Hew Morrison Collection > Sar-obair nam bard gaelach, or, The beauties of Gaelic poetry

NIALL MAC-MHUIRICH.
67
Agus sneachd air na geugaibh,
Ghuil eiinlaith an t-shldibhc,
O'n la chual iad gun d' eug thii,
A cheann uidhe nan ceud bu mbor pils.
A cheann-uidhe nan c<!ud, &c.
Gheibht' a d' bhaile ma t'heasgar,
Smùid mhòr, 's cha b' è 'n gieadan ;
Fir ùr agus fleasgaich,
A' losga' fùdair le beadradh,
Cùirii is cupaichean breaca,
Piosan òir air an dealtradb,
'S cha b' ann falamh a gheiblit' iad,
Ach gach deoch mar bu neart-mhoire bilgh.
Ach gach mar bu, &c.
'S ioinadh clogaid a's targaid,
Agus claidheamh chinn airgeid,
Bhindh mar coinneamh air eaiachuiii,
Dhomhsa b' aithne do sheanchas,
Ge do b' fharsuiiin ri leanmhuinn,
Ann an eachdraidh na h-Alba ;
Raonuill òig dean beairt ainmeil,
On bu dual dut o d' leanmhuinn mòighniomh.
O'n J)u dual, &c.
'S cha bu lothagan cliata,
Gheibht' ad stàbuill ga'm biathadh ;
Ach eich chruidheacha shrianach,
Bhiodh do mhiol-choin air iallaibh,
'S iad a' feitheamh ri fiadhaoh,
Ann sua coireanaibh riabhach,
B' è mo chreacha nach do liath thii,
M' an tainig teachdair ga d' iarraidh on i"igh.
M' an tainig teachdair, &c.
SEANACHAS SLOINNIDII
NA PIOBA BHO THUS.
AoDROMAN muice ho ! ho !
Air a sheideadh gu h-ana-mhòr,
A cheud mhàla nach robh binn,
Thainig o thus na dilinn.
Bha seal ri aodromain mhuc,
Ga lionadh suas as gach pluic,
Craiceann seana mhuilt na dheigh sin,
Re searbhadas agus ri diirdail.
Cha robh 'n uair sin ann sa phiob,
Ach seannsair agus aon Hop,
Agus maide chumadh nam fonn,
Da 'm b'-ainm an sumaire.
Tamull daibh na dheigh sin.
Do fliuair as-innleachd innleachd,
Agus chinnich na tri chroinn innt,
Fear dhiu fada, leobhar, garbh,
Ri dùrdan reamhar ro shearbh.
Air faighinn an dùrdain soirbfa,
Agus a ghothaich gu loma Icir,
Cbraobh-sgaoil a chrannaghail mar sin,
Ri searbhadas agus ri rùchdail.
Pìob sgreadanach Ian JMhic-Artair,
]Mar eun curra air dol air ais,
Lan ronn 's i labhar luirgneach,
Com galair mar ghuilbneich ghiais.
Piob Dhòmhnuill do cheòl na Cruiiine,
Crannaghaij bhreoite 's breun roi' shluagh»
Cathadh a mùin tro mala grodaidh,
Bo 'n tuil ghrainnde robaich ruaidh :
Ball Dhòmhnuill is dos na pioba,
Da bheist chursta ' chlaigeinn mhaoil,
Seinnidh Corra-ghluineach a ghathuina
Fuaim trùileach an tabhainn sheirbh.
Do-cheòi do bhi 'n ifrinn iochdrach,
Faohnar phioban nan dos cruaidh,
Culaidh a dhùsgadh nan deainhan,
Liùgail do mheoir reamhair ruaidh.
Air fheasgar an earraich niin,
Mar gheum mairt caòile teachd gu tlus,
Thig sgreadail a chroinn riabhaich,
Mar bhr. . . tòine 'n di duibh.
Chuir Venus a bha seal an Ifrinn,
Mar dhearbhachd sgeul gu fir an Domhain.
Gur h-e corranach bhan is piob ghleadhair,
Da leannan ciuil cluas nan Deamhan.
Fàileadh a ch . . dheth na mhàla
'S fàileadh a mhàla dbeth 'n phiobair.
Xote The Author of this piece is Niall mt)r Mac.
Mhuirich. We have heard the following anecdote, in
illustration of this poem. Neil had lately returned to his
father's house from the bards' college, in Ireland, from
whence, along with the stores of genealogical and other
lore with which he had stored his head, he had in addition,
brought over a back.burden of the small-pox, and was lying
asleep, on a settle bed, at the back of the house near the
lire, when John and Donald M' Arthur, two pipers,
came in, and, sitting down on the bed-stock, began tuneing
their pipes preparatory to playing. The horrid and dis-
cordant sound of the pipes roused the bard, who, burst,
ing with indignation, in the true style of his profession,
began to inveigh against the pipers, in the following
mock genealogy of the bag.pipe. It would appear from
this, as well as from hints in other poems, that the bag-pipe
was never a favourite with the bards ; but was rather re.
garded by them as trenching on their province. The poem
was evidently intended to resent the intrusion of thepipers
on the bard's slumbers. Nor did it fail of the desired effect;
for, the pipers it seems, had intended to make good their
quarters for the night ; but, on hearing the odd and ludi-
crous invective against their favourite instrument, enun-
ciated from behind them, they started from their seats
with astonishment looking round for an explanation. Kut
when the swollen and pocky countenanceof Neil met their
view, wrought up we may suppose with no ordinary excite,
ment, terror added wings to their feet, and they fled in the
utmost consternation. Neil's father on hearing the poem
to the end exclaimed " Math thufein a mhic, tha mifaicinn
nachbu Ihuras cailW a thug thu dh' Eiriun ;" i e. " Well
done my son, I see your errand to Ireland has not been
lost."