

s. d. Burder's Village Sermons, 18mo, cloth, . . . .16

Campbell's (J. F.) Popular Tales of the West Highlands,

4 vols., 12mo, 32 0

Carswell's Gaelic Prayer Book, edited by Dr. M'Lauchlan,

4to, bound, 30s. for . . . . . . . 15 0

Catechism, Shorter, Id. Gaelic and English, . .02 Mother's, Id. Gaelic and English, . .02 Celtic Magazine, in Numbers, Monthly, each . . .06 Church of England Common Prayer Book. Gaelic and

English, 12mo, cloth, 26

Confession of Faith, fcap. 8vo, cloth, . . . . .26 Dan an Deirg agus Tiomna Ghuill (Dargo and Gaul), with a new Translation, Notes, and Introduction, by

C. S. Jerram, 26

Dewar's (Rev. Dr) The Gaelic Preacher, Four Sermons in

large type, 8 vo, . , 04

Doctrine and Manner of the Church of Rome, . . .03 Doddridge's Rise and Progress, 12mo, cloth, . . .30 Dyer's Christ's Famous Titles, 18mo, cloth, . . . .26 Earle's Sacramental Exercises, 18mo, cloth, . . .12

Edwards' (Rev. Jonathan) Sermon, sewed, . . . .06 Forbes' (Rev. J.) Baptism and the Lord's Supper, . .04

An Lochran : Dialogues regarding the Church, . 0 6

Long Gheal : The White Ship ; a Spiritual Poem, 0 4

Gael (The), a Monthly Gaelic Magazine bound in cloth, for

1873, 74, 75, 76, and 77, each, . . . . * . 7 6 Gaelic First Book, 18mo, 2d. ; Second do., . . . .04 Gaelic Melodies, English and Gaelic Words, with Music,

new notation, ......... 0 6

Gaelic Spelling-Book, 18mo, cloth, . . . . .06

Gaelic Tracts, different kinds, sorted, for . . . .10

Grant's (Rev. Peter) Hymns, 18mo, cloth, . . . .16

Guthrie's Christian's Great Interest, 18mo, cloth, . .20 Hall's (Newman) Come to Jesus, . . . .06

Harp of Caledonia, Gaelic Songs, 32mo, sewed, . . .04

Haughton's " A Saviour for You," 02

Highland Minstrel (Am Filidh Gaidhealach), . . .10 Historical Tales and Legends of the Highlands, by Alex.

Mackenzie, 36

History of the Scottish Highlands, Highland Clans, and

Regiments, illustrated with Portraits and Tartans,

2 vols., 8vo, 56s. for 40 0

History of Animals named in the Bible, . . . .06

Gaelic Books Sold by Maclachlan & Stewart. 3

a. d.

History of Prince Charles, fcap. 8vo, cloth, . . . .30 Ditto, ditto, cheap edition, seived, . . .16

James' Anxious Enquirer, 12mo, cloth, . . . .16 Joseph, Life of, by Macfarlane, 18mo, cloth, . . .16 Joseph, History of, 18mo, sewed, . . . . .04

Laoidhean Eadar-Theangaichte o'n Bheurla, cloth, . .06 Lessons on the Shorter Catechism and the Holy Scriptures,

by Forbes, 18mo, 04

Logan's The Scottish Gael, or Celtic Manners of the High- landers, 2 vols, 28s. for 20 0

M 'Alpine's Gaelic Grammar, 12mo, . . . . .10 Macbean's Elementary Lessons in Gaelic, with a Vocabulary

and Key, 10

M'Callum's History of the Church of Christ, 8vo, . .40

The Catholic or Universal Church, . . .06

Maccoll's Mountain Minstrel, 18mo, cloth, . . . .16 Macdonald's (Mac Mhaistir Alistir) Gaelic Songs, . . 20 Macdonald's (Rev. Dr) Gaelic Poems, cloth, . ..26

Waters of 'Jordan, 18mo, sewed, . . . .02

M'Intyre's (Duncan Ban) Poems and Songs, with an English

Translation of "Coire Cheathaich" and "Ben Dorain,"

18mo, cloth, ......... 2 0

M'Intyre (Rev. D. ) on the Antiquity of the Gaelic Language

(in English), 8vo, sewed ..16

Mackay's (Rob Donn) Songs and Poems, 18mo, . . .26 Mackenzie's £A.) History of Scotland, Eachdraidh na H-Alba,

12mo, cloth, 36

Mackenzie's Beauties of Gaelic Poetry, royal 8vo, . 12 0

Gaelic Melodist, 32mo, 04

Maclaurin's Sermon, Uaill ann an Crann-Causaidh Chriosd.

sewed, . . .06

Macleod, Rev. Dr, Sermon on the Life of the late, by Rev.

John Darroch, 8vo, sewed, Is. for . . . . .06 Macleod, Rev. Norman, Caraidnan Gaidheal, 8vo, half -bound

calf, neat, 18 0

M'Lauchlan's (Rev. Dr) Celtic Gleanings, or Notices of the History and Literature of the Scottish Gael (in Eng- lish), fcap. 8vo, cloth, .26

M'Naughton (Peter) on the Authenticity of the Poems of

Ossian (in English), 8vo, . . . . .06

Macneill's Neniae, and other Poems, cloth, . . . .20 Macpherson's (D. C.) Practical Lessons in Gaelic, for the use

of English-speaking Students, sewed, . . . .10

4 Gaelic Books Sold by Madaclilan & Stewart.

s, d. Macpherson's "Duanaire," a New Collection of Songs, &c.,

never before published, cloth, . . . . . .20

Menzies' Collection of Gaelic Songs, 8vo, cloth, . . .60 Mountain Songster, Collection of Original and Selected

Gaelic Songs, ......... 0 6

Munro's Gaelic Primer and Vocabulary, 12mo, . . .20

• Selection of Gaelic Songs, 32mo, . . . .04

Ossian's Poems, with an English Translation and Disserta- tion by Rev. A. Clerk, 2 vols, Svo, . . . . 31 6 Ossian's Poems, revised by Dr. Maclauchlan, cloth, . .30 Ossian and the Clyde : Fingal in Ireland, Oscar in Iceland,

by Dr. H. Waddell, 126

Ossian's Lyre (Cl&rs&chOisein), old and new notations, perdoz. 1 6 Peden's Two Sermons and Letters, 18mo, sewed, . .06

Philipps' Seven Common Faults, translated by Rev. H.

Maccoll, 12mo, 10

Prayers and Admonitions (series of six, large type), in

packets of 2 dozen, sorted, . . . . . .06

Prophecies of the Brahan Seer, by A. Mackenzie, . .36

Psaltn Book, large type, 18mo, bound, r/ttt edges, . .26

do., 18mo, cloth, 10

Smith's or Ross's, large type, 18mo, bd. . .20

Gaelic and English, on one page, cloth, . . .16

Ross's (William) Gaelic Songs, 18mo, cloth, . . .16

Sinner's (The) Friend, 12mo, sewed, . . . . .03 Sixteen Short Sermons, 12mo, sewed, . . . . .02 Skene's Celtic Scotland ; a History of Ancient Alban, Vols. I.

and II., each . . 15 0

Smith's (Dr) Sean Dana, with English Translation and Notes,

by C. S. Jerram 26

Stewart's Elements of Gaelic Grammar, Royal Celtic Edition,

crown Svo, cloth, 36

Sum of Saving Knowledge, 12mo, sewed, . . . .04 Thomson's (Dr) Sacramental Catechism, scu-ed, . . .02

New Testament for Schools, 12mo, boun'l, . . . 1 o

Job to Ecclesiastes, 12mo, bound, 06

Proverbs of Solomon, Svo, seioed, 02

BIBLES, TESTAMENTS, AND PSALM BOOKS,

AT VARIOUS PRICES.

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