Blair Collection > Treatise on the language, poetry, and music of the Highland clans

172
THE MUSIC
But, ah, the vict'ry dear was bought —
The chief that could ourcause sustain,
When, in the hour of triumph, sought.
Was found among a heap of slaiu !
The chief whose prestige and whose
power
Were only equalled by his mind.
And who, alas, in danger's hour,
Has no successor left behind !
His eric would not be complete.
Though all who thrive by Albiu's woe
On a funereal pile were set,
Or hung suspended from a tou\
Then, oh then was felt and seen
The potence of our dear claymores.
When heads, legs, arms, cut off as clean
As shorn grain, were strew'd in scores
Along the field. Ere minutes two
Could wing their flight, the trenchant
brand
Laid every sprawling whigling low
Who dared the deadly charge to stand.
Nor had they better hap who fled
In terror, and in disarray ;
For, in the gorge were hundreds sped,
Who shrieked in panic and dismay.
The Ciaran Mabach, for some cause which I have never heard explained,
was put in ward in Edinburgh, where he met with extreme kindness and
courtesy from the aristocracy, especially the ladies. Nevertheless, he pined for
his native hills, and breathed his longing in verses, which I am unwilling to
subject to a line for line translation. Indeed, I think that I shall have given
as many translations of that kind as my object requires, and that a few, more
free, more regardful of the style and spirit than of the words and literal sense
of the original, may now be here and there introduced, with as much satisfixction
to the reader as to myself. I regret the necessity of giving fewer verses of the
original than are imitated.
Ge socair mo leabadh
ge soc-ayr mo leba'
B'annsa cadal air fraoch,
bannsa cadal ayr &aocli
Ann an lagan beag uaigneach,
ann an lagan beg u-ayg-nech
Is bad do'n luachair ri'm thaobh,
13 bad don lu-a-cliayr rim haov
'S noir a dh-eirinn sa mhaduinn,
's noyr a yey-rinn sa va-duynn
Bhi siubhal ghlacagan caol,
vi si-val ylac-ag-an caol
Na bi trial thun na h-Abaid,
na bi tri-al bun na ba-bayd
A dh-eisdeachd glagraich na saor.
a yeysd-eo glag-raych na saor
Though soft and easy is my bed.
Magnificent my room,
I'd rather sleep in Uigni's glade,
'Mong heather in full bloom ;
Where I could rise at break of day.
With Oscar by my side,
To seek, 'mong glens and mountains
gi'ey,
The stag of dark-brown hide.
Cha'n 'cil again cu gleusda,
cha'n ell agam cu gleysda
'S cha'n 'eil feum agam dha,
'a cha'n ell feym agam ya
But my loved forest is afar :
Though here I may behold
A forest huge, where mast and spar
The shipwright's craft unfold ;