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

UILLEAM ROS.
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Ach mosg’leam tharais a mi-ghean,
S cuiream dith air mo ghruaim,
Bed ni’s f'aide cha bhi mi
Gun mo mhin-mhala shiiairc!
Uig mhin beir mo shoraidh
Leat na choirean so shuas,
Seinn mo ruin aim sa’ ghleannan.
’S tuigidh ’n cailin e bhuat.
Seinn eibhinn^ S[c.
CUACHAG NAN CRAOBH.*
Chuachag nancraobh, nach trua’leat mr chaoi’
’G osnaioh ri oidhch'1 cheothar—
Shiubhlainn le’m1 ghaol, fo dhubhar nan craobh,
Gu’n duin’ air an t-saoghal t’heoraicb,
1 hogainn ri gaoith am monadh an fhraoich,
Mo leabaidh ri taobh dorain—
Do chrutha geal caomh sinte ri m1 thaobh,
’S mise ga’d chaoin phogadh.
Chunna’ mi fein aisling, ’s cha bhreug,
Dh-fhag sin mo chre bronach,
Fear mar ri te, a pogdh a beul,
A briodal an deigh pbsaidh,
Dh’uraich mo mhiann, dh’ath’rich mo chiall,
Ghul mi gu dian, doimeac.h,
Gach cuisle agus feith, o iochdar mo chleibh
Thug iad gu leum co’-lath !
Ort tha mo gheall, chaill mi mo chonn,
Tha mi fo throm chreuchdan,
Dh’aisigeadh t-fhonn slainte do’m chom,
Dhiuchdadh air lom m’ eibhneas,
Thiginn ad dhail, chuirinn ort failt’,
Bhithinn a ghraidh reidh riut—
M’ulaidh ’s mo mhiann, m’ aighear’s mo chiall,
’S ainnir air fiamh grein’ thu!
* The poet, crossed in love, suffered such poignancy of
grief that it ultimately brought on a consumption and
he was for sometime bed-ridden. On a fine evening in
May, he rose and walked out through the woods to indulge
his melancholy alone.-—Arriving at a large tree, he threw
himself on the green sward beneath its branches, and was
not long in his sequestered sylvan situation ere the cuckoo
began tocarol above him.—“ The son of song and sorrow”
immediately tunes his lyre, and sings an address to the
feathered vocalist.—He pours out his complaints before
the shy bird, and solicits its sympathies.—Had Burns
been a Gaelic Scholar, we should have no hesitation in
accusing him of plagiarism when he sung:—
“ How can ye chaunt, ye little birds
While I’m so wae an’ fa’ o’ care ?”
But Ross embodies finer feelings and sentiments into his
fugitive pieces than even the bard of Coila.
Thuit mi le d’ghath, mhill tlm mo rath,
Striochd mi le neart dorain
Saighdean do ghaoil suit* anus gach taobh.
’Thug dhiom gach caoin co’-lath,
Mhill thu mo mhais, ghoid thu mo dhreach,
’S mheudaich thu gal broin domh ;
’S mar fuasgail thu tra, le t-fhuran’s le t-fhciilt’
’S cuideachd am bas dhomh-sa!
’S cama-lubach t-fhalt, fanna-bhui’ nan cleachd
’S fabhrad nan rosg aluinn ;
Gruaidhean mar chaor, broilleach mar aol,
A nail mar ghaoth garaidh—
Gus an cuir iad mi steach, an caol-taigh nan leac
Bidh mi fo neart craidh dheth,
Le smaointinn do chleks,’s doshugradh ma seach,
Fo dhuilleach nam preas blath’or.
’S mills do bheul, ’s comhnard do dheud.
Suilean air lidh airneig,
’Ghiulaineadh breid, uallach gu feill,
’S uasal an reull aluinn—
’Strua’ gun an t-eud tha’n uachdar mo chleibh,
Gad bhualadh-s’ an ceud aite—
Na faighinn thu reidh pusd’ on a chleir
B’fhasa dhomh-fein tearnadh.
’S tu ’n ainnir tha gririn, mileanta, binn,
Le d’ cheileir a sinn oran,
’S e bhi na do dhail a dh’oidhche sa la,
Thoilicheadh cail m’ bige :
Gur gile do bhian na sneachd air an fhiar,
’S na canach air sliabh mointich,
Nan deanadh tu ruin tarruinn rium dlu’
Dheanainn gach turs’ fhogar.
Carair gu reidh clach agus ere
Ma’m leabaidh-s’ a bhri t-uaisle—
’S fada mi ’n eis a feitheamh ort fein
’S nach togair thu gheug suas learn,
Na b'thus a bhiodh tinn, dheanainn-sa luim,
Mas biodh tu fo chuing truaighe,
Ach’s goirid an dail gu’m faicear an la,
’M bi prasgan a’ tra’l m’uaigh-sa !
Mallachd an tus, aig a mhnaoi-ghluin’,
Nach d’ adhlaic sa chuil beb mi !
Mu’n d’ fhuair mi ort iuil ainnir dheas ur,
’S nach dbirig thu fiu pbg dhomh,
Tinn gu’n bhi slan, duisgt’ as mo phramh,
Cuimhneachach dan pbsaidh
Mo bheannachd ad dheigh, cheannaich thu-fein,
Le d’ leannanachd gle bg mi.