&-':E 
 
 GJuntell Hntucrsity Siibrarg 
 
 3t(?ata, Ncm gorlt 
 
 BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME OF THE 
 
 FISKE ENDOWMENT FUND 
 
 THE BEQUEST OF 
 
 WILLARD FISKE 
 
 LIBRARIAN OF THE UNIVERSITY 186B-I883 
 
 1905 
 
Cornell University Library 
 PB 1633.M14 
 
 Poems anc 
 
 1 
 
 songs. Gaelic and English. 
 
 3 1924 026 841 332 
 
Cornell University 
 Library 
 
 The original of this book is in 
 the Cornell University Library. 
 
 There are no known copyright restrictions in 
 the United States on the use of the text. 
 
 http://www.archive.org/details/cu31924026841332 
 
POEMS AND SONGS 
 
 GAELIC AND ENGLISH. 
 
 BY 
 
 MRS. MARY MACKELLAR, 
 
 BARD TO THE GAELIC SOCIETY, INVERNESS. 
 
 MACLACHLAN & STEWART, 64 SOUTH BRIDGE. 
 
 INVERNESS: JOHN NOBLE. OBAN: J. W. MILLER. 
 I 8 8 0. 
 
EDINBURGH : 
 
 PRINTED BY LORIMER AND GILLIES, 
 
 31 ST. ANDREW SQUARE. 
 
LE A CHEAD 
 
 s6nraichte EHEIN, 
 
 THA MI 'CUB NAN DUANAGAN SO 
 
 A MACH 
 
 PO SGAILE SGIATH CHAOIMHNEIL 
 
 CARAIDE DiLEAS 
 
 AGUS FEAK-TAGRAIDH 
 
 MO DHUTHCHA, MO SHLUAIGH, 
 
 AGDS 
 
 MO CHANAIN, 
 
 PROFESSOR BLACKIE. 
 
CONTENTS. 
 
 Oran do Bhan-righ Victoria. Air dhomh an Leabhar aig a 
 
 Mbrachd Bioghail a Leughadb, 
 Duanag, 
 
 Oran, .... 
 Mo Ghradh Geal 's mo Run, . 
 Verses from my Scrap-Book, . 
 Cumha le Lochial — An Uair a Chunnaic e a Chaisteal air a 
 
 Losgadh Leis na Saighdearan-dearga, "Bliadhna 
 
 Thearlaich," 
 Translation of above, 
 Longing, 
 Lochabar, 
 
 An Nighean Dubh Ghruamach, 
 Oran do Dhuin'-TJasal a bha 'dol a phbsadh te nach robh 
 
 taitneach le 'ckiiirdean, 
 Gearan an Anrna, .... 
 
 Marbhrann do Thearlach Stiubhart Camshron, 
 On Dreaming of a Young Brother who had died shortly before. 
 The Peasant Girl to the Lady, 
 Luinneag a rinn mi uair a fhuair mi Deoch de dhroch Uisge 
 
 'an Han&bher, 
 A Fragment, . 
 A Christmas Song, 
 Verses from my Scrap-Book, . 
 A Response to the Farewell to Edinburgh of Mrs. Harriet 
 
 Miller Davidson, . 
 The Lone Maiden, 
 Lines on Bessie G. Colquhoun, 
 Written on a Valentine sent to a Child, 
 
 10 
 12 
 14 
 14 
 16 
 
 17 
 19 
 21 
 22 
 23 
 
 25 
 20 
 27 
 28 
 
 29 
 31 
 32 
 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 
 
 Eblas ann an Lunnainn, . . . .44 
 
 Failte do Mharcus Latharna 'a do 'Mhnaoi-Oig Eioghail, . 45 
 Translation of the above by Sheriff Nicolson, . 48 
 
 Air Latha Orduigh DhuneMeann, . . . .51 
 
 Alone, . . . 52 
 
 Lame Willie. A Christmas Ballad, . . 53 
 
 A Christmas Carol, . . 57 
 
 Oran mu'n Choinnimh-chomhraidh 'bha ann an Duneideann 
 
 air son Cathair Ghaidhlig fhaotuinn anns an ard-Oil 
 
 thigh, ... 59 
 
 Cronan 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 chunnaio mi ann an traigh Loch Eribol, . 81 
 Freagairt an Tobair, ... 82 
 
 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 Commun Gaidhlig Inbhernis, . . 96 
 
 A Night Song. Written in a Time of Trial, . . 100 
 
CONTENTS. Vll 
 
 PAfiE 
 
 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 Chonmnn Gaidhlig Inbhirnis, . 106 
 
 A Wish for a Friend, . . . .108 
 
 The Forsaken One to the Dewdrop, 1 09 
 
 Lines on the Death of a Boy, 110 
 
 A Song for the Times, . Ill 
 
 Oran do Chaiptean Siosal, fear AlIt-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 Iarruidh Dhiomhain, 131 
 
 To a Sprig of Heather sent me from a Highland Glen, . 132 
 
 Translations. ' 
 
 An Dealachadh Gaidhealach. Le Professor Blackie, . 133 
 
 AUt-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 : — ' ' Goire Cheatkaich. " 
 
 Cha'n 'eil Bird riabh a rinn dan duinn, 
 
 Cruit no clarsacb a sheinn dhuinn cebl, 
 Air mnaoi ghraidh nach do luaidh le manran 
 
 'Us e ga 'h-ard-mholadh mar a b'ebl. 
 Mo chruit-sa, gleusam a nis do th6udan, 
 
 A chum gu h-eibhneach thu 'dheanamh sgebil 
 Mu mhnaoi aillidh a tha gu statail, 
 
 Air cathair ardaicht' os ceann gach feoil. 
 
 A shliochd nan lebmhann 'bha greadhnach luchairteach, 
 
 'S beag an t-ioghnadh ged 'tha thu cbrr, 
 'S full nan Stiubhartach rioghail cuirteachail 
 
 'G- eirigh luthchleasach ann 'ad phbr; 
 Na feara calm' d'am bu diithchas Alba 
 
 A dheanamh feara-ghniomh 's a sgapadh bir. 
 Bha'n dream ud ionmhuinn le luchd nan Garbh-chrioch, 
 
 'S bhiodh iad 'g an leanmhuinn le h-earbsa mhbir. 
 
 O 's i do mhathair 'thug dhuinn an oighreachd 
 
 A thog thu 'd 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 rloghachd aoibhneach » luach a seud, 
 Gun uaill gun mhbrchuis, Ian tMr 'us eblais, 
 
 A rinn do chbmhradh mar chebl nan teud. 
 
GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS. 
 
 'S mar thig an driuchd a nuas le urachadh 
 
 Air na flurain 'bhios seargta fann, 
 Thug buaidh do cbuirt-sa gu fiorghlan fiughanta 
 
 Fas air subhailcean a bha gann. 
 'S e sud, a Bhan-righ, a ohuir ar n-uigh ort, 
 
 'Us cna b' e'n crun a bhi air do cheann. 
 'Us 's e 'chuir cliu ort air feadh gach duthcha, 
 
 Mar oiteig chubhraidh de thuis nam beann. 
 
 O 's mbr an gradh 'thug thu dh'obair NMuir ! 
 
 'S tha'n aigneadh ard ud ag iarraidh loin, 
 Feadh gach ard charraig, gleannan fasachail, 
 
 Glac 'us earn mullaicn, 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 Ibin. 
 
 '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 ceb a' ghlinn, 
 Aeh 'gabbail sblais 's an urachd ghlbrmhoir 
 
 'S ag 6isdeachd cebhaidh nan ebinean binn' 
 Le ribheid shiubhlaich a' cur na smiiid' dhiubh 
 
 Mu thimchioll luchairt nam baideal grinn'. 
 
 O 's ioma bliadhna bho'n b,ha 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 ploba 'bhi 'd thalla rioghail, 
 
 'S ar breacain riomhach 'bhi air do chloinn, 
 Ach thug thu'n drasda gu tur fo chis sinn, 
 
 'Us ghoid air cridh'chan le sgriob de d'pheann. 
 
 'Us tha mac-talla ri iolach libhneis 
 
 Air feadh nan sleibhtean 's nam beanntan cian' 
 'Us clann nan Gaidheal mar dhaoine iotmhor, 
 
 A gheabhadh fior-uisge mar am miann. 
 
OEAN DO BHAN-RIGH VICTORIA. i 
 
 'S do mholadh binn orra fh6in 's an tir, 
 
 A bhi air a sgriobheadh 'an cainnt nam Fiann, 
 
 Is bidh a' Ghaidhlig a nis 'am pris, 
 
 Ged a theirfceadh 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 sp6is dhut 
 
 A mhaldag cheutach nan ioma buadh 1 
 'Us ma thig namhaid ort nail thair saile 
 
 Bheir mic nan Gaidheal dha blar 'bhios cruaidh, 
 Ged 's gann an aireamh, 'us caoraich bhana, 
 
 'S gaoh gleannan ard anns am b'abhaist tuath. 
 
 Bu tu 'bbanacharaid, bu tu 'mhathair, 
 
 Bu tu ban-righ nam flaithean trlun' 
 Gheabh'aircich trbcair, 'us truaghain debir bhuat 
 
 'Us iochd gheabb fbgraich na'n duthcban cem', 
 Bu tu 'bhean chairdeil do'n fbiiiran aluinn 
 
 A cbuir le 'ghradh air do laithibh seun, 
 An leug a's luachmboir' 'bha 'd'choron riogbail, 
 
 'S cbuir Bigb nan Righ i na 'cboron f h6in. 
 
 A rbis a's aillidh, a mbiann 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 'cbuir thu deadh-shiol 'ad thir 's 'ad theaghlacli, 
 
 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 6iginn triall bho gach onoir mhbir, 
 Guidheam Criosta 'bhi 'cumail dion' ort 
 
 Fo sgail a sgiath' bho'n is e 'bheir foir ; 
 '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. 
 
 DUAKAG. 
 
 An uair a bha mi mu f hichead bliadhna dh'aois, 's mi sgriob oar 
 mios de'n t-samhradh aig an tigh 'au " Ooire-bheag," thainig mo 
 bhrathair 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 radh gu'm b'f hearr dhomh 'bhi 'g obair air a' 
 bhuntata na 'bhi 'm shuidhe stigh. " Dian oran air sin a nis," os 
 esan, agus fhad's a bhios, tu ga 'chur ri che'ile, gabhaidh mise mo 
 bhiadh. 'S e bh' ann gu'n do thoisich mi mar a leanas : — 
 
 Fonn : — "An cluirm thu leannain an cluinn thu." 
 
 An cluinn thu mi, 'Mhali, 
 
 Ged tha thu cho ban, 
 'Ad shuidhe air cathair, 
 
 A' fuaghal le snaith'd, 
 Gu'm b'f hearr dhut 'bhi 'mach ud 
 
 Ag obair le grab, 
 A' dianamh 'bhuntat' a bhurach. 
 
 Na'm f agadh tu Glaschu, 
 
 Le 'thatraich 's le 'smuid, 
 'S gu'n tigeadh tu dh'fhuireach 
 
 Gu bunaibh nan stuc, 
 Gu'm biodh tu gu beadrach 
 
 Mu " Bheagaig " nan lub, 
 'S gu'n cinneadh tu 'd fhluran uror. 
 
 CJs ged tha do ghruaidhean 
 
 Cho tana 's cho b&n, 
 Gu'm fasadh tu snuaghor 
 
 Le buadhan an t-sail, 
 'S do leoir 61 's a' bhuailidh 
 
 De'n chuach-bhainne bhlath — 
 'S e dh'fhagadh tu laidir luthor. 
 
 0, 6irich 'us tiugain 
 
 'TJs thgid sinn le chiil', 
 An airde do'n bhruthach 
 
 'An deaghaidh na spreidh', 
 'Us cluinnidh sinn brain 
 
 Bho eoin bheag an t-sl6ibh, 
 A's binne na teud 's an duthaich. 
 
ORAN. 
 
 O, euich 'us tiugain, 
 
 'Us th6id sinn do'n bhginn 
 Ag cluith air an leacainn, 
 
 Tha gaitliean na grein ; 
 Ni thusa na h-brain, 
 
 'S bidh mise ga'n s6inn, 
 'S gu'm bi sinn gu h-eutrom sunntach ! 
 
 OBAN. 
 
 Hi ri gur mi 'tha niuladach 
 Leam-fhem 's an t-sebmar uinneagach, 
 'S mi cuimbneach' air a' bhuidhinn ud 
 'Tha cuideachd anns A' Charnaich. 
 
 Tha Peigi, M6r, 's Catrion' ann, 
 Mo mhathair agus Sin' ann 
 'S ged tha mo sheanair tri-chasach, 
 Bu bhinn learn fuaim a ghaire. 
 
 Hi ri, &c. 
 
 Gu'm bi Catriona 'fuaghal, 
 Bho'n chleachd i a bhi uasal ; 
 'S gur h-ioma fear fo ghruaman 
 Nach d'fhuair e 'bhi 'cur fainn' oirr'. 
 Hi ri, &c. 
 
 Bidh M6r ag cur ri sguabadh. 
 'S e'n obair 'thug i luaidh dhith ; 
 B'i sid an ulaidh luachmhor 
 Mu'n bhuailidh 'us mu'n airidh. 
 Hi ri, &c. 
 
 Bidh Peigi dhonn nam mbr-shul 
 Ag cur gach ni 'an brdugh 
 'S cha'n fhaicear t6 a's bbidhche 
 'An cbmhlan 'am measg Ghaidheai. 
 Hi ri, &c. 
 
GAELIC AMD 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 tea dhaibh, 
 'S an am 'bhi 'roinn nam mirean, 
 Cha bu mhisde ml 'bH lamh rith'. 
 Hi ri, &c. 
 
 MO GHBADH GEAL 'S MO RUN. 
 
 Fonn : — " Mali bheag dg." 
 
 O, 's fhada bhuan a tha thu, 
 
 Mo ghradh geal 's mo riin ; 
 Ged b'e mo mhiann 'bhi lamb, riut, 
 
 'S a ghnath 'bhi riut dlutb ; 
 Tha'n saoghal dhomh na sgaile, 
 Gun ni ann a ni stath dhomh, 
 'S nach cluinn mi guth do mhahrain, 
 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 ghniiis ; 
 Do shiiil tha mar an oidhche, 
 'S na rgultan innt a' boillsgeadh, 
 'S gur h- eibhinn learn 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. 
 
 Boinn' locshlainteach an driuchda, 
 Mo ghradh geal 's mo rvln. 
 
 O, 's binn leam-fhin do chomhradh, 
 
 Mo ghradh geal 's mo run, 
 'S bu mhilse learn na'n smebrach, 
 
 An cebl bho d'bhilean ciuin. 
 G-ur caoine na na rbsan, 
 Learn 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 % 
 
 "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 ! 
 
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 ; 
 My wings o'er my bleeding bosom 
 
 I fold, and long to die. 
 
 Wherefore blame me so for blindly 
 Nursing that which must decay 1 
 
 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 1 
 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? 
 
 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. 
 
 CTTMHA LE LOCHIAL 
 
 AN UAIB A CHUNNAIC E A CHAISTEAL AIR A LOSGADH LEIS NA 
 SAIGHDEARAN-DEARGA, " BLIADHNA THEAELAICH." 
 
 An eiginn dhdmhsa, Triatli nam beann, 
 'Bhi'm fhograch fann air feadh nan stuc, 
 'S gu tosdach sealltainn ort 's do cheann, 
 A thalla aosda anns an uir ! 
 
 Loisg Da Dearganaich gu lar 
 Gach baideal ard de'n daehaidh ghaoil, 
 'S an trie a f huair mi fois 'us bias, 
 Air tilleadh dkomh bho ar nan laoch. 
 
 '~N uair 'thogadh sith a bratacb suas 
 'S a bhithinn-sa le m' thuath-cheathairn' fh&'n 
 Tigh'nn luchdaichte gu tur nam buadh 
 Bho'n cbreachann fbuar 's am biodh na feidh. 
 
 Bu phailt am fion 's bbiodh plob air ghleus, 
 'S i caitbreamacb mu'r ri-euchd 's a' bhlar ; 
 'S tratb 'bheireadh seancbaidh greis air sg6ul, 
 Mu ghniombannan nan tr6un a bba, 
 
 Bbiodb cridk' gacb cuiridb laist' na 'cbom, 
 'S e ann am fonn gu 'bhi 's an ar ; 
 Gacb Camsbronacb 's a bboid gu tr6m 
 Gu 'ainm 'bhi measg nan sonn 's an dan. 
 
 'N uair thogainn-sa mo shrol a suas 
 
 'S crois-taraidh le luas na gaoith', 
 
 Ga'n tional gu toiteal nan tuagh, 
 
 'S ann riabb gu buaidb a tbriall na laoich. 
 
 Bba uambunn air na Goill romb'n ainm, 
 Ged tha 'n diugh pailm Chuil-fbodair ac'. 
 'S i'm ban-fhuil f hein bbiodh fo na buinn, 
 Na'm biodh ar suinn gu leir na'r taic'. 
 
 A thaibhse Bhruce dean faire leam, 
 'XJs sileamaid ar debir le cheil' 
 
CUMHA LE LOCHIAL. 11 
 
 Chuir d'Albaiiin f h6in an diugh air chul 
 Oighre do chruin 's mor am beud ! 
 
 Ceannairc na 'aghaidh cha dian mi, 
 'S do choigreach mar righ cha liib ; 
 'An aobhar trocair their iad rium, 
 Thug iad bho m' Phrionnsa gaoil a chrun. 
 
 'An Duitsich no'n Guelphich an d'fhuair 
 Trbcair no truacantas tamh 1 — 
 Na d'ollainnich fhuiltich bho'n uaigh, 
 'Ghlinri-Comhann, luaidh dhuinn sg€ul do chraidb. 
 
 'TJs eireadh sibhs', a laocha mor 
 A thuit 'an " Guil-fhodair " nan creuchd ; 
 'Us innsibh 'n uair a laidh sibh lebinV, 
 Mar rinn an " Cu. " ur febil a r6ub'. 
 
 Bi 'd thosd, mo chridh', 'us sguir a d'thiirs' 
 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 t6id a m' chuimhn' na h-uairean bir, 
 A chaith mi 'measg do thulman uain', 
 O, 'Ach'-na-carraigh, 'm uachdi-an slbigh. 
 
 A nis tha lbchran seamh na h-oidhch', 
 A' boillsgeadh ort, a Ghlinn mo chridh' ; 
 'S gur h-eiginn triall mu'n toil- i soills' 
 Do dhaoidhearan a th'air mo thi. 
 
 Triallaidh mi gu gleann an f hraoich 
 '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 hilte, 
 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 my heart to rest and cheer. 
 
 When peace did her white banner rear, 
 
 And loving vassal and Ms 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 ! 
 
 Now 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 1 
 
 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. 
 
 LOCHABAE. 
 
 Fonn : — " TJta [ghaoth niar cho caithreamach 
 
 O, 's ard a tha do bheanntaichean, 
 
 'S gur bdidheach 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 ineasg4o fhlurain aireamhear 
 An lili ban 's an rbs. 
 
 'S a' mhadainn mhuich bu chubhraidh learn 
 Am faile 'us trom-dhriiichd orra, 
 Gu soilleir, braonach, ciiirneineach, 
 Ga'n urachadh 's gach pbr. 
 
LOCHABAE. 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 'chbir. 
 
 'S na h-uiseagan 's na smebraichean, 
 Le'n ribheid £h6in ri canntaireachd, 
 'S lbn-dubh nam pongan seannsaile 
 'Am barr nan crann ri cebl. 
 
 Tha abhnaichean de dh-fhior-uisge 
 Tha soilleir mar an criostal innt' 
 'S bu mhilse learn, 'us lotadh orm, 
 Na'm fion a bhi ga '51. 
 
 Mo chreach Lbchaidh nam bradan, 
 A bhi'n dmgh fo chis aig Sasunnaich, 
 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' uallaicb, 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-chaisimeachd, 
 
 'TJs fion na Spainnt ga '51. 
 
 Mac Dhbnuill-Duibh 's a laochraidh, 
 Na fir nasal, chairdeil, dhaonnachdail, 
 LSn suairceis, blais, 'us aoighealachd, 
 B'iad gaol nan nionag bg. 
 
 O, 's mairg ri'm biodh am baitealaicb, 
 Fo'n eideadh bbidheach, breacanach, 
 'S piob-mhor nan dluth-phort tatarrach, 
 Aig fear 'bu ghraide mebir. 
 
 Le'n tuagbannan glan, liomharra, 
 'S le'n claidhean-mbr nach dibireadh, 
 Cha d'rugadh namh a ehiosnaicheadh 
 '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 ndis. 
 
 Gun duine air na laraichean, 
 Ach Goill 'us caoraich bhan aca, 
 'S Mac-talla searbh dhe'n clabaireachd, 
 Gur Gaidhlig air 'n romh 'eol. 
 
 AN NIGHEAN DUBH GHEUAMACH. 
 
 Ho r6 mo nighean dubh ghruamach, 
 An nighean dubh lach&lunn, 
 As an Apainn, 
 
 B' ait learn fada bhuam thu. 
 
 Ho ro mo nighean dubh ghruamach. 
 Ho r6, &c. 
 
 A nighean dubh chiar, 
 Ged 'chaidh tu'm lion, 
 Cha b'e mo mhiann do bhuannachd. 
 Ho r6, &c. 
 
 A nighean dubh mhaol, 
 Nan casan caol, 
 
 Gur beag 'tha dh'aoigh 's de shnuagh ort. 
 Ho r6, &c. 
 
 'S gann do chiabhan, - 
 'S stbrach d'fhiaclan, 
 'S m6r 'tha 'nial an fhuachd ort. 
 Ho ro, &c. 
 
 'S cruaidh na 's eiginn, 
 'S beag mo sp6is-sa, 
 Cleir 'bhi 'cur snaim-chruaidh birnn. 
 Ho ro, &c. t 
 
 B'fhearr learn maldag 
 Shunntach, ghaireach 
 'Sheinneadh dan 'us duan domh. 
 Ho ro, &c. 
 
OK AN. 17 
 
 Te 'bhiodh creagan 
 Ga 'binn-fhreagairt, 
 'N am eadradh na buaile. 
 Ho ro, &c. 
 
 Gu'm b' e'n sblas 
 'Bhi ga 'pbgadh, 
 Ann an sebmar uaigneach, 
 Ho r6, &c. 
 
 Ged 's e 's dan domh, , 
 
 'Bhi 'cur fainn' orfc, 
 'S craiteach learn 'bhi luaidh air. 
 Ho v6, &c. 
 
 'S le cion abhachd, 
 No cuis'-gaire, 
 Cairear anns an uaigh mi. 
 Ho t6, &c. 
 
 OEAN 
 DO dhuin'-uasal a bha 'dol a phosadh te nach 
 
 EOBH TAITNEACH LE 'CHAIEDEAN. 
 
 Fonn : — "Seami Triublias Uilleachain." 
 
 Tha sgeula anns an tir so, 
 'S a righ, tha mi muladaoh, 
 Bho'n chuala mi gur fior e, 
 'S gur lionmhor leis an duilich e. 
 'S air leam gu'm beil thu gbradi, 
 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. 
 
 c 
 
18 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS. 
 
 Ma thr&g thu gu buileach iad, 
 Gu spins 'thoirt do'n cbruinneig so, 
 
 Cha'n 'eil i idir bbidheach, 
 'TJs tha 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, 
 '8 cha'n 'eil i de shliochd uaislean — 
 'S 'd6 'bhuaidh oirre chunnaic thu ? 
 Tha sgeula anns, &c. 
 
 Gur m6r a tha 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 naimhdean 'g iarraidh fafch 
 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'f had thu gun tilleadh as. 
 Tha sgeula anns, &c. 
 
 'Fhir mh6ir a' bhroillich aluinn, 
 Air sraid gur h-e'n cuiridh thu ; 
 'S bho'n 's tii 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 ri do ghualainn, 
 
GEARAN AN ANMA. 19 
 
 'Bhiodh uaill oirnn 'us suigeartachd ; 
 'S gu'n dianainn-sa gu h-6ibhinn, 
 A' chlarsach so a ghl6usadh, 
 'An ait 'bhi 'seinn gu dgurach 
 Ri seisd Briogais Uilleachain. 
 
 GEARAN 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 
 BLeir e 'ghnath. dhiom cuis 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 chrionaicb. 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 crMh a tha air m' anam. 
 
 Reusan a' freagairt. 
 
 Cha'n 'eil ni ann a ni statb 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 tha thu tiirsach, d^urach, 
 
 'S beag a ni do dhebir de dh-f h6um dhiit ; 
 
20 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS. 
 
 Ged bu tr6m 'shil suilean Esau, 
 
 Cha robh 6ibheachd dha 'bbi aithreach. 
 
 Creideamh a' labhairt. 
 
 'Anma bhocbd. ged 'tha tbu truagh dbeth, 
 Bho'n tbainig Geamhradb na gruaim' ort ; 
 Eiridh fbatbast grian nam buadh ort, 
 'S thig ort driuchd a nuas bbo Fblaitheas. 
 
 'S bidb tu ritbist uror bbidbeacb, 
 'S culaidb ort de dbuilleaob snbdbor ; 
 'S cluinnear gutban binn an t-Sambraidh 
 Aotrom ceblmbor ann ad mbeangain. 
 
 'S matb an companach thu, 'reusain, 
 Acb 's trie a bbitheadh tu 's an eucoir, 
 Mur dianainn-sa dbut iu.1 'us 16irsinn, 
 'S nacb leiginn do cbeum 'am mearacbd. 
 
 Ach 'n uair 'bbios as-creideamb cbmhl' riut, 
 'S coltacb learn ri luing 'an ceb sibh, 
 Gun cbairt-iuil, gun stiiiir, gun lbchran, 
 Gun f bear eblacb a ni'n ratbad. 
 
 Cbunnaic mis' thu'n gleann-nan-cnamban, 
 'Dusgadb teagaimh anns an f haidhe, 
 'N uair a sbSideadb gaotb nan grasan, 
 'S ann 'cbaidb tii le d'naire 'm falacb. 
 
 'S tbuirt tbu ris a' bbuidbinn dhiSuraich, 
 
 A lean Iosa 'cbaidb a ch6usadb, 
 
 Nacb dianadh e tuille emgh, 
 
 'S nacb biodb 6ibbeacbd dbuibb na 'bbeannachd. 
 
 Dh'eigb Iebobba bho na b-ardaibb, 
 'S mar tbog Samson geatan Ghasa, 
 Tbog es' geataicbean a' bbais leis, 
 'S bha Hosanna 'n ciiirt nan aingeal. 
 
 'S ioma maide 'bh'aig an diabbul, 
 'Us a cbeann na 'cbaoir 's a' gbriosaich, 
 'Chaidb gu gaisgeil bbuaith' a spionadh, 
 A cbur 's an fhionan 's tus' a'fanaid. 
 
MARBHRANN. 21 
 
 'S iad an diugh na'n ur-chroinn. aluinn, 
 Air bruachan na h-aibhne 'm Paras, 
 'S ainglean ri h-aoibhneas niu'n ailleachd 
 A cbuir grasan air gach faillein. 
 
 MARBHRANN. 
 
 DO THilARLACH STIUBHART CAMSHRON. 
 
 (Mo bhrctthair 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 nacb gluais e 's nacb duisg 
 Gu La-Luain 'n uair a luaisgear an saogbal. 
 Gu La-Luain, &c. 
 
 Leigheas air mo lebn cha dian eblas an 16igh, 
 'Fhir nam blatb-sbuilean mbr 'bheireadh sblas do m'chridb', 
 Cha duisgear le cebl thu 's do pbbg cba'n fhaigb mi, 
 'S trom do shuain stigb fo dbuathar nan craobba. 
 'S trom do, &c. 
 
 'S cba'n iogbnadb, a- Th^arlaicb, do d'mbathair 'bhi 'turs', 
 'S trom aobbar a craidb 'us do thamb-s' anns an uir, 
 Far nacb cluinn i gutb manrain bbo d'bblatb bhilean ciiiin ; 
 'S fliucb a gruaidb bbo'n Diluain 'rinn thu caochladh. 
 'S fliuch a gruaidb, &c. 
 
 Oig uir bha thu fbghluimt' thair mbran de chach, 
 Air cruaidh cheistean dombain 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 geur 
 Air nadur gach blath 'bhios a' fas anns an fheur ; 
 Air gach aile 's an iarmailt, 's gach miar de'n rian-ghr6in ; 
 Och, bu luath 'ruith do chuairt anns an t-saoghal. 
 Och, bu luath, &c. 
 
 'S 'n uair a dhianainn-sa duan cha bu duais leam an t-br, 
 Laimh ri thus' 'bhi ga 'semn 's tu 'bhi gibhneach 'am chebl ; 
 
22 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS. 
 
 Crocbam clarsach nan t6ud nis air geugan a' bhrbin, 
 'S gun thu, 'luaidh, ann gu cluas thoirt do m' shaothair. 
 'S gun thu, 'luaidh, <fec. 
 
 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 mhianii, 
 'S e mo chruadal cho luath 's 'chaidh a thaomadh. 
 'S e mo chruadal, &c. 
 
 Nis ged bhruchdas na fliirain romh ghrunnd anns a' 
 
 Mhaigh, 
 'TJs na h-ebin a' semn ciuil air gach dluth mheangan ard, 
 Ar solas cha duisg iad — 's neo-shiinntach. ar cail, 
 'S tusa bhuainn an^dingh, 'luaidh de na daoine. 
 'S tusa bhuainn, &c. 
 
 Ach ge mbr sinn ga d'chaoidh, och, cha'n fhaod sinn 'bhi'n 
 
 gruaim, 
 Bho'n 's i toil an Athar naoimh rinn, a ghaoil, do thoirt 
 
 bhuainn, 
 'S sinn 'an duil gu'm beil thu 's an Ieriisaleim nuaidh, 
 Trid na buaidh' tha'm fuil luachmhor 'n Ehir-shaoraidh. 
 Trid na buaidh', &c. 
 
 Soiridh leat, ma ta, 's ged, a ghraidh nach tig thft, 
 
 Coinnichidh sinn gun dail ann an aros na muirn', 
 
 Far bheil craobh-na-beatha 'fas 's nach tig bas birnne 
 
 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, 
 Eair 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 
 
 LTJINNEAG. 
 
 a einn mi uaie a fhxjaie mi deoch de dhecch uisge 
 'an han6bher. 
 
 Fonn : — hi-ri, ho raill 6, 
 RaiU 6, ho raill 6; 
 hi-ri, ho raill 6, 
 Mo chridhe trom, 's cha nednach. 
 'S e 'chuir mis' a dhianamh duain 
 'Mhiad 's a chuireadh orm de ghruaiai, 
 Leis an deoch de uisge ruadh 
 A f huair mi 'an Hanbbhar. 
 
 O hi-ri, &c. 
 
 'S ainneamh 'chaochail sruth os cionn 
 A' chlabair a bha ann an griinnd 
 Na h-aibhne a bha 'ruith gun sunnt 
 Le burn nach tugadh solas. 
 
 O hi-ri, &c. 
 
 Coma learn an t-uisge glas, 
 Coma leam a dhreach 's a bhlas, 
 'S m6r gu'm b'fhearr na feadain bhras 
 A thig bho chais' nam mor-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 f hior-uisg' anns gach gleann ; 
 Torman binn aig mile allt, 
 'S iad mar bhean-bainns' 'n brdugh ! 
 hi-ri, &c. 
 
 Cbmhdaeh min-fhebir air gach bruaich, 
 Laist' le 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 chridh', 
 'S beag an t-ioghnadh ged a bhiodh 
 An rbs 's an lili ag cur strith 
 'An gruaidhean mine d'bigridh ! 
 O hi-ri, &c. 
 
 'S neartmhor d'osag learn, 's gur h-ui- 
 Ag eirigh luchdaichte le tuis, 
 'N uair 'tha 'ghrian ag bl an driiichd 
 Bho d'thrusgan flurach, bbidheach. 
 O hi-ri, &c. 
 
 Cha b'ioghnadh Debrsa 'bhi 'an diumb 
 Ris an 6g d'an d'thug thu rfin ; 
 Bu tu'n neamhnaid ann a chriin, 
 A's cha b'i dilthaich 'bige. 
 
 O hi-ri, &c. 
 
 'S ged tha mis' an so air chuairt, 
 Tha ' Gleann-Gomhann ' 6utrom luath ; 
 'S 'n uair a th6id a siuil a suas, 
 'S ann tuath a ni i sebladh. 
 
 O hi-ri, &c. 
 
 'S 'n uair 'ruigeas mi tir an aigh, 
 Tir mo dhaimh 'us luchd mo ghraidh, 
 Naile, th6id mi-fhin gun dail, 
 A dh'bl mo shath a Lbchaidh. 
 O hi-ri, <fec. 
 Hakburg, Han6bher, 
 Meadhon an Fhoghair, 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 blisjs 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 Eecorder 
 
 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 psean 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 unborrowed 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. 
 
 'Tis the sigh that comes unbidden 
 
 Prom 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. 
 
 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. 
 
 'Mang 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 thochtfu' 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, laug, 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 bonnie chaplet 
 To croon my child of fame. 
 
 And I will keep a quiet nook 
 Within my auld grey breast, 
 
 Where thou, my am 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 ATJLTNACRAIG, 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 
 
 Prom Bessie's little crib. 
 
 LINES WRITTEN" NEAR ATJLTNACRAIG, 
 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 tree 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. 
 
 BIETHDAY 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 b 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, 
 ]ST o blighting frost of care or pain, 
 T by 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 
 
 TJ pon the earth pours silvery light ; 
 
 H ow bright the promise, and how blest ! 
 
 O h ! may it to fruition rise, 
 
 TJ ntil, earth's birthdays o'er, thou'lt rest 
 
 N ear to God's throne in Paradise ! 
 
THREE SONNETS. 35 
 
 THREE SONNETS 
 
 ON THE BAPTISM OF EDITH CONSTANCE COLQUHOUN. 
 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 AND ENGLISH POEMS. 
 
 But, ah ! fair maiden, as T 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 ? 
 
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 ; 
 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. 
 
38 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS. 
 
 Laid low by no untimely stroke, 
 But ripe in honours as in years, 
 
 Though stately bough of the great oak, 
 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 ! 
 
 ORAIST MU CHALLART. 
 
 Fonn : — " Oran nigheanfir Gheambaill." 
 
 Mo chruit chiuil le mbrchuis duisg, 
 'Us seinn gu siublach rann domh, 
 'S le mbran miiirn gu'n innsinn cliu 
 Air bruthaichean luraoh Challart : 
 B'e miann gach sul' a 'bhi dhut dliith, 
 ' Us tu na d'chulaidh ghreadhnaich, 
 An tus an Ogmhios 'us d'ur chbt' 
 Lan nebnain agus shobhrach. 
 
 Gur bbidheach grian re fad an lb, 
 Gu h-brbhuidh air do chluaintean, 
 Mar adharc-pailtis, 'taom gun aire ort 
 Gach maise, a chualas, 
 Gheabhadh am fear anmhann cail, 
 'S an fhaileadh ghlan, gun truailleadh 
 'Tha 'measg do thulman, uaine, feoir 
 'S na rbsan, tha mu d'bhruachan. 
 
 0,'s beag a chailleas tu de d'sgiamh, 
 
 Ged dh'fhalbhas 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 
 
 '^ ged thig le gruaim a ghaillionn fhuar 
 
 Cha laidh ort tuar a' Gheambraidh. 
 
 'S ann air do phaircean molach febir, 
 A's lodail a bhios cruachan, 
 'Us ail* do dhailthean bhios an t-arbhar. 
 Diasach, tarbhach, smuaiseach. 
 
40 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS. 
 
 Mnathan gu luinneagach, gniomhach, 
 ' 'Leagadh slos nan sguab dheth 
 'S an fhuil 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'gharbhlacli 
 Cha Bhiodh 'fhalbhan diomhain. 
 
 B'e cebl mo ghaoil a bhi mu d'raoin, 
 Ag 6isdeachd laoidh na'n alltan, 
 Cruitearachd mhilis an lbin-duibh, 
 'S braidean na smeoraich, 
 Uiseag 'dbrtadh bho 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 gbrinn ri f haotainh, 
 
 Aig sliochd nan armunn b'iad 's an arf haich 
 
 Meangain ard na laochraidh, 
 
 TJrsannan-catha na gaisge, 
 
 'S brataichean ga 'n sgaoileadh. 
 
 Cha 'b ann mar rainich, no luachair, 
 'Binn ur n-uaisle cinntinn, 
 . Daragan aosmhor na hAlba, 
 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 MAEAICHE 's A LEANNAN. 41 
 
 Ged dli'fhalbh na daragan rioghail, 
 'Sheasadh sinn na 'r cruadal, 
 Dh' f hag iad againn na flurain 
 A's fiughaile buadhan, 
 Bosan air broilleach a' Chgitein, 
 'Chinn bho gheugaibh uaibhreach, 
 'S bho 'n dian fhathasd fiilrain Sirigh, 
 Le treine an dualchais. 
 
 'S bho'n a dh'fhag mi tir mo ghaoil, 
 
 Gur h-ioma taobh 'bha m' f halbhan, 
 
 Bho'n t-Suain, 'us Lochlunn, 's an Olaint, 
 
 An Ehraing mhbr's a' Ghearmailt, 
 
 Cha shasaich am briaghad mo shuil, 
 
 Ged 's pluranach neo gharbh iad, 
 
 'S mi 'cuimhneachadh dtfhalluinn 's a' Cheltein 
 
 Le seudan a' dealradh. 
 
 AM MAEAICHE 'S A LEANNAN. 
 Fonn : — " Nighean blid/n Dhail-an^eas.'' 
 
 O, 's mairg tha'n diugh feadh garbhlaich, 
 
 'S ri falbhan 'am measg fraoicn ; 
 'TJs,gaitliean grein' gu h-brbhiiidh • 
 
 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 lira 
 
 Ei sugradb anns a' ghaoith. 
 
 O, 'fhleasgaich big, gur gbrack learn * 
 
 Do chbmhradb. anns an uair, 
 An fhraoch-bheinn ghorm ga 'samhlacbaclh 
 
 Ei gleanntan glas a' chuain ; 
 'S gur trie a 's aobhar caoinidh leam 
 
 A h-aon dh'an d'thug mi luaidh, 
 'Bhi as mo shealladh fad air falbh 
 
 Air bharraidh garbh nan stuaah. 
 
42 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS. 
 
 A rimhinn bg dh'an d'thug mi gaol, 
 
 B'e 'bhi ri d'thaobh mo mhiann, 
 Bho'n chiad la riabh thug mi dhut speis, 
 
 Bu tii 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 mhiaDn 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' briichdadh barra-gheal fo a srbin, 
 
 'S le crbnan seach a sail ; 
 I 'g elrigta eutrom^iir gach tonn, 
 
 'Us fonn oirre ri'gair'. 
 
 I 'g 6irigh 6utrom 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 ciiram, 
 
 Ghe"abh an iubhrach ghasd a' bbuaidh ; 
 'S thig fearalachd 'us mbralachd 
 
 * Ri 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 siinnt 
 'Cur siuil ri slatan caoil ; 
 
AM MAEAICHE 's A LEANtfAN. 43 
 
 'S an uair a bhiomaid diomhanach, 
 
 Mo dhriamlach thair a taobk, 
 ' Us mi gu h-ait a' seinn le fonrt, 
 
 " Mo nighean doiiu mo ghaol." 
 
 " 0, 'bigeir uir, nach 6isd thu rium, 
 
 Ged 's mbr do sp6is 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 gaotb a's cruaidhe fead 
 Ga 'n sparradh chum an fhuatbais 
 
 'S an long mu'n cuairt cha leig." 
 
 " O, "ainnir dhonn, na sil do dhebir, 
 
 Mu bhrbn nach tig a chaoidh. 
 Tha'n ti a' riaghladh air a' chuan, 
 
 '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' dliithachadh ri cheil', 
 'An gaol gun mheirg, gun fhailneachadh 
 
 Ach mar a bha, gun bheud ; 
 Gach turus-cuain ga 'urachadh 
 
 A mhiiirneag a' chu.il r6idh." 
 
44 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS. 
 
 ORAN 
 
 DO sgiobaie de chlann-a-mhuieich air an do chuie 
 
 Ml E6LAS ANN AN LTJNNAINN. 
 
 Fonn : — "Gaol am Piutonach sitghor." 
 
 'S ANN an Lunnainu nan stiopall, 
 
 Baile rioghail nan uaislean, 
 'Fhuair mi eolas 'us cairdeas 
 
 A' Ghaidhil 'bha suairce ; 
 'S beag ioghnadh an v t-armunn 
 
 A bhi ailleasach, nasal, 
 'S e de shiol nam fear sgairteil 
 
 'Thogadh bratach fo Chluainidh. 
 
 Sgiobair calma, glan, cuimir, 
 
 Dh'am b'aithne luingeas a sheoladh ; 
 Cha'n ann mu thimchioll nan ciiiltean, 
 
 'S nan stucanna cebthar ; 
 'S ann a thairneadh tu 'ciirsa 
 
 Air gach duthaich fad bho d'eblas ; 
 'S thilleadh dhachaidh gu buadhar 
 
 Dh'aindeoin nuallan thonn mora. 
 
 Thoir mo shoiridh le beannachd 
 
 Dh'ionnsaidh 'Phearsanaich loinneil, 
 Jje 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 shiiil 
 
 'Am barr urail na coille. 
 
 'S math learn agad a'mhaighdeann, 
 
 Bho'n 's i daoimein na tir' i ; 
 'S ged nach fhaigh thu leath' saibhreas, 
 
 Gheabh thu oighreachd 'bhios priseil : 
 Gheabh thu grinneas 'us suairceas, 
 
 Mathas, uails', agus siochaint, 
 Bean mhaiseach ri d'ghualainn 
 
 Nach cuir bruaidlein air d'inntinn. 
 
FAILTE DO MHAECUS LATHARNA. 45 
 
 Suil mar dhearcaig a' bhruthaich, 
 
 Fait mar f hitheach nam mbr-bheann ; 
 Mar shuth-chraobh tha a bilean, 
 
 Bho am mill's na pbgan ; 
 Aghaidh mhalda gun ghruaman, 
 
 Aig a' ghruagaich 'dh'f has mbthar ; 
 'S i a' dearbhadh a dualchais 
 
 Ann a gluasad gu cbmhnard. 
 
 Lamb, 'chur grinneis air 6ideadh, 
 
 'S a dhianadh euchd leis an t-snathaid ; 
 'Dhianadh sniomhach, na'm b'fheum e, 
 
 Cbo 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 cbir dhut air Mairi. 
 
 FAILTE DO MHARCTTS 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 libhneis, 
 Le lainnir 'tha dalladh na lerrsinn 1 
 
46 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS. 
 
 Thuirt an t-Aosd', 's e crath' le mbrchuis 
 
 A leadan aighearach bbidheach, 
 
 Tha toil-inntinn air mo chuartach', 
 
 Mar bhrucndadh barra-gheal nan stuadhan, 
 
 Mar dheoch fhior-uisge do 'n phaiteach, 
 
 Mar mhiar ealanta air clarsaich, 
 
 Mar bhroilleach gaoil do' n truaghan fhbgrach, 
 
 Toirt iocshlainte do 'anaru lebinte. 
 
 Thainig sgeul a dhuisg mo chridhe, 
 
 'S a chuir mi gu miiirn 's gu mire, 
 
 Mar stoirm nan tonn mbr a' gleachdraich, 
 
 'S an Ehaoilleach ann an Coire-bhreacain. 
 
 Tha gair nan ceud mu 'n Ohaisteal Aorach, 
 
 'S cha 'n e ar 'tha 'm beactd na laochraidh, 
 
 Gean is gradh 's gach siiil tha 'lasadh, 
 
 'S a dearsadh 's gach gruaidh mar an cadadh. 
 
 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' iidlaidh, 
 'S a choisinn e cliii nach basaich, 
 'Fhad 's a dh'innsear sgeul 'an Gaidhlig ; 
 Fiuran aluinn a' chiiil bhuidhe, 
 Mharbh an Dragon 's bhuain an t-ubhal, 
 TJbhal 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 k 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 'n laoidh mar is ebl, 
 
FAILTE DO MHARCTJS LATHARNA. 47 
 
 Dhuisg morchnis is solas lucid-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 beanntaibb an fhraoich ! 
 
 Failt air an bigfhear, failt air le buaidh, 
 Cha 'n ioghnadh mo ghradh a tboirt barr air an t-sluagh, 
 'S nacli 'eil am pbraibb Iompair no Righ 'thig thar tuinn, 
 Boinne 's uaisle na 'n fhion-fhuil 1 " 'tha 'm f ior Mhac 
 O'Dhuinn. 
 
 Failt ort, &c. 
 
 'Fhiurain an br-f hnilt, gur bbidheach do dhealbh, 
 
 'S gur airidh thu 'measg sluaigh air na fbuair thu 'ad 
 
 sheilbh. 
 O d'big' thu Ian uaisle, gun tuaileas gun bhetim, 
 Act do churs' mar a' ghrian 'tha gun f hiaradh na 'ceum. 
 F&lt ort, &c. 
 
 Failt air an Daoimein 'tha 'boillsgeadh a'd 'cMn, 
 
 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 pliiran 'tha 'briichdadh troimh iirlar gach glinn, 
 Le'n tuisearan ciibhraidh 's le 'n iiraireachd ghrinn, 
 Gun mheas air am faile, no 'n aillealachd mhbir, 
 'S ar miann air a' gheal-rbs nach ceannaicheadh an t-br. 
 Failt ort, &c. 
 
 A nighean na mnS, eeutaich 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-fhear, 's a' gheug 'rinn e bhuain, 
 Geal mar chanach sleibh no mar eiteig a' chuain 
 
48 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS. 
 
 Drift chd onali ardaibh fad laithean an saogbail, 
 Beannachd agus gras bhi air caraid mo ghaoil ! 
 
 Failt ort, failt ort, failt orfc, a laoich ! 
 
 Failt ort le d'dg-mhnaoi gu beanntaibh an. f hraoich ! 
 
 Failt ort, failt ort, failt ort, a laoich ! 
 
 Failt ort gu d'eolas le bg-mhnaoi do ghaoil ! 
 Harbtog. 
 
 • 
 
 TRANSLATION OF THE ABOVE BY SHERIFF NICOLSON. 
 
 From Scotland comes 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 1 
 Whence thy crown of joy so bright, 
 Gleaming on the dazzled sight ? 
 
 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 MARQUIS 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 Corry vreckan. 
 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. 
 
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 Bose 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 bom. 
 
AIR LATHA ORDUIGH DHTJNEIDEANN. 51 
 
 AIR LATHA ORDUIGH DHUNEIDEANN 
 
 Ged tha mi 's an Ehraing 'g eisdeachd srannraich na gaoith', 
 'S'e baile Dhun&deann 'n diugh m' 6ibhneas 'us in'uigh, 
 'Us cluig bu bhinn brain ri ceblraidh do m'chridh, 
 'Toirt cuiridh gu cuirm ann an ciiirtean an High. 
 Fonn — Airfaillirin, ittirin, uillirin d, 
 
 Airfaillirin, Minn, 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'fh6um, 
 Gu beanntainnean Bheuladh a'stiuireadh mo cbeum ; 
 'S air tiis chuir 'am laimk a'gbloin'-amhairc de 'n br, 
 Troimh 'm faca mi sealladh air fearann na glbir', 
 Air faillirin, illirin, &c. 
 
 A chuideachd mo ghaoil, gabhaibh aobhach an sbgh 
 'Th'air a sgaoileadh le faoUt aig Fear-saoraidh nan slbgh ; 
 'S 'n uair a thig e n'air dail dn'iarruidh bblaithean 'us meas, 
 N"a biodb aon gb6ug gun phairt oirr' ri aireamh 's an lios. 
 Air faillirin, illirin, &c. 
 
 B'e mo mhiann-sa ur ciocras 'bhi riaraicht' 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 miiirneach le buthaibh ga 'r dion. 
 Air faillirin, illirin, &c. 
 
 Gu 'm b'annsa na h-brain tha 'n cbisridh nan saoidh, 
 
 Na osag a' Cheitein 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 Maclaohainn, Eaglais Chaluim-Cliille, ann an Dun- 
 eideann. 
 
52 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS. 
 
 Ged 's ciatach learn searmoin nan garbh-thonnan mbr 
 Mu uamhas Ieh6bhah, mu mhorachd 's mu ghldir ; 
 Cha chhiinnear a'luaidh iad air TJan Chalbhari, 
 'S a cbaoidh cha toir cfinntas mu Chiimhnant na Sitb. 
 Air faillirin, ilHrin, &c. 
 
 Ach leanaidb mis' c6uman ur treud-se le debin, 
 
 'S 'n uair 'ruigeas mi 'n t-ait' 'm bi ur tamh mu thrath- 
 
 nbin, 
 Mar fbior-uisge Mim 'n d6igb Mara 'bhi searbh, 
 Bidbsuaimbneasnancluaintean'ndeigb cruaidh ratbaidean 
 
 garbh. 
 
 Air faillirin, ilHrin, &c. 
 
 ALOIE. 
 
 My babe, tbou'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 brigbt 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 ; 
 
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 beautpous 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 ? " 
 
 " I'll never be a man, my ain dear mither, 
 
 " And I'm glad I'll never, never be ; 
 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. 
 
 J 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 hame." 
 
 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 not 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 
 
 OEAN 
 
 Mu'n CHOINNIMH-CHOMHRAIDH 'BHA ANN AN DUN&DEANN 
 AIR SON CATHAIR GHAIDHLIG FHAOTUINN ANNS AN ARD 
 OIL-THIGH. 
 
 Fonn : — "The Laird o' Cockpm." 
 
 Dian, a dhuthaich nan tr6un, iollach eibhneis as ur, 
 Cbualas nuallan nam piob an tigh riomhach nan tur ; 
 'Us d'uaislean na'n ceudan gu h-6udmhor 'tigbinn cruinn, 
 'Chumail suas na cainnt' buadhair 'bba dual do na suinn. 
 
 Chruinnich baintighearnan min-gheal na'n side 's na'n srbl, 
 'S iad a' boillsgeadh le seudan, mar r6ulltan 's na neoil ; 
 'Am maise 's an ailleas 'toirt barr air a cheH' ; 
 '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 sliocbd uaibhreacb nan sonn, 
 'S air tus cuiream failt air an t-sar 'bh'air an ceann 
 Am morair bho Cholonsa nan gorm ghleann 's nam beann. 
 
 A shlioobd nan lebmban treun chleachd 's an teugbhail a' 
 
 bbuaidh, 
 Tba subhailcean gun aireamh a ghnath ort ri luaidh ; 
 'S 'n uair 'bhios maitbean as gacb ait' anns an "Ardthigh" 
 
 lechgil', 
 Cha bhi aon ann 'bheir barr air a Ghaidheal Macneil. 
 
 'S bba Cluainidh gu b-uaibbreacb le 'sbuaicbantas fhein 
 Ceann-feadhn' ga'm bu dualacb 'bhi cuantacbail trlun, 
 Bha na Pearsanaich riabh ri am diachainn ro-chruaidb ; 
 'S bhiodh am brataichean sgaoilt' air na gaoithean le 
 buaidh. 
 
 'S tba fuil uasal bho '"mhathair ag eiridh na 'phbr, 
 Dream nach reiceadb 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 MaaNeacail 'am breacan 'bha grinn 
 Gaisgeach rioghail nam buadh 'sheinneadh duanag gu binn ; 
 
60 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS. 
 
 Cridh' 'fearail an tsaighdear 's mur mhaighdinn e ciMn, 
 Siiil mar lainnir nan leug 'bhios air eideadh mo ruin. 
 
 Sealgair 'an daimh chracaich 's an ard chreachunn ghlas, 
 'S bheireadh bradan gu bruaich as an f huar linge chais 
 Bidh ceartas 'us trbcair 'triall cbinhT riut tre 'n t-saoghal, 
 'Us claon-bhreith gu brath cha toir armunn mo gbaoil. 
 
 'S a stucannan cebmhor ur nebil cuiribh dhibh, 
 Ged b'fhada ann an ddlas '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 g6ugan 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 lelgh 
 
 'S bidh tu luinneagach binn feadh gach linn 'thig na'r d6igh. 
 
 'S trie a chuala mi dan a rinn Bard do shiol Diiinn, 
 
 'S e-mu mhac mo dheireadh Adhamh ri' faidhdearachd 
 
 dhtdnn, 
 E 'bhi labhairt ris a ghr6in 's iad le ch6il '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 diugli, 
 Ged nach 'eil grian a' dearrsadh ; 
 
 Tha 'n t-uisge 'biathadh a' mhaoth-rbis, 
 Air broilleach caomh a' Mhaigh ; 
 
 Gu tartmhor chrom na fiuir an cinn, 
 Ach iiraichidh an ailleachd ; 
 
 'S gur maiseach bhios iad, 'n uair 'thig grian 
 
 * A. ris le gathan aigh. 
 
CROONING FOR A DARK DAT. 61 
 
 Na nebil tha dorch ach theid iad seach, 
 
 'Us seinnidh sinn gu ceblmhor ; 
 'S le fiughair sealltuinn, air son soills', 
 
 Gu'm fuadaicli sinn gaoli brbn ; 
 Am maireach bidh a' ghrian a maoh, 
 
 S a' choill air chrith le brain; 
 'S gacb cuiseag 's febrnain 'n d6igb nam fras 
 
 Na's iirair' air gach lbn. 
 
 Tha 'n iarmailt fliuch, 'us fuar, an diugh, 
 
 Ach cha bhi sinn fo ghruaman ; 
 Thig creideamh, 's gradh, air aoidheachd leinn, 
 
 'S bidh dbchas uasal grinn ; 
 Ag itealaich gu manranach, 
 
 Mu 'n mhaireach shoillear bhuadhar, 
 'S am bi gach flur fo bhlath na'r ceum, 
 
 'S na h-ebin ri ceileir binn. 
 
 Agus ged a thig an Geamhradh birnn, 
 
 Le gaillinn 's cathadh fladhaich ; 
 O, cumamaid air cridh'chean treun, 
 
 Le cuimhne gu 'n tig grian ; 
 Gu ceblmhor dh-eamaid 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. 
 
 CEOONING 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, 
 
 A ltho' the dgift 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. 
 
 GLASSMAKESTG SPIRITUALISED. 
 
 WRITTEN IN THE GLASSWORKS OF ME. 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. 
 
GLASSMAKIMG 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 
 
 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 ? 
 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 srace 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 ? 
 
 Girt with love, wilt thou not venture 
 To the dark and stormy strand ? 
 
 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 be 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 ; 
 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 mei 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 
 
OKAS'. 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, beaiiteously 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 
 
 AIR AN 42ND AIR DHOIBH BHI BUADHAR AN 
 COGADH ASHANTEE. 
 
 A HO 's toigh learn, 's toigh learn, 's toigh learn, 
 A ho 's toigh learn fhein na Gaidheal, 
 
 Luchd nu'm breacan, gorm, is uaine, 
 
 A chleachd buaidh-chaithream, 's na blaran, 
 
68 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS. 
 
 Thainig sgeul k tir na greine; 
 
 'S gur m6r ni'Sibhneas, 's mo chuis mhanrain, 
 Freiceadan Dubh nan ceum eutrom, 
 
 'Bhi gu h-euchdach mar a b'abhaist, 
 
 A ho 's toigh learn, &c. 
 
 Leomhain churanta 'n am cruadail, 
 
 Dhuibh bu dualach buaidh 's an ar-fhaich, 
 Sliochd nam mili reachd 'ar uaibhreach, 
 
 'Bha nan uamhas do gaoh namhaid, 
 
 A ho 's toigh learn, &c. 
 
 Sliochd nam fear a chleachd an f hraoch-bheinn, 
 'S an cruinniehteadh na laoich le crois-taraidh, 
 
 Cha chualas an eachdraidh an t-saoghail, 
 Feachd a chuir na saoi gu naire, 
 
 A ho 's toigh leam, &c. 
 
 Cha b'e gleacbd ri feachdan rianail, 
 
 'Bha ri dhianamh anns a' chas so, 
 Ach 'bhi 'ciosnachadh nam fiat-fhear, 
 
 'Bha mar fhiadh-bheath'chan an f hasaich, 
 
 A ho 's toigh leam, &c. 
 
 'S ged bu smachdail borb an righ ud, 
 Fear 'thoirt suas nan lobairt graineil, 
 
 Thug ur gniomh air tighim gu diblidh, 
 'Phaigheadh cise do Shir Garnet, 
 
 A ho 's toigh leam, &c. 
 
 B'lutrom ur c§um 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 leam, &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 do-bheairt chaidh an la leo. 
 
 gur toigh leam, &c. 
 
 ■Cha 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 ch6il mar b'abhaisd. 
 
 O gur toigh leam, &c. 
 
 Mile failt '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 toigb leam, &c. 
 
 O Bbeinn Nibheis 's o Bheinn Uabbais, 
 'S o gach fuar-bbeann 'rinn ur n-arach, 
 
 Tha Mactalla ri ard-luagh-ghair, 
 
 'S air gach gleann tha'n sluagh gu gaireacb. 
 
 O gur toigb leam, &c. 
 
 Gbeabb sibb gradh 'us meas o'r duthaich, 
 
 Taingealachd 'us cliit o'r Banrighn, 
 'S bbeir mi-fbein le debin duibb oran, 
 
 Bho'n a rinn a' Cbeolruidh bard diom. 
 
 O gur toigh leam, &c. 
 
 ORAN DHOMHNUILL. 
 
 'S ANN mocb Diciadain 'tbug sinn ar cMaobb 
 
 Bi tir ar duthchais 's bu shunndach sinn ; 
 Gu'm b'aotrom siubblacb a dh'fbalbh an iubbracb, 
 
 Air bhar cbuan diighorm bu chiuine leinn. 
 Bha gbrian gu bbidheach a' dearsadh oirnne, 
 
 'S a gathan orbhuidb' toirb sblais duinn, 
 A's air Hanbbhar rinn sinne seoladh, 
 
 'S a' mhuir ri ceol dbuinn le cronan binn. 
 
 Acb cian m' an thriall a' ghrian do'n iar uainn, 
 
 Gu'n dhorcb an iarmailt le moran gruaim, 
 Thoit a's dbuin 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 coit air a bord 's an uair, 
 Ach ged bha each uile mar bu chdir dhaibh, 
 
 Gur ann air Dbmhnull a bhios mi luaidh. 
 
70 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS. 
 
 O's ami a Uidhist a thainig Domhnull, 
 
 'S bha e de sheorsa Chloinn-ghille-mhaoil, 
 A's cha bu Spainnteach a bha's an oigeir, 
 
 Ged's iomadh seoladair sud a shaoil. 
 Bha fhalt cho dorcha ri sgiath na rocuis, 
 
 'S a shuilean colgail le lainnir bhaoth, 
 'S 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 bhrogan * 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 brisea'dh 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 shuil 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 Mfieistear, + sibh, 
 
 * Ghoid Domhnull brogjan 'b a' phort 's an robh sinn. Bha iad 
 mbr dha, agus thuit iad dheth anus a' chrann. 
 
 + Dh'fhairtlich air Domhnull riamh, "a Mhistress'' a radii. Is 
 « "Mheistear" a gheibhinn daonnan uaith. 
 
A BALLAD. 71 
 
 Sibh an duil gar a buraidh 'n t-bigear, 
 Ach cha'n 'eil Domhnull cho fada clith ; 
 
 'S ann leis dhinn shios ud tha 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 anns a' mhadainn 's ann sheall an t-oigear, 
 
 Le ioghnadh mor air gach taobh mu'n cuairt, 
 Oir ged bha'n abhainn gu sinteach farsaing, 
 
 Gu'n d'inn's a cladach nacb b'i sud Cluaidb. ; 
 Thuit geilt a's airsneul air cridh' an lasgair, 
 
 'S cha labhradh facal 's cha slieiimeadh duan, 
 'S a chas air tir, 's e cho fad o eolas, 
 
 Cha chuireadh Domhnull air mhoran 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, and 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 
 
 i 
 
 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 ? and will you long 
 
 remain 1 
 Or have you not brought home a bride from the dark 
 
 maids of Spain 1 " 
 "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 bostrni 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 ? what is it, love 1 the tears are on thy 
 cheek, 
 
 You mast 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 ? what is it, love 1 why do these tear- 
 drops rain ? " 
 
 " 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, i 
 
 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 clear 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 quaint 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 
 
 1 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 darliDg 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 my 
 life; 
 
0RAN DO THOBAE 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. 
 
 OBAN DO THOBAE, A CHUNNAIC MI ANN 
 AN TBAIGH LOCH EBIBOL. 
 
 SONG TO A SPRING IN THE BEACH OF LOCH ERIBOL. 
 
 Ciod e chuir thu, Thobair f hior-uisg', 
 Dh'iarraidh arms an trMgh 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 f hein 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, 
 Bar 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 debthasach de 'n fhior-uisg, 
 'Binn 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 litbadh e 'm febirnein fo 'bhuinn. 
 
 Q 
 
82 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS. 
 
 Far an tigeadh eoin a' bigil, 
 
 'Fhliucheadh ribheid nam pone binn, 
 
 Seal mu'n dfiisgeadh iad a' choille, 
 Le coireall nan laoidhean grinn. 
 
 Far 'm bu mhiann le maighdinn bhbidhich 
 'Bhi cumail na cbmhdhail aigh, 
 
 'G eisdeachd as ur cliu na maise, 
 'Chuir lasadh an cridh' a grctidh : 
 
 I 'goid seallaidh trie & 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 'be"ul. 
 
 B'annsa leam an sud thu, thobair, 
 Na 'bhi feadh nan clachan garbh, 
 
 'Dbrfcadh do shruthanan soilleir 
 Am broilleach nan tonnan searbh ; 
 
 'Dbrtadh d'fhior-uisge gu diomhain, 
 'S ged dh'fhiachadh tu gu La-Luain, 
 
 Oha dean thu 'n cladach na's grinne, 
 'S cha dean thu milis an cuan. 
 
 FREAGAIRT AN TOBAIE. 
 
 Oiod 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 fluran air mo bhruaich. 
 * 
 Tha mi anns an tr&igh 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 s6ud, 
 '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 aonaoh sird, 
 
THE ISLE OP CANNA. 83 
 
 'S e na b'fheairrd mi f hein sud agam, 
 '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-or 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. 
 
 'S 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, ns an lach. 
 
 'S ged bhithinn gu flurach 's na tolmain, 
 
 No an innis ghnirm na tuis, 
 Cha deanadh tu fhein dhomh bran, 
 
 'S cha 'n fhaiceadh tu bbidhehead 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. Peteesbueg, a's t-Fhoghar, 1875. 
 
 THE ISLE OE CANNA. 
 
 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 
 
 Tq 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 Oanna. 
 
 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. 
 
 i 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, 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. 
 
 " 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 smile that now but whispers hope 
 
 has died ? t 
 
 " 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, t 
 
 " Thou'lt say when I to thee unfold my tale of bitter woe, 
 I would not mourn, niethinks, 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 
 
 gay, < _ 
 
 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— r-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 rue 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 aud 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 ; there met in him 
 
 combined 
 A knight's most graceful chivalry, a poet's lofty mind ; 
 And as he read to us at eye, 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 ' Ko ; ' 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 
 
 • , eves ; 
 
 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 thoiight 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 1 was free, an! 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 Vere." 
 
 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 ; 
 I gazed at him as he drew near, then eagerly I cried, 
 
 " Now, by thy locks of curbing 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 flow'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. 
 
 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 to 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 anld 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 Hue 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 wifie's noo rocking a white-covered crib, 
 And I never seek tae gang bowsing my jib. 
 
 COMBADH 
 
 EADAR AM BARD 's A' CHLARSACH AIR A SGRIOBHADH AIR 
 SON COMMUN GAIDHLIG INBHERNIS. 
 
 A chlarsach ghaoil, O ! cuime riochd, 
 Nach cluinn mi uat ach osna throm 1 
 '.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-f hraoch nam beann is canacli Ibin. 
 
 Is trie a mhol thu le h-ard phone 
 Na mic shona a thoill do rainn, 
 Duisg is seinn do'n Chonmnn chaomh 
 A tha an diugh na d'aobhar cruinn ! 
 
 Is iomadb sar bhios cruinn a nochd, 
 'S an comhradh ard mu thir an f hraoich, 
 Tir nam beann 's nan gleanntan aigh 
 Is trie a dh'araich na sar-laoicb. 
 
 An comhradh binn mu chainnt nam Fiann 
 
 Learn is miann bhi 'g Sisdeachd 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 hhraonaibh ciuin a' Mhaigh, 
 A bheir caoin-bhlath air lus is gelg ; 
 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' 
 Chi 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 faontraidh 
 An dream ghaolach chleachd bhi annt'. 
 
 Far am biodh mnathan caoin-gheal, grinn, 
 A' togail am maothrain a suas, 
 Gu ceatharna fhoigheantach 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 clann air na raoiu, 
 No 'n oigridh na'n sgaothan 's na glinn ; 
 Is luinneag bhuana, bhleothainn, no luaidh 
 Cha chluinnear o ghruagaichean grinn. 
 
 Dream mhor gun f heinealachd, gun cheilg, 
 'S na'n rioghalachd bu choma leo 
 Ged a mharbht' an teaghlaich 's iad fhein 
 Na'm biodh an cinn-fheadhna 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 tendan 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 
 SliocM na laochraidh bha na d'ghlinn. 
 
 Cha'n eil ni bh'ann ri m'liiiti 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'sbuinn, 
 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 fhineachan a b'fhiadhaich greann, 
 
 Mar ghathan oir troimhina dubh-neoil 
 
 An casan glbrmhor air gach beann. 
 
 An t-oljamh Duff 's a chiabhan liath 
 "Na, 'n coron sgiamhach air an treun, 
 Sax ghaisgeach 'an cogadh na firinn — 
 'S tha am mili ud leat-fhein. 
 
 '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 bhristeadh 
 '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 cHarsach nan teud, 
 An t-ard-fheallsanach, Blackie nam buadh, 
 Ceannard nasal 'measg nan ceud ! 
 
 'N uair tharruingeas e 'chlaidheamh le smachd 
 Is niarachd mac bhios dhut na 'namh 
 Is ge b'e labhras foil ma d'thir 
 Bheir e chridh' dha 's a dbeas lamb.. 
 
 Mile failte do'n Cheann-f headhna ! 
 
 'S do Cbomunn greadhnach tir an i hraoich, 
 
 Tir thuathach nam feara laidir 
 
 A bhios, mar bha iad riabh, na'n laoicb ! 
 
 A NIGHT SONG. 
 
 WRITTEN IN A TIME OF TRIAL. 
 
 Air : — " My Jesus, I love Thee." 
 
 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. 
 
102l 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 DA MHNAOI 
 OIG DO LOCHABAR. 
 
 Aie Fonn : — " Fair a nuas dhuinn am botul 
 Guir an deoch so mu'n cuairt." 
 
 Tog le muirn, a Lochabar, do bhrataichean srbil, 
 
 Biodh Lochial is Loch-Airoeig gu h-ait mar a 's cbir ; 
 
 Seideadh suas mar bu dualach piob nuallanach mhbr, 
 Gus am freagair Mac-talla le caithream an cedl. 
 
 Piob dhosrach nam badan, biodh gu h-aigeant air ghleus, 
 Gach clarsach is fiodhull a' ritheadh nan teud ; 
 
 'S gach ian anns a ghiusich gu siubhlach air gheig, 
 Seinn ceilearan-bainnse le seannsairean reidh. 
 
 O dhuthaich Chloinn-Chamshroin, dream 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 
 bh6us, 
 Sliochd nan cuiridhnean gasda, sliochd nan lasgairean 
 treun, 
 A bha uasal nan cleachdadh 's ioma eachdruidh rinn sg6ul, 
 Agus Bard a rinn duan mu an uaisle 's an euchd. 
 
 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 's- 
 gach cas. 
 
 Gur tu iasgair a' bhradain sealgair ro mhath nan ian, 
 'S eutrom dhireadh tu'n leacainn gu creachunn 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'ogbhean 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 driiichd ; 
 
 A bha gaolach le h-Albuinn 's ioma calm-f hear glan dhiubh, 
 A rinn eirigh gu tatrach a thogail bratach na cuis. 
 
 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 caisimeaehd 
 
 gharbh, 
 'N uair a chluinnte' ur slogan bhiodh an cogadh dhoibh 
 
 searbh ; 
 'S ged a thogadh iad ereach uaibh bhiodh 'ur n-aicheamhail 
 
 'S ioma mili bhiodh reubte 's bhiodh na ceudan dhiubh 
 marbh. 
 
THE BLUE BANNER. 105 
 
 'S 'n \iair a thigeadh an t-siochaint gu'm bu mhin bhiodh 
 gach gniiis, 
 'S arm an talla a' chaoimhneis gheabhte aoibhneas is 
 muirn; 
 'S 's e chuir raise le h-eibhneas a dheanadh sg6il air ur cliu, 
 Sibh thoirt neamhnuid ghlan ailli ga chur am fainne 
 mo ruin. 
 
 Gu ma buan bMos 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 
 Reformed 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, 
 Shove 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 "Wellwood'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 GAIEDEACHAIS. 
 
 DO CHOMUNN GAIDHLIG INBHIRNIS. 
 
 Mochthka an de fhuair mi an sgeul, 
 
 Chuir mi gu gleus 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 ghaoil 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 crooach, 
 '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 bronacb ; 
 '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 'n 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 lann a dh'fheudar 's an am, 
 
 A chosgradh ar namh shonraicbt', 
 
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, 
 
 'S an suidh i le h-aoidh 's mor-chuis — 
 Slat shuaithnis na 'dom '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 DEWDR0P. 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 : — " Sousseau'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 pearly, 
 On my brow and bosom fall. 
 
 I'm a faded drooping flower ; 
 On my brow and bosom fall. 
 
 LINES ON THE DEATH OP A BOY. 
 
 Little fragile, bonnie flower, 
 Meet to grace a fairy bower ; 
 Hay 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, 
 Eosy 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 
 'Nea£h 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 FOE 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 FOR 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. 
 
 If 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 thoeht 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 mak' her mair saft I'd be laith ; 
 We love her in all her auld grandeur, 
 Wi' even her Confession o' Faith. 
 Ye sons o' auld Scotland sae grave,, 
 
 Oh, dinna ye be like the lave, 
 Like bairnies, delighted wi' gimcracks, 
 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'r they've repaired her- arid a'. 
 
 On the banks o' the. .Clyde there isiDau-vid, 
 
 Wha is without^doubfc a big gun, i , 
 
 Maybe no justrsae muekle at preachm 1 
 
 As laughin-,; romancing and' fun. 
 Ance bravely he hunted the Hydra, 
 
 That workit the' droiithie folk scaith ; 
 Noo, wae's me., .his. levels his lance 
 At his faither's Confession o'; Faith. 
 But he is among the UJEVs— 
 
 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 Smithj 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 cluring 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 ! 
 
 OBAN DO CHAIPTEIN SIOSAL, PEAR ALLT 
 
 NA GLAISLIG. 
 Fonn : — " Cha mhor nach coma lean cogadh no sith." 
 
 O ghaidheil a 's ciataich, " do bhliadhna mhath ur," 
 Ged chosdadh i 'n t-br dhomh gu'n blainn le sunnt ; 
 A phiobair' an fheadain, 'fhir leadannich dhuinn, 
 'S tu-f hein 'chtiir le d'sheannsair gu dannsadh na suinn. 
 
 Bu shiubhlach 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 'shlol nam fear calm', agus dhearbh thu do chdir 
 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 f^ileadh cruinn socair 'an cogadh 's an sith. 
 
ORAN DO CHAIPTEAN SIOSAL. 1 15 
 
 O Fhir Allt-na-Glaislig gur math 'thig dhut-fhein 
 A' blioinekl 's am breacan aig clachan no feill, 
 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'ghniiis ; 
 O c'ait an robh cuachag 'measg ghruagach na tir' 
 Nach rachadh 'am fuadach leat, 'uasail mo chridh' ! 
 
 'S tu sealgair an f biidh agus sealgair an ebin, 
 
 'S tu sealgair na h-eal' agus sealgair a' ghebidh, 
 
 Le d'gbunna neo-chearbach 's tu dh'fhalbhadb an fhrlth, 
 
 'S a shiubhladh an fhnar-bheinn air cruaidhead na sin'. 
 
 Do mhiann 'bhi 's a' chreachann 's am faighte' 'n damb 
 
 donn — 
 Ged 's liitbor e 'Mum bithidb e reubt' air an fhonn 
 'N" uair 'cbuireas tu 'n cuilbbear gu cuimseach ri d'shuD, 
 'S a shradas gu buadbor do luaidhe mu 'cbM. 
 
 A Phiobair' an f beadain, ged 's beadaracb binn 
 'Bhi d'lisdeacbd 'an seomar 'n am cebl 'bhi ga 'sheinn, 
 Tha d'aigne cho ard ann an ar-fhaich nan tuagh, 
 'S an taobh air am bi thu gur cinnteach dha buaidli. 
 
 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 clivi mar is cbir dha, na d'chdirnealair airm. 
 
 O, 's rloghail an Gaidheal thu, 'ghraidh nam fear trlun', 
 'S e caismeachd do phioba 'chuir m'inntinn gu gleus, 
 Thu 'leantuinn seann dualclias nam fuar bheanna fraoich — 
 An tir ghlan a b'abhaist 'bhi 'g arach nan laoch ! 
 
 A mh6r Ghaidheil chiataich, do " bhliadhna mhath ur," , 
 Ged chosgadh i 'n t-br dhomh, gu'n blainn le sunnt ; 
 A phiobair' an f headain, 'fhir leadanaich dhuinn, 
 'S tu-fhein 'chuir le d'sheannsair gu damhsa na suinn 1 
 
116 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS. 
 
 TRANSLATION BY MB. 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 array,. 
 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 % 
 
 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 BAY 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 ; 
 W e . 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 Mil 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 his glory, 
 
 When at eve he goeth down. 
 
 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. 
 
1.2D GAELrC AND. ENGLISH" POEMS. 
 
 Oh! fai^'is th&face of Nature, 
 
 But.fair, affitUings, above '.. < 
 Is the 'sou'hthai; 'from her wiridow 
 
 BeamsjftMfthrtHe: light: of. love: 
 The^ealthof/affeqtion treasured, 
 
 In heart's 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. .wiritten.iii.anti<Sipation'of a visit ; the 
 second two, on beholding the changes ten years have wrought. 
 
 Aw^lif on r my InataveMoiiiiitajais ■ -■ ' • A 
 
 Ho;W> sweet iheibalmyibreezel ., 
 It has kissed !the' clear. oodl-fountainsj"' 
 
 And fannedi the silver- seas ; ■- •■ .' . 
 It stole "the breath- 'ofrthe flowers 
 
 In every, nook and dell,-. 
 And touched the fragrant honey 
 
 The bee had 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 floweret's 
 
 That bloom upon the grave, 
 
MO NIGHNEAG GHEAL OG. 121 
 
 And alas>! to me how changed ' 
 
 ' ' Its' once' gay- minstrelsy! " > ■ 
 
 Of old- its songs iweW only - 
 
 Ofjoyoiishess and"glee; ; 
 But .now so weird its wailings, . 
 
 So sad its voices come, 
 They seem hut solemn dirges 
 
 That echo from the' tomb'. 
 
 MO .NIGHNEAG- GHEAL OG 
 
 J?OT$x:— "The, Lawd-o'^GocJvpen" 
 A bhanrigh nam maiglidean, a r dh;ao,imei£ nan ^eud, : , 
 'S tu uKros.'a.' gharaidh gun. fhailinn gun bheud ; 
 'S tu'n ainnir a's, cuimir. ^ha/g imeachd an. f heoir , , , 
 ■S, tu.'n t-ailleagan priseil, mo nighneag gheal og. r 
 Gur agidheil,; guR^athajl, 's .gur maiseach dp ghn,uis, . , 
 Do' mhm-g^iTiafdh^cho' bbidheach ri 'ros r 's',& fo 'dhriuchd ; 
 Gur-darbe na .hilean o'm iriilis 'thig ceol, ■' 
 'S dadheud mar an ihhri^ mo nighneag ghealbgi ' 
 
 Gur mor 'tha ri leughadh 's an eudann a's ailt, 
 
 Thu tuigseach 'n ad chomhradh, gun mhor-chuis gun 
 
 straic, 
 Tha buaidhean ri iimseadh; lej-firinn gu deoir • 
 'Binn reul a measg mhilteande m'nighneig ghil big. 
 
 'S i'n ur-shlat's a' chpill thu, mo, mhaighdean deas donn, 
 Gun choire ri lu#idh ort o, d'clraaiiean -gji d'bhonn, 
 Mar ubhal tfia jd'anail,, hjas meal'. air do phoig, 
 'S do bhriathrah Ian millseachd, mq nighneag gheal bg. 
 
 Mar anail nan ainglean 's na speuran a' snamh, 
 
 Bidh nebil gheal ah t : Samhraidhmii'n ghrein aims an aird, 
 
 'S e sud an,t-aon chqimeas a bheir mi le deoin 
 
 Do d'bhraighe caoin inin-saj- ino nighneag gheal og. 
 
 'S tu'n euchdag dheas; donn, thogadh'fonn air mo chridh', 
 Le misneachdo nadtiir,' 's* do mhanranaich'bhinn, 
 'S 'n uair dhuis'gtS piana'gu h-'ard le d'ehaol mheoir, 
 Bhiodh m'acain air di-chiiimhn', mo nighneag gheal og. 
 
122 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS. 
 
 Gur buidhe gfad leannan ainnir nam buadh ! 
 Gur boidheach do mhala, 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^d 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 nighneag glieal og. 
 
 Gur binne na eoin learn 'an doire nan cuach, 
 Fonn oran o d'bhilean mar sbirisd nam bruach, 
 'S do cheum tha cho eutrom air reidhlean an fheoir 
 Bi eilid na frithe, mo nighneag gheal og. 
 
 O ciamar a chuirinn do mhaise 'an ceill, 
 
 No buaidhean do nlduir 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 ; 
 
 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 iny spirit's wild unrest. 
 
 Alone — I cannot be alone, 
 
 When with such radiant visions blest. 
 
124 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS. 
 
 SOMNlflfTO % DEVOTED LADY. 
 
 Like a fair, lily that in. secret blooms , , 
 
 And giyesto heaven its beauty's precious dower, 
 Like a sweet-scented violet that perfumes 
 
 Some peaceful",' lone and unfrequented bower, : 
 Mild as the moonbeam oh the dewy flower ' 
 
 That she'ds 'unseen its pure and silvery ray, 
 Calm as the day L d'ream'df 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 , esr,in- vain, 
 The hand that heals the wound andsoqthes 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 may 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 andsolemnpsalm; .. L 
 Or thrilling : songs, of joy, , ...-.; 
 
 Thou comest always with the balm .. , 
 And bliss that cannot cloy. '"'"] 
 
 A prisoner alone.' ami,- v... 
 
 Who fain would breakithe.barsjL':. 
 "With thee in glorious liberty. 
 
 To soar up to the 'stars \ '." '",/'',, 
 With the'eiio climb each/messed height 
 
 For which mine eyes I strain, ' .'.', 
 And linked with the6 Td toravel^' fight 
 
 Life's battles o'er again.,.. , , 
 
 And when thy Promethean spark 
 
 May on mine altar bur ri, 
 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. 
 iSackto their springs like the rain, shall fill them full of refreshment.' 
 
 •Longfellow. 
 
 " Affection never was wasted/' 
 I've read, in a .poet's hyinn^ 
 But they who . the : bittern ess 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 grew, 
 
 In the land o'er -whose arid bosom 
 The molten streamlets flow 1 
 
 " 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. 
 
1$8 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 Joss is gain. 
 
 . ORAN. GAOIL. 
 
 'S tu b'igh nam mbr-shul, .. • • 
 'S tu reul nam ban-qga, 
 'S e seughead do bhoichead, • 
 Tha 'leonadh mo. chlelbh, ' .: . ; ' . 
 '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 foirieis' gun f heum. 
 
 Gur bbidhea'ch do chuaillein,. 
 Gur dathte do. ghruaidheanV 
 Gur lionmhor do bhuadhan, 
 A chuaphag, nam beus, • 
 Gur binne na'n smeorach, 
 Do chaol ghiith ri h-bran, 
 'S gur caoin'tfiu na'n rbs, 
 Anns 'an bgmhios air gheig. 
 
 Gur rlomhach a' mhaldag thu, 
 Siobhalt neo-dhana, 
 ,'S e grinneas.do naduir, 
 A thalaidh mi-f hein, 
 
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 mkisneach 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 bbeinn 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, 
 'TJs soills' air mo cheum ; 
 'S gu'n teid le a solus, 
 Gu euchd is gu sonas, 
 Is m'6ibhneas do m'bhroilleach, 
 Mar shnothach do'n ghelg. 
 
130 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS. 
 
 MO RUN AN T-OIGFHEAR. 
 
 Fonn : — "Ho rd, mo ni'cm donn bhdidheach." 
 
 Ho ro mo run an t-oigfhear, 
 Hi rl 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 tog 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'fhaighneachd, 
 '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'm brist' mo chridhe, 'luaidh-ghil, 
 Mur buannaichd mi thu. 
 
 Ho ro, &c. 
 
AN IABRUIDH DHIOMHAIN. 131 
 
 O's truagh nach robh mi caraicht', 
 Le m'athair is le ni'mhathair, 
 Far 'm bheil iad ann an samnehuir, 
 ' An tamh aims an uir. 
 
 Ho ro, &c. 
 
 Ged gheabhainn-sa do storas 
 Na cheannachadh an Roinn Eorpa, 
 Gu'n tugainn air son pdig e, 
 O d'ros-bhilean ciuin. 
 
 Ho ro, &c. 
 
 AN IARRUIDH DHIOMHAIN. 
 
 Cait 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 miallan, is moirmhur, mix oirean nan stile, 
 Tha luasgan is gluasad 's an t-saoghal mu'n cuairt, 
 'S gach ni cho beag socair ri broilleach nan stuadh. 
 
 Chuir mi Mr, 's rinn e fas ann an garadh ri deas, 
 'S 'n uair shaoil mi e cubhraidh le driuchd agus teas, 
 'S atiTi 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 sbuidh e air geig, 's e gu h-eisleanach trom, 
 Gu marbh-shuileach tursach, 's e tuchta gun ph6ng. 
 
 Sheall mi 'a 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 ghruairn. 
 
 Is beithir, 's beum-sleibhe, a' reubadh nam bruach. 
 
132 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS. 
 
 Dh'iarr mi gu fois agus dh'iarr mi gu sith 
 
 Dh'iarr mi gu teicheadh o chogadh 's o strith ; 
 
 O 'n uair 'shaoil mi gu'n dh'f huair mi gu cala nam buadh, 
 
 'S arm 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, 
 'S 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 leagadb, is leonadh, is ddibheairt, 's an strith 
 
 'S 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. 
 
AH 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 : — " Cuvmhneachadh air d'fhuran." 
 'S glan dearrsadh na grlin', 
 'S geal cobhar na tuinne ; 
 'S aotrom nebil a' snamh 
 
 Os cionn aird' nan tulach. 
 'S caoin a sheldeas gaoth, 
 Bho bharr fraoch a' bhruthaich ; 
 Raineach 's itich g6ig', 
 
 Ri h-eibhneas gu subhach. 
 Tha gach ni fo'n ghrein, 
 Talamh 's speur l&n aighir, 
 'S mise 'n so learn f hein, 
 
 Gun mo ch6ile mar rium. 
 
 Bu shunntach sinn an raoir, 
 'S sinn aig taobh an teine ; 
 
134 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS. 
 
 Su.il ri suil Ian baigh, 
 
 'S comunn blath 's gach cridhe. 
 Orain thruais 'us ghraidh, 
 'G an seinn ard le binneas — 
 Do neacn aotrom gair', 
 
 'S do'n fhear chrionnta gliocas. 
 Nis leam-fhein ag caoidh, 
 'Falbh nan raon gun aigbir ; 
 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 dlu ri feadail 
 'Dol seachad air cill, 
 
 'S e air chrith le h-eagal. 
 Ged 's aotromaid am fasach. 
 'BM 'seinn dhana-mulaid, 
 Cha tig flur fo bhlath 
 
 Gun thu, 'ghraidh, na 'chuideachd. 
 
 'S bbidheach raineach uaine, 
 'S aillidh smiagh a' bhruthaich; 
 Chi mi 'n gorm-bhrat ard 
 
 Troimh na nebil gu lurach j 
 Shios ud anns a' ghleann, 
 'S brbhuidh dreach a' choirce ; 
 An iarmailfc uile Ian 
 
 De reachd fais 'us toraidh. 
 'S ged bu pheacadb. e 
 A bhi 'n so fo smalan — 
 Gura trom mo dheur, 
 
 'S gun mo ch^ile mar-rium. 
 
aixt-a'-chinnaird. 135 
 
 ALLT-A'-CHINNAIRD. 
 
 Le Professor Blackie. 
 
 O CHRtiN Beinn-a'-Bhreachdaidh troimh chreagan, 's troimli 
 
 ghlinn, 
 Tha AUW-Chinnaird 'tighinn le ^hoirmeanaich bhinn, 
 Gur h-aoigheil, 's gur sunntach e, 'sior-ruith le surd, 
 Gus an teid e 'am falach an Teathuil nan bib, 
 Bbeir raise dhut bran, a Gbarbb-shrutbain dhuinn, 
 'S bu chomaine dhombs' sud, gu ceolaracb binn, 
 'S an t-sith, is an sblas, a fbuair mi gacb la, 
 Mu d'bbruachagan, greannar, O Allt-a'-Cbinnaird. 
 
 Moladh each mar is aill leo, 'n tuil uaibbreacb nacb farm, 
 'Tha toirt beatba do 'n Choptach, 'us clabar neo-gbann,' 
 Par am bbeil Titanan mora nan laitbean a db'fbalbh 
 A' sealltuinn le oillt air a' bhochduinn na 'n gealbh, 
 Par 'm bbeil aintigbearnan borb a' fas reambar Ian uaill', 
 Air saotbair na traill', is an acaraich thruaigh, 
 Acb tboir dbombsa na glinn anns nacb cluinnear gu 
 
 brath, 
 Gutb ainneartaicb, smacbdail mu Allt-a'-Cbinnaird. 
 
 Moladb cacb mar is aill leo tuil Tiber nam buadb 
 Sabinich, is Romanaieh, mor tbair' gacb sluagb 
 Ard-cbri'ach, ard-lamhacb, luchd foghlum gun sgath, 
 Lucbd-reubainn, luchd-riaghlaidh, nan iogbnadb thair 
 
 cbacb; 
 Bbo Tbigris, gu Thames, chuir iad rioghacbdan fo smacbd, 
 Le buille an claidbeamb, is tabbacbd an reacbd, 
 Na Csesaran uaibbreacb nacb caombnadb aon namb 
 Acb an cuing cha robb riamb,'air AUt riabhacb' Cbinn- 
 
 aird. 
 
 Moladh each mar is aill leo, cas-bbruachan na Rhine, 
 
 'S iad sgeadaicbt' le duilleach, is dearcan an f bion, 
 
 Ard Eaglais, Tighmanaicb, is lucbairt, is tur, 
 
 Is sagairt, is Imp'rean, le 'n stri co dhiu 's mb ; 
 
 Bha Impirean arm a spion feusag a' Pbap, 
 
 Is Imp'rean a cbriotbnuicb roimb spionnadh a lamb, 
 
136 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS. 
 
 'N uair bha 'n Gaidheal gu saimheil, le 'chbraichean ard, 
 Mu d'ghorm bhruachan, greannar, O Allt-a'-Chinnaird. 
 
 Allt-a'-Chinnaird, 'n uair le gruaim 'thig a' L ghaoth, 
 
 Is uisg", agus ceathach, air monadh, is fraoch, 
 
 'Nuairthig toirm a'bheum-sleibhe, 's i'reubadh nam bruach, 
 
 'S do thonn gea] 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 bliiodli uraicht', 's mo bhroilleach 
 
 bhiodh Ian, 
 Do ghaoth Beinn-a'-Bhreachdaidh, O Allt-a'-Chinnaird. 
 
 0, 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 
 Bis 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. 
 
 O, 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 ; 
 Agns mis', ged nach eisd mi do thorman ri d'bhruaich, 
 Bidh tu 'm shealladh gach la, is na m'chuimhne bidh buan, 
 An t-sith is an solas a dh'uraich mo chail, 
 Mu d'ghorm luban greannar, O Allt-a'-Chinnaird. 
 
 AISLING OISEIN. 
 Le Professor BlAckie. 1 
 
 Bi'n oidhch i, 's ged chaidil mi seimh air mo chluasaig ; 
 Bha m'inntinn co luaineach 's co luath ris an st€ud, 
 'Us chunnacas learn clarsach, air seann seileach seargta, 
 'Us lamh thana chruaidh a' fann-bhualadh nan t6ud ; 
 * Siren. 
 
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-fhleasg, 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 beaohd 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 aon ghuth ri chluinntinn ach caoidhrean, nan 
 
 caochan, 
 'TJs 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. 
 
 ghuil mi 's ged ghuil, ciod am fath tha na'm dheoir 
 
 dhomh, 
 Cha till iad na sloigh a chaidh f hogradh i, m'ghlinn ; 
 Ach, 'Albannaich ghraidh, thoiream dhutsa ri thasgadh 
 An canan a chleachdadh le laoich nan guth binn ; 
 ' Us liubhram dhut laoidhean a' cheathaieh 's a' chruachain, 
 Nam mbr-thuiltean uaibhreach 'us nuallan nan tonn ; 
 Beum-sleTbhe 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 bhirlian Chlann-Eaonuill 
 Le gairdeinean laidir 'toirt " hugan " air tuinn ; 
 Raeh 's teagaisg do d'shluagh canan uasal nan Gaidheal, 
 'S ged rinn iad oirr' dimeas, o, diiisg iad gu baigh ; 
 'S thoir beatha as iLr ann an tir nam beann fuara, 
 Do'n chebl bhios 'g a luadh 'fhad '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'n 'eil fliir a ni monadh cho sgiamhach ri fraoch ; 
 'Us an smuain ud is doimhne' tha i 'n taice do chridhe, 
 Tbig a leum thun an la ann an canan nan laoch. 
 Bithibh dileas do chanan ur mathar, mo mhuinntir, 
 A blath-fhuil ur n-big gheabh ur fearalachd lbn. 
 Bithibh dileas do'n chainnt 'tha aig ceatharnaich mhbra, 
 'Toirt sgiathan dh'an sblas, 'toirt gath as am brbn. 
 
LUINNEAG. 139 
 
 0, innis do m'mhuinntir-s' tha tamh an Duncideann, 
 Gur naire dhaibh cuimhne mo bhaird bhi fo lie ; 
 'Us Gr6igich 'us Rbimhich ag 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 dhilthaich nan trlun, 
 'N aite fleasg duillich uaine, a' strith ri bhi fuaghal 
 Cruin luideagan suarach bho righeachdan cein ! 
 0, labhair ri m'chloinn, slid an seann teine Gaidhealach 
 Gus an 6irich bho 6ibhlean an lasair le buaidh ; 
 Ri ceolruidh nam beann, lean gu teann agus faic i, 
 Leis a' Ghrelg s' leis an Rbimh an oil-theampull mo 
 shhmigh. 
 
 Sguir an taibhse a labhairt 's e snamh as mo shealladh, 
 'S ged a dh'amhairc mi geur air son eudann an laoich, 
 Chaidli e bhuam arm 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' diisgadh na laoidh' ; 
 'Us laidh mi gu deurach a sios air mo leabaidh, 
 Mar neach brbnaoh mu'n charaid nach till ris a chaoidh ; 
 'Us thug mi mo bbbid a bhi dileas dh'a fhainte 
 'Us gu'm faicteadh an Gaidheal an aros nan glic, 
 Mar-ri Greugaich 'us Rbimhich a' triall tre na h-alaibh, 
 Le cliu nach teid bas 's ainm nach cairear fo lie. 
 
 LUIKSTEAG. 
 
 THILL, GV'K DO THILL THU, BHLACKIE. 
 
 Fonn : — "Theid i 's gu'n teid % learn." 
 
 ThIll, 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. 
 
140 GAELIC AND ENGLISH POEMS. 
 
 Caraid' 's fear-tagraidh nan Gaidheal, 
 Mo chuis-mhanrain thu bhi fallan. 
 Thill, &c. 
 
 'S ged a bha thu anns an Eiphit, 
 Gu'm b'e d'6ibhneas 'bhi 's na gleannaibh. 
 Thill, &c. 
 
 B'annsa leat 'bhi 'n Allt-na-Oraige, 
 Na 's an Eadailte 'bhi d'bharran. 
 Thill, &c. 
 
 B'annsa leat am f aile caoin, 
 A thig o'n roid, o'n fhraoch, 's o'n chanach. 
 Thill, &c. 
 
 No ged 'bhi tu'n garadh cibhraidh, 
 Spiosruidh 's tuis an diithaich d'aineoil. 
 Thill, &c. 
 
 'S binn an cebl leat fuaim na tuinne, 
 A bhnaileas ri Muile a' bharraich. 
 Thill, &c. 
 
 'S gaoithean samhruidh 'tighinn le crbnan, 
 'Bho ghlinn ard na mbr-bheinn bheannaich. 
 Thill, &c. 
 
 Mile beannachd, f hir mo ghaoil thu, 
 'S mi tha abbhach thu 'bhi dhachaidh. 
 Thill, &c. 
 
 'S binn an naigheachd leis na Gaidhil, 
 
 Thu 'thighinn sabhailt as gach carraid. 
 
 Thill, &c. 
 
 Togat bratach, seidear 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. 
 
 LOBIMER AND GILLIES, FRTNTERS. 31 ST. ANDREW SQUARE, EDINBURGH. 
 
LIST OF GAELIC BOOKS 
 
 And Works on the Highlands 
 
 PUBLISHED AND SOLD BT 
 
 MACLACHLAN & STEWART, 
 
 BOOKSELLERS TO THE UNIVEBSITY, 
 63 & 64 SOUTH BRIDGE, EDINBURGH. 
 
 A liberal discount allowed on orders for exportation or for 
 private circulation. 
 
 M 'Alpine's Gaelic and English Pronouncing Dictionary, with 
 Grammar, 12mo, cloth, ..... 
 
 Ditto, ditto, hf. -bound calf, 
 
 English and Gaelic, separately, cloth, 
 
 M'Leod and Dewar's Gaelic Dictionary, cloth, 
 Aleine's Alarm to the Unconverted, . 
 
 Saint's Pocket Book, cloth, Is. sewed, . 
 
 An T-Oranaiche, by Sinclair, complete, cloth, 
 
 Assurance of Salvation, 18mo, sewed, . 
 
 Baxter's Call to the Unconverted, 18mo, cloth, . 
 
 Saint's Rest, translated by Rev. J. Forbes, 
 
 Beith's Catechism on Baptism, 18mo, sewed, 
 
 Bible in Gaelic, 8vo, strongly hound in calf, 
 
 Blackie's (Prof.) Language and Literature of the Scottish 
 
 Highlands, 8vo, cloth, .... 
 Book (The), of the Dean of Lismore, a Selection of Ancient 
 
 Gaelic Poetry, with a Translation and Notes by Kev. 
 
 Dr. M'Lauchlan, 8vo, cloth, 12s. for 
 Boston's Fourfold State, 12mo, cloth, '. 
 Bonar's (Kev. Dr. H.) Christ is All, 18mo, sewed, 
 
 God's Way of Peace, 
 
 Buchannan (Dugald) of Rannoch's Life and Conversion 
 
 with his Hymns, 18mo, cloth, 
 The Hymns, separately, 18mo, sewed, 
 
 Reminiscences of, with his Hymns, and an English 
 
 version of them by Rev. A. Sinclair, Kenmore, cl. , 
 Bunyan's Come and Welcome, 18mo, cloth, 
 
 World to Come, or Visions from Hell, cloth, 
 
 Grace Abounding, 18mo, cloth, 
 
 Pilgrim's Progress (three parts), cloth, 
 
 Water of Life, cloth, 
 
 Sighs from Hell, 18mo, cloth, 
 
 Heavenly Footman, 18mo, cloth, . 
 
 s. d. 
 
 9 
 
 
 
 11 
 
 
 
 5 
 
 
 
 10 
 
 6 
 
 1 
 
 6 
 
 
 
 6 
 
 10 
 
 6 
 
 
 
 6 
 
 1 
 
 6 
 
 2 
 
 6 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 7 
 
 6 
 
 6 
 
2 Gaelic Books Sold by Maclachlan & Stewart. 
 
 Burder's Village Sermons, 18mo, cloth, .... 
 Campbell's (J. F.) Popular Tales of the West Highlands, 
 
 4 vols., 12mo, . . 
 
 Carswell's Gaelic Prayer Book, edited by Dr. M'Lauchlan, 
 
 4to, bound, 30s. for 
 
 Catechism, Shorter, Id. Gaelic and English, 
 
 ■ Mother's, Id. Gaelic and English, 
 
 Celtic Magazine, in Numbers, Monthly, each 
 
 Church of England Common Prayer Book. Gaelic and 
 
 English, 12mo, cloth,, 
 
 Confession of Faith, fcap. 8vo, cloth, 
 
 Dan an Deirg agus Tiomna Ghuill (Dargo and Gaul), 
 
 with a new Translation, Notes, and Introduction, by 
 
 C. S. Jerram, 
 
 Dewar's (Bev. Dr) The Gaelic Preacher, Four Sermons in 
 
 large type, 8vo, 
 
 Doctrine and Manner of the Church of Rome, 
 Doddridge's Rise and Progress, 12mo, cloth, 
 Dyer's Christ's Famous Titles, 18mo, cloth, . 
 Earle's Sacramental Exercises, 18mo, cloth, 
 Edwards' (Kev. Jonathan) Sermon, sewed, . 
 Forbes' (Kev. J.) Baptism and the Lord's Supper, 
 
 An Lochran : Dialogues regarding the Church, 
 
 Long Gheal : The White Ship ; a Spiritual Poem, 
 
 Gael (The), a Monthly Gaelic Magazine bound in cloth, for 
 
 1873, '74, '75, '76, and '77, each, .... 
 Gaelic First Book, 18mo, 2d. ; Second do., . 
 Gaelic Melodies, English and Gaelic Words, with Music, 
 
 new notation, ........ 
 
 Gaelic Spelling-Book, 18mo, cloth, 
 Gaelic Tracts, different kinds, sorted, for 
 Grant's (Kev. Peter) Hymns, 18mo, cloth, . 
 Guthrie's Christian's Great Interest, 18mo, cloth, 
 Hall's (Newman) Come to Jesus, .... 
 
 Harp of Caledonia, Gaelic Songs, 32mo, sewed, . 
 
 Haughton's " A Saviour for You," 
 
 Highland Minstrel (Am Filidh Gaidhealach), 
 
 Historical Tales and Legends of the Highlands, by Alex, 
 
 Mackenzie, ....... 
 
 History of the Scottish Highlands, Highland Clans, and 
 
 Regiments, illustrated with Portraits and Tartans, 
 
 2 vols., 8vo, E6s. for 
 
 History of Animals named in the Bible, 
 
 s. d. 
 1 6 
 
 32 
 
 15 
 
 
 
 
 2 
 2 
 
 2 6 
 
 
 
 4 
 
 
 
 3 
 
 3 
 
 
 
 2 
 
 6 
 
 1 
 
 2 
 
 
 
 6 
 
 
 
 4 
 
 
 
 6 
 
 
 
 4 
 
 7 
 
 6 
 
 
 
 4 
 
 
 
 6 
 
 
 
 6 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 6 
 
 2 
 
 
 
 
 
 6 
 
 
 
 4 
 
 
 
 2 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 3 6 
 
 40 
 6 
 
Scriptures 
 the High 
 
 Gaelic Books Sold by MaclacMan & Stewart. 
 
 History of Prince Charles, fcap. 8vo, cloth, . 
 
 Ditto, ditto, cheap edition, sewed, 
 
 James' Anxious Enquirer, 12mo, cloth, 
 Joseph, Life of, by Macfarlane, IS mo, cloth, 
 Joseph, History of, 18mo, sewed, 
 Laoidhean Eadar-Theangaichte o'n Bheurla, cloth, 
 Lessons on the Shorter Catechism and the Holy 
 
 by Forbes, 18mo, 
 
 Logan's The Scottish Gael, or Celtic Manners of 
 
 landers, 2 vols, 28s. for . 
 M'Alpine's Gaelic Grammar, 12mo, . 
 Macbean's Elementary Lessons in Gaelic, with a Vocabulary 
 
 and Key 
 
 M'Callum's History of the Church of Christ, 8vOj 
 
 The Catholic or Universal Church, 
 
 Maccoll's Mountain Minstrel, 18mo, cloth, . 
 Macdonald's (Mac Mhaistir Alistir) Gaelic Songs.. 
 Macdonald's (Rev. Dr) Gaelic Poems, cloth, 
 
 Waters of 'Jordan, 18mo, sewed, . 
 
 M'Intyre's (Duncan Ban) Poems and Songs, with an English 
 
 Translation of "Coire Cheathaich" and "Ben Dorain," 
 
 18mo, cloth, ........ 
 
 M'lntyre (Rev. D. ) on the Antiquity of the Gaelic Language 
 
 (in English), 8vo, sewed 
 
 Mackay's (Rob Donn) Songs and Poems, 18mo, . 
 Mackenzie's (A.) History of Scotland, Eachdraidh na H-Alba, 
 
 12mo, cloth, 
 
 Mackenzie's Beauties of Gaelic Poetry, royal 8vo, 
 
 Gaelic Melodist, 32mo, 
 
 Maclaurin's Sermon, Uaill ann an Crann-Causaidh Chriosd. 
 
 3 
 
 d. 
 
 
 4 
 
 20 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 1 
 
 
 
 i 
 
 
 
 
 
 6 
 
 1 
 
 6 
 
 2 
 
 
 
 2 
 
 6 
 
 
 
 2 
 
 2 
 
 Macleod, Rev. Dr, Sermon on the Life of the late, by Rev. 
 John Darroch, 8vo, sewed, Is. for 
 
 Macleod, Rev. Norman, Caraid nan Gaidheal, 8vo, half -bound 
 calf, neat, 
 
 MTJauchlan's (Rev. Dr) Celtic Gleanings, or Notices of the 
 History and Literature of the Scottish Gael (in Eng- 
 lish), fcap. 8vo, cloth, 
 
 M'Naughton (Peter) on the Authenticity of the Poems of 
 Ossian (in English), 8vo, 
 
 Macneill's Neniae, and other Poems, cloth, . 
 
 Macpherson's (D. C.) Practical Lessons in Gaelic, for the use 
 of English-speaking Students, sewed, .... 
 
 1 
 
 6 
 
 2 
 
 6 
 
 3 
 
 6 
 
 12 
 
 
 
 
 
 4 
 
 
 
 6 
 
 
 
 6 
 
 18 
 
 
 
 2 6 
 
 6 
 2 
 
 1 
 
4 Gaelic Books Sold by Maclachlan & Stewart. 
 
 s. d. 
 Macpherson's " Duanaire, " a New Collection of Songs, &c, 
 
 never before published, cloth 2 
 
 Menzies' Collection of Gaelic Songs, 8vo, cloth, . . .60 
 Mountain Songster, Collection of Original and Selected 
 
 Gaelic Songs, 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, 8vo, . . . . 31 6 
 Ossian's Poems, revised by Dr. Maelauchlan, cloth, . .30 
 Ossian and the Clyde : Eingal in Ireland, Oscar in Iceland, 
 
 by Dr. H. Waddell, 12 6 
 
 Ossian's Lyre (Clarsach Oisein), old and mew 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, ...... 6 
 
 Prophecies of the Brahan Seer, by A. Mackenzie, . .36 
 Psalm Book, large type, 18 mo, bound, gilt edges, . .26 
 
 do., 18mo, cloth, 10 
 
 Smith's or Ross's, large type, 18mo, id. . .20 
 
 Gaelic and English, on one page, cloth, . . .16 
 
 Ross's (William) Gaelic Songs, 18mo, cloth, . .16 
 
 Sinner's (The) Eriend, 12mo, sewed, 3 
 
 Sixteen Short Sermons, 12mo, sewed, 2 
 
 Skene's Celtic Scotland ; a History of Ancient Alban,Vols. I. 
 
 and II., each 15 
 
 Smith's (Dr) Sean Dana, with English Translation and Notes, 
 
 by C. S. Jerram 2 6 
 
 Stewart's Elements of Gaelic Grammar, Royal Celtic Edition. 
 
 crown 8vo, cloth, 3 6 
 
 Sum of Saving Knowledge, 12mo, sewed, . . . .04 
 Thomson's (Dr) Sacramental Catechism, sewed, . . .02 
 
 New Testament for Schools, 12mo, bound, . . . . 1 o 
 
 Job to EcclesiaBtes, 12mo, bound, 6 
 
 Proverbs of Solomon, 8vo, sewed, ... .02 
 
 BIBLES, TESTAMENTS, AND PSALM BOOKS, 
 
 AT VARIOUS PRICES.