'N sin laidhidh mi 'smuainteach' mu bhuaidh Fir-mo-ghaoil, A's cluinnidh mi ri h-ùine "guth ciùin agus caol," 'G ràdh, "Duine tha cian uait, ach Dia a's a ghràs Cha tréig Gàidheal air fuadan 'sna coillteanan fàs." A' CHUTHAG. Fàilt' ort, eilthirich ghlais nam bruach, Tha t'aitreabh-shamhraidh uile deas, Cha luaithe thig an neòinein maoth, Leat fein a chuairteir aoibhnich ait, Am balachan beag, 'se trusadh bhlàth, Le aighear éisdidh e do ghuth 'S co-fhreagraidh e am fonn. A N'an robh thu 'd' thosd, gun chàil, gun toirt, 'S mòr m' fharmad riut, a chubhag chaomh, 'S ged theicheas tu roimh 'n fhuachd air àm, Ach 'nuair bheir mise ris mo chùl O! 's truagh nach b'urrainn dhomh leat triall, Le caismeachd bhinn 'toirt fios gach àm 'Nuair bhiodh an samhradh 'tighinn. What time the pea puts on the bloom Sweet bird thy bower is ever green, O could I fly, I'd fly with thee! THE BURIAL OF SIR JOHN MOORE. Not a drum was heard, not a funeral note, We buried him darkly, at dead of night, No useless coffin enclosed his breast, Nor in sheet nor in shroud we wound him; Few and short were the prayers we said, We thought as we hollow'd his narrow bed, And smooth'd down his lonely pillow How the foe and the stranger would tread o'er his head, And we far away on the billow! Lightly they'll talk of the spirit that's gone, And o'er his cold ashes upbraid him ; Fo bhlàth 'n uair thig a' pheasair ghlas, Aoidheachd iarraidh tu an dùthch'aibh céin Do choill-se! eoin nam buadh tha gorm, O! na'm bu leamsa sgiath an eoin, TORRADH SHIR IAIN MOORE. Cha chualas fonn téise no bròn air a' Mhùr, Thiodhlaiceadh esan an uaigneas na h-oidhch', Cha robh feum aig an laoch air cist' a bhiodh buan, Ach laidh e mar ghaisgeach a' gabhail a shuain, B' aithghearr, 's bu tearc an urnuigh chaidh suas, Ag amharc air creubh an tréin a thug buaidh, Oir thug sinn fainear a' cladhach na h-uaigh, Le tàir air a spiorad gu'n deanadh an nàmh, But nothing he'll reck, if they let him sleep on When the clock toll'd the hour for retiring, Slowly and sadly we laid him down, From the field of his fame fresh and gory! GLENARA.* OH! heard you yon pibroch sound sad in the gale, "And now tell me, I charge you, ye clan of my spouse, * Lady Elizabeth, youngest daughter of Archibald, Second Earl of Argyle, was married to Lachlan Cattanach Maclean of Duart. It is evident from what followed that their marriage was not a happy one; for Maclean, determined to get rid of his wife, left her on a rock in the Sound of Mull to perish by the rising tide. She was rescued, however, by a boat's crew who had heard her piercing cries, and was conveyed in safety to Inverary Castle. Tradition says that Maclean announced to the Argyle family his sudden bereavement, and requested them to join in his grief; and was suffered to go through the solemnities of a mock funeral-that he was met by his father-in-law and his men at the head of Ach's suarach sin dhasan a' gabhail a thàimh Ghairmeadh air falbh sinn o obair a' bhròin, Ach leig sinn e sìos gu h-athaiseach ciùin, Gun leachd-lighe r'a cheann, gun chàrn os a chionn, GLEANNA ORA. O! 'n cuala sibh nuallan na pìoba sa' ghaoith? Ghluais esan roi'n ghiùlan, luchd-bròin air gach taobh, Ghluais iad gu tosdach roi' mhonadh an fhraoich, Glenara, where the coffin was opened and Maclean disgraced for his cruelty and treachery, and was instantly sacrificed by the Campbells and thrown into the ready-made grave. The latter part of this report is not correct, as Maclean was killed in Edinburgh, some years thereafter, by the brother of lady Elizabeth. The best account we have seen of this wild and romantic affair is written by Dr M'Leod of St. Columba, Glasgow, who also translated this deservedly popular Poem. The account referred to, along with the excellent translation, is given in the Gaelic Messenger for August, 1829. |