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

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THE MUSIC
The two following specimens of the poetry and music of Erin are taken
from a little gem of a book, with which I have been ftivoured by Mr Moxon.
It was published by Mr O'Daly of Dublin, and contains literally a treasure of
the genuine Celtic strains of Erin, with English imitations by James Clarence
Magan. I have not selected these specimens for the superior character of the
music or the poetry, but on account of the subject, for the victims of loyal faith
must ever be objects of sympathy to the generous and the brave. When will
kings and statesmen look on political offences, especially those which spring
from intensely loyal and patriotic feelings, as the offences of the noble and high
minded, and deal with them in an accordant spirit ?
A MAIGHDEON, A BHEAN, S A BHANTRAECH. — THE VIRGIN, WIFE, AND WIDOW.
AiK.— " The Humours of Glyn."
As a maighdion as baintreabhach rin A virgin — a widow — I mourn lone
Dia go h-ogdhiom, and lowly.
Ni binn liom an chreidhill-si gabhail This morn saw me wedded in God's
tiomchioll mo nuanchain ; temple holy ;
Ba bliean-phosda as maidean me, o'n And noontide beholds me a lone wi-
eaglais chomhachtach, dow weeping,
'S as bain-treabhach niainim ar theachd For my spouse in the dark tomb for
de'm trath-nona. ever lies sleeping.
Ta smuaintean mo chridhe-si na sgaoil-
feadh go h-eagde,
Feadh bheidheadh druchd or na gleann-
tadh na ceo ar na sleibhte ;
La coimhnadh da sniomh dhuit go caom
deas de'n chaoldain.
Is e la broin an chruidhill-si* da innsint
gun egair !
Is deas do thiocfadh cloidheam dhuit an
maneaigheacht an choil-each.
No ag reide na h-adhine 's do ghadhain-
binne air raothan,
Thogfadh an ceo dhe m' intinn 's tu ar
bheinn-mhaoil an t-steibhe,
Agus aireochamoid uainn tu la buailte
Eigh Seumas.
On my heart lies a cloud, and will lie
there for ever.
Hark, hark to the death-knell that
dooms us to sever !
Oh, well may my eyes pour forth
tears as a fountain,
While dew gems the valley, and mist
dims the mountain.
King James mourns a hero, as brave
as e'er breathed.
! to see him when mounted, with
bright blade unsheathed,
Or high on the hill-side with bugle
and beagles.
Where his foot was the deer's, and
his eye was the eagle's.
Is mor mor e m' eagladh go bh-fuil do I shrieked and I cried when his blood
mhuinntir a bh-fuarain liom, gush'd like water ;
Mar nan lighas 's nar sgreadas nuair But treach'ry and baseness had
chonarc an fhuil uasal, doom'd him to slaughter ;
* Cieidhill,— death-bell, knell.