Matheson Collection > Gaelic songs of Mary MacLeod

THE WEDDING OF MACLEOD
With thee the pipe
briskly playing in the pursuit,
Bright sword-blades
that would make carnage,
Brown targes
pierced and shattered.
Roderick, Roderick,
Roderick of yonder dun,
Thou art my mirth
and my merry music.
Thou art my rosary
and the comb of my hair.
Thou art my fruit-garden
wherein are apples.
Where is the one
like unto thee,
Since Finn liveth not
nor Ossian,
Brown Diarmaid nor
GoU nor Oscar,?
As I sat
above a seal-haunted strait,
Looking toward Hirt *
of blue birds,
Came a wheedler,
a saucy wheedler.
And wishing to gossip
asked of me