Tha mulad, tha gruaim orm, tha bròn,
On dh’imich mo chàirdean air folbh,
On chaidh iad air astar
Gun chinnt mun teachd dhachaidh,
Tha m’ inntinn fo airtneal nas leòir.

Gun cluinn mi naidheachd as binn
Air gach duine a dh’imich on tìr :
Gum pilleadh sibh dhachaidh
Le cruadal ’s le gaisge,
’S gun crùinteadh an Sasann leibh ’n rìgh.

Beir soraidh gu Dòmhnall nan Dùn,
Gu h-Uilleam ’s gu Seumas, nan triùir ;
Dar a chruinnicheas uaislean
De d’ chinneadh mun cuairt duit,
Glac an t-urram a fhuair thu le cliù.

Beir soraidh gu h-Alasdair liath :
Às do chruadal gun earbainn deagh-ghnìomh ;
Dar a thèid thu gu buillean
’S do nàimhdean a dh’fhuireach,
Gu cinnteach bidh fuil air am bian.

Beir soraidh gu h-Ailean on chuan
Bha treis anns an Fhraing uainn air chuairt ;
’S e ro-mheud do ghaisge
Chum gun oighre air a’ phearsa,
Craobh chosgairt air feachd nan arm cruaidh.

Beir soraidh an deaghaidh nan laoch
Gu ’n bhuidhinn gam bratach am fraoch,
Gu ceannard a’ Bhràghad
Is a’ chuid eile de m’ chàirdibh :
Buaidh shìthne’s buaidh làrach leibh chaoidh.

Tha ùrachadh buidheann tighinn oirnn,
Mac Choinnich, Mac Shimidh ’s Mac Leòid,
Mac Fhionghain Srath Chuailte
Is an Siosalach suairce ;
Is e mo bharail gum buailear leo stròic.

"Gig gig" thuirt an Coileach, ’s e ’n sàs,
"Tha mo sgoileirean ullamh gu blàr,
Am fùidse nach coisinn,
Cuiribh a cheann anns a’ phoca,
’S chan fhiù dhuinn bhith ’g osnaich mu bhàs."

Crath do chìrein, do choileir ’s do chluas,
Cuir sgairt ort gu Feachd an Taobh-tuath ;
Cuir spuir ort ’s bi gleusda
Gu d’ nàimhdean a reubadh,
’S cuir Mac Cailein fo ghèill mar bu dual.

A Thighearna Shrùthain o Ghiùthsaich nam beann,
Thug thu tamall a’ feitheamh san Fhraing,
Tog do phìob is do bhratach :
Seo ’n t-àm dhuit bhith sgairteil,
Is cuir na Caimbeulaich dhachaidh nan deann.

A Rìgh! ’s buidheach mi ’n Mhorair seo Màr,
Leis a dh’èireadh a’ bhuidheann gun fheall ;
A liuthad Foirbeiseach gasda
Tha ’g iadhadh mu d’ bhrataich,
B’ fhiach do Sheumas an glacadh air làimh.

Tha mo ghruaim ris na h-uaislibh seo thall,
A luathas a mhùth iad ’n t-sreang ;
Tha mi cinnteach am aigne
Gum bu mhiann leo bhith againn,
Mur bhiodh Chuigse bhith aca mar cheann.

Far an robh sibh ri pèidseachadh riamh,
Is cha b’ ann ’g osnaich air mullach nan sliabh :
A liuthad cùbaid tha ’n-dràsda
Fo chùram na gràisge,
Agus easbaig fo àilgheas nam biast.

A Dhonnchaidh, ma dh’imich thu null,
Tha do chiabhan air glasadh fo chliù ;
Gun cluinneam ’s gum faiceam
Do philleadh-sa dhachaidh,
’S do chinneach nach stad air a’ chùl.

Dar a ruigeas sibh cuide ri càch,
Ciamar chumas a’ Chuigse ruibh blàr?
Càite ’m bheil a h-aon aca
An Albainn no ’n Sasann
Nach geàrradh sibh às mar an càl?

Dar a ruigeas sibh Lunnainn nan Cleòc,
’S a bheir sibh an fhàistinneachd beò,
Bidh tomhas an t-sìoda
Le ’r boghannan rìomhach
Air an drochaid, ’s na mìltean fo ’r sgòd.

There is sadness, grief, and I am gloomy, Since my friends have gone away; Since they have departed Uncertain in homecoming, My mind is greatly distressed.

May I hear the sweetest news Of all those who left the land: May you return home With courage and boldness, To crown the king in England.

To William and to James, those three: When the gentry of your kindred Assemble around you, Seize the honour you acquired with renown.

Send a blessing to grey-haired Alasdair: To your valour I would entrust good deed; When you go to blows, Against your resolute enemies, Certainly there will be blood on their hide. To The Army of the Earl of Mar or Song on the Battle of Sherriffmuir Sìleas MacDonald Sìleas na Ceapaich was a Gaelic poet of the 1715 rising. Her song is an example of a brosnachadh, an incitement to battle. It can be seen as an example of the ancient practice of listing those who would fight for the song’s heroic subject: intended to shame those who would not come to join the battle. The Songs of the 1715 Jacobite Rising Send a blessing to Allan from the sea, Who was a while from us journeying in France: It is the greatness of your bravery Which left you without heir, The champion who slaughters the army of steeled weapons. Send a blessing after the warriors, To the troop of the heather emblem, To the chief of the Brae And to my other friends: May you ever enjoy victory in hunt and in battle. Reinforcements are coming to us: MacKenzie, Fraser and MacLeod, MacKinnon of Srath Chuailte And the kindly Chisholm; They will deal eviscerating blows I am sure. “Gig Gig” said the Cock from his cage; “My scholars are ready to war; The coward who would not contest, Put his head in a sack, And his death will not warrant our sighs.” Shake your comb, your collar and your ear, Exhort the Army of the North, Don your spurs and be ready To rip apart your enemies, And to vanquish Argyll as is custom. 10 Laird of Struan from mountainous Giùthsach, You lingered some time in France; Lift your pipe and your banner— Now is the time to be active— To return the Campbells home in hasty retreat. O Lord, I am thankful to that nobleman, Mar With whom would rise the honourable troop: With the number of excellent Forbeses Who are encircling your banner, James would profit to take them in hand. My despair is with these gentlemen yonder, By their haste to change their bonds of allegiance; I am confident in my mind That they would prefer to be with us If a Whig were not at their head. Where you have been craven before, Instead of sighing on the tops of mountains, Great is the number of pulpits Now under control of the rabble, And many’s the bishop coerced by the beasts. O Duncan, if you departed, Your locks have greyed with fame; May I hear and may I see Your homecoming, And your men not abiding at your back. When you unite with the rest, How can the Whigs oppose you on the field? Where is there even one of them In Scotland or England That you would not hack apart like cabbage? When you reach London of the Cloaks, And see the prophecy fulfilled, A measure of silk Will adorn your elegant bows On the bridge, with the thousands at your command.