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

Lub Fillean a bhogha le luorchuis,
lub fillea a to' -a le mor-chuys
Og shcalgair Mhoru nan sliabh ;
og be-Iager voi'u nan sli-av
Ach CO Slid air ceann nan treiin,
ach CO sud ayr cenn nan treyn
Mar gharbh-shiubhal shruth o bheinn ?
mar yarv-hi-uval bru' o veynii
Co ach mac Oissean an triath ;
CO ach mac oissean an tri-a'
Mar bhoisge teine misg a cbiabh,
mar voysgè tèynè misg a chi-av
A leadan fada tha Ian chuacb,
a led-an fa-da ha Ian chu-ach
Fhabbaid dhubb le chielt' an cruaidh,
a-ayd yuv le cbeylt an criiy'
A lann air ial a trial ri thaobb,
a lann ayr i-al a tri-al ri boav'
A sbleagh a siubhal boilsgeadb baoth.
a le-a' a si-ii-val boyl-sge' bao'
Theich mi o gliarg shuil an t-sheoid,
heych mi o yarg liuyl an te-oyd
A righ Thighmora is mor cliu."
a ri' hi'-mora is mor cli-u
" Teich usa, fhir dhonadh, gu'n
teycb usa ir yona' gun
fheum,"
eym
Arsa Foldath, gruamach am feirg ;
arsa fol-da' gni-am-aoli am feyrig
" Teich-sa gu d' liath-shruthaibh f hein,
tìych-sa gu d' li-a'-hru'ayv bCyu
Anamain is goinne, is meirg an diamhair.
an-am-ayn is goynnè is meyrig an di-vav
Nach facar linn an t-Oscar donn ?
nach fac-ar linn an tos-car donn
Chunnaic mise an triath an comhraig.
chunu-ic mis an tri-a' an cov-rayg
An cimnart, dheth na trein tha'n sonn ;
an cunnart ye' na treyn ban sonn
Ach 's iomadh sleagh is sonn an Eirinn.
ach si-oma' sle-a' is sonn an eyrinn
A righ Thighmora nan ard chraobh,
a ri' hi'-mora nan ard cbra-ov
Leig dhomhsa tachairt ris an t-sheod ;
leyg yovsa tach-ayrt ris an te-od
Is caisgidh mi 'n sruth mor na dheann.
is cays-gi' min sru' mor na yenn
Ma shleagh tha nighte am full,
ma le-a' ba ni'-te am fnyl
OF THE HIGHLAND CLANS. 107
Fijian bent with pride liis bow,
The youthful hunter of Moru of wolds.
But who is he that is at the head of
the hosts,
Moving impetuous as a spate from the
hills?
Who but the son of Ossian, the hero ;
Glowing amid his locks
His long hair is full of curls
His black helmet half hid in steel, —
His sword is restless on his side,
His eager spear gleams wickedly.
I fled from the fierce eye of the hero,
King of Temora of great renown."
" Fly, then, mannikin unfit for
deeds,"
Said Foldath, frowning and wratiiful ;
" Fly thou to thy own grey streams.
Scant soul, and rust in secret.
Have I not seen this Oscar ?
I have seen the hero in battle.
In danger he is of the mighty ;
But there are many spears and heroes
in Erin.
King of Temora of lofty woods,
Let me meet the hero ;
I will stop this mountain spate in its
speed.
My spear has been washed in blood.