Blair Collection > Celtic monthly > Volume 1, 1893

L92
THE CKI/TIC MONTHLY.
Welcome to-day to the one who hath led us,
(The model of all that a true chief should be),
The first in defence of our garb and our language —
\\ el 16, Lord Archie of Lome, !»• to thee.
Back to the realms "I romance and of story.
Despite the dark gloom of the past and its pain,
Tin' far scattered sons of the Gael are returning,
Baek to their elans and their tartans again.
Welcome the spirit arousing the Highlands :
Lord Archie of Lome, ye have shown them the way;
The love for our language, our music, our poems.
Is felt in the heart of each clansman to-day.
Then, shoulder to shoulder, advance, lads, to-
gether.
The red and green tartans, the thistle and heather.
Sweet gem of the Highlands, embowered in tli
mountains,
Bright shine the lights that encircle thy bay,
Float pennant and flag, in thy waters reflected,
Fair Oban, thy shores are much honoured to day.
Alice C. MacDonell
London. of Keppoch.
AN SAMHRADH 'AN EILEAN-A'-CHEO.
Tha na milltean 'an toir air gach mais' agus gloir
A tha "dealradh mu mhoraehd nan righ.
Aeh innsidh mi sealladh, 's cha tigeadh 'n a choir
An luchairt a 1>' iiirdheiree lith.
Chan 'eil iongnaidhean gann aim an Duthaich nam
beann,
Air do Nadur a loinn a thoirt bei ;
Aeh seinnidh mi ranu, thar gaeh sealladh a th' aim,
Mu 'n t-Samhradh 'an Eilean-a'-cheo.
'S trie air grinn-mhaduinn Cheitcin a dhlrich mo
cheum
(ins an aonaieh, 'n uair 'ilh' eireadh a' ghrian.
Bhiodh a tlath-ghathan s.'inih, o ard-mhullach nan
ni-imli,
A cur full air gach reidhlean is sliabh.
Cha robh righ' bhiodh mar laoch, dol roinh armachd
nan lann,
A thug suil air a ghaisgich lii shrul,
Mar a slieallas an Cuiliinm, le Vhrtin air a cheann,
Air gach lu-iim a tha 'n Eilean-a'-cbeb.
Is taitneach learn siubhal ri iomall na traigh
'N uair 'tha sith radar eladach is tonn ;
Agus gairieh na li-aibhne ag aonadh ri siiil',
Air dhi dortadh bho airde nam beann.
Naeh aluinn a chi mi an long air a' chuan,
Mar flianlaig a snanih aims na neod.
'N uair a dh'fh igas i 'dachaidh 's na turraidean buan
A tha 'cuartachadb Eilean a' che6.
eh. i 'n 'eil sealladh is breagha no's uraile sgeimh
'N uair 'tha riirsa na grein' aig a cheann
No 'bin faicinn an trusgainn ro-Mllidh gun eis
A tha' ci'iiiilnlaeh nan rcidhlcaii 's nan gleann.
Nalusan fo dhriuchd, a,n- .■,„lli,,,ii |i, lililalh
Is a„ eunlaith gu h.e- hor ri ceol
-'.in am bheil eos nl do riomhadhan high,
A chuir Nad u air Eilean a'-cne6 '
Cilendale, Skye. Neil KosS.
THE WEAVER BARD OF PETTY:
Donald Macrae, born 1756, died 1837.
By Rev. Nigel MacNeill, LL D., author of " The
Literature of the Highlanders."
^T^|1IIS sacred bard lived to the age of eighty-one.
Vl?^ " e uas :l °" ,ta - l ' r °" Lord Moray's estate in
(5jC> the parish of Petty. Inverness shire. He is
described as earning an honest livelihood by
his loom, and as leading a bachelor life with a prudent
and pious sister who kept house for him. His poetry
stands unexcelled by any of the productions of the
Highland sacred muse. He was quite unable to read ;
but he was perfectly familiar with the truths of his
Gaelic Bible, which was daily read in his house. In
this one Book of rich and varied literature Macrae
found food for the heart and light for the mind. His
poetry reveals that he had drunk deeply at this foun-
tain of living truth, as well as the fact that he had
also read profoundly into the volume of human life.
The following is a translation of one of his shorter
ami lr.-> elaborate pieces. Here at once we detect
something of the world of self-introspection and
spiritual fancies in which the humble poet habitually
oved:
THE VAIN MINI*.
When you turn from ills that hurt you.
And from pity mercy seek,
You will hear the voice of virtue
Hopeful words from heaven speak.
But I have to own — 1 know it, —
Words of truthful weight 1 choose ;
I ne'er loved the stroke of | t
Though delighting in the muse.
Blest the care, the eye unsleeping,
Through the years' long varied scenes
Guarded me in faithful keeping
Lor these three score anil the teens.*
Three or four have struck with keenness,
And they strive for me with might; —
This old age, the grave, ami leanness,
The vain mind, too, young and light.
Soaring aye the last, and winging.
Like the birds through heaven, afresh :
IViMihedient and up-springing,
ller desire is in the flesh. '
Those fair eggs were precious, surely,
That 1 found beneath her wing ;
Ere she sal an hour securely
faintly birds began to sing.
Precious did 1 say. not painful ?
What to me had been the gain'.'
If a passing word disdainful
Hroke my bosom's restful reign.
She was gay ; with me she mated,
Dragging into scenes of mirth,
Till 1 grew inebriated
Willi the misty shows of earth.
Jaelie expression literally rendered.