Books and other items printed in Gaelic from 1871 to 1900 > Sar-obair nam bard Gaelach, or, The beauties of Gaelic poetry, and lives of the Highland bards

IAIN RUADH STIUBHART.
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!
Gu’n toir Fortan dha didean le gras,
Mur Mhaois ’nuair a thraigh a mhuir ruadh,
Sgu’m bidh Deorsa le ’dhrealainibh bait,
Mur bha ’n t-amadan Pharaoh’s a shluagh.
’Nuair bha Israel sgith ’san staid ghrhis,
Rinneadh Saul an la sin na righ,
Thug e sgiursadh le miosguinn a’s plaigh,
Orra fein, air an al’s air an ni.
Is amhuil bha Breatuinn fo bhron,
O ’na threig iad a choir ’s an righ ;
Ghabh flaitheas rinn corruich ro-mhor,
Crom-an-donais ! chaidh ’n seorsa ’n diasg.
A Righ shocraich Muire nan gras,
Crom riumsa le baigh do chluas ;
’S mi ’g umhladh le m’ ghlun air an lar,
Gabh achanaich araid bhuam.
Cha’n eil sinn a sireadh ach coir,
Thug Cuigs agus Dheorsa bhuainn ;
’ Reir do cheartais thoir neart dhuinn a’s treoir,
A’s cum sinn bho fhoirneart sluaigh ! Amen.
CUMHA DO BH AINTIGHEARNA
MHIC-AN -TOISICH.*
Cia iad na dee’s na Duilean trdun,
Theid leamsa sa’n sgeul’ bhroin ?
Tha ghealach fbs, ’s na reulltan glan,
’S a ghrian fo smal gach 16,
Gach craobh, gach coill, gach bean’s cloinn,
Dha ’m beil na’m broinn an deo,
Gach luibh, gach feur, gach ni’s gach spreidh,
Mu’n ti rinn boisge mor.
Mar choinneal cheir, ’s i lasadh treun,
Mar earr na grein ro nbin,
Bha reull na mais, fo shiontaibh deas,
A nis thug frasan mor,
Oir bhris na tuinn’s na tobair bhuinn :
’S le mulad dhruigh na neoil,
’Se lagaich sinn, ’s ar ’n-aigne tinn,
’S gu’n ruith ar cion le deoir.
Mu’n ribhinn kilt nan ioma gras,
A choisinn gradh an t-slbigh,
* For the Air, see the Rev. Patrick M‘Donald’s Collec¬
tion of Highland Airs, page 16—No. 106.
Mo bheud gu brbth do sgeula bais,
An taobh ud thall de’n Ghebp,
Ainnir ghasd’ nan gorm-shuil dait,
’S nan gruaidh air dhreach nan ros,
’S e do chuir fo lie a chlaoidh mo neart,
’S a dh’fhag mi’m feasd gun trebir.
Do chorp geal, seang, mar lili ban,
’Se ’n deis’ a charadh ’n srol,
A nis a ta gach neach fo chradh,
’S tu ’n ciste chlar nam bord,
A gheug nam buadh.is aillidh snuadh,
Gur mis tha truagh’s nach beo,
Do chuimhn’ air chruas, ri linn nan sluagh,
Gur cinnte’ dh’fhuasglas debir.
Tha Mac-an-Toisich nan each seang,
’S nam bratach srannmhor sroil,
Gun aobhar gairdeachais ach cradh,
Ma ghradh ’s nach eil i bed,
A ribhinn shuairc a b’ aillidh snuadh,
O Chaisteal Uaimh nan corn,
An gallan reidh o cheannard treun,
An t-sloinne Mheinnich mhoir.
Note.—This lament was composed on the celebrated
Lady MTntosh of Moyhall, whose firm attachment to the
Chevalier’s interest is well known. A story is told of this
lady which exhibits her character in a very bold and mas¬
culine light. Prince Charles had arrived at Moy, on his
return from England, two or three days before his followers
came through Athol and the wilds of Badenoch. M’lntosh
and his clan were from home with the other Jacobites,and
the place was altogether unprotected. Some keen-sighted
loyalist had seen the Prince, and forthwith communicated
the intelligence to Lord Louden, then stationed at Inver¬
ness with 500 soldiers. His Lordship immediately marched
towards Moy, taking a circuitous route, however, to avoid
detection. Intimation was carried to Lady M’lntosh of
his Lordship’s approach—it was a moment of awful and
anxious incertitude. She immediately sent for an old
smith, one of MTntosh’s retainers, and a council of war
was held. “There is but one way,” said her Ladyship,
“ of saving Prince Charles—your own Prince ; and that is
by giving them battle.” “ Battle !” exclaimed the smith,
“ where are our heroes? alas ! where to-night are the sons
of my heart?” It was ultimately arranged that Prince
Charles should be placed under hiding, and that the son of
Vulcan, with other six old men who were left at home,
should give them battle. Armed with claymore, dirk,
and guns, together with a bagpipe and old pail (drum), our
octogenarian little army lurked in a dense clump of brush¬
wood until the red-coats came up. It was now night, and
the sound of Lord Louden’s men was heard—they
were within a mile of Moy ! The smith and his followers,
as instructed by her Ladyship, fired gun after gun, until
the six were discharged; he then roared out “ Clan
M*Donald, rush to the right—Cameron, forward in a
double column in the centre—M*Intosh, wheel to the left,
and see that none will escape !” This was enough ; the
red-coats heard—stood, and listened—all the clans were
there—so, at least, thought Lord Louden, and away they
fled in the greatest disorder and confusion, knocking one
another down in their flight, and not daring to look behind
them until they had distanced the smith by miles !
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