An Comunn Gàidhealach Publications > Gaidheal > Volumes 58--62(part), January, 1963--March 1967

cuideachadh cinn-chinnidh, luchd-ieanmhainn
agus luchd-ciuil air tighinn bed as ur!
Cha robh ann an Colaiste Bhoireig ach aite
beag, agus bha crioman fearainn aig an luchd
ionnsachaidh fad nan seachd bliadhna a bha
iad a’ dol do’n sgoil. Faisg air an t-seann
laraich tha a nise carn-chuimhne far an robh
Sraid nam Piobairean. Shios anns an lag,
gle fhaisg air laimh, tha a’ chlach-neairt a
dh’fheumadh gach piobaire a thogail, oir bha
iad ’nan daoine sghirteil cuideachd.
Bha bean-uasal a shloinneadh i fhein air ais
gu Iain Ban Mac-Cruimein ’na seasamh ri taobh
Ceann-cinnidh nan Leodach nuair a thuirt i
gum b’e seo cruinneachadh agus fiosrachadh
nach di-chuimhnicheamaid a chaoidh.
Nuair a bha sinn air an rathad air ais, shaoil
leam gu robh a’ ghaoth laidir a bha ag osnaich
mu’n charn ag radh, “ Tog orm mo phiob
.... is theid mi dhachaidh.”
Tha a’ Bhean-Urramach Fionnaghal
(Floraidh, mar as fhearr as aithne do’n mhor-
shluagh Ghaidhealach air feadh an t-saoghal i)
fhathast aig stiuir na Birlinn Leodaich. Gu
ma fada luth ’na lamhan, is caladh sabhailt fo
sgail an Duin.
D.M. (Stafain).
Lake Catalone, Cape Breton
O the gold on the blue
Of a sunset in June !
And the call of the wilds
Round the lake hid from view
In the wide wooded vale !
We put out from the shore
In a boat under oar ;
Round beauty spots rare
The long eve we did sail.
The sky was cloudless, clear,
The water placid, still,
Like quicksilver it shone,
With naught to mar or blear
The calm unruffled tide
Which caught the yellow gleam
Of the sun’s parting beam
We at leisure rowed.
The afterglow did bide.
Such were the scenic sights
Which I shall ne’er forget :
Each cape with virgin trees,
Each winged point, steep heights
O’ergrown with dusky pine,
Many a pretty isle
Which does the eye beguile,
Forests no man knows,
A wilderness divine.
The bird world warbled free
Along the silvan shores.
Each creek and cave and bay
Rang out in harmony ;
The robin’s sweeter note
Filled the whole charmed dale.
The dew fell to regale
The flowery banks
Of many tinted coat.
Did all the weary know
Who dwell in city marts
Of nature’s bounty there,
Which she would fain bestow
On those with seeing eyes,
The health that’s in the winds
’Mong hills where roam the hinds ;
To live there and die,
Has life a better prize ?
Such visions evermore
Will haunt me, I shall roam
By far Lake Catalone
As on that eve of yore ;
’Mong a landscape so fair :
Hills thickly clad with fir,
With a fragrance of myrrh.
Lovely dells, glades, streams,
All those beauty spots rare.
Norman MacDonald
(June, 1932).
NOTE.—The Canadian robin is of the thrush family. It
is a little larger than the British thrush and has
a red breast, hence the name. Its song has
more volume to it.
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