Blair Collection > Gaelic names of beasts (mammalia), birds, fishes, insects, reptiles, etc

OWL
311
'S annsa an lag tha air a cul,
Na machthir a's iniir na'n gall.
M' annsachd beinn sheasgach nam
fuaran,
'N riasgach o'n dean an damh ranan,
Chuireadh gadhar is glan niiallan,
Feigh na'nruaiggu h|inbhir-mheorain.
B' annsa learn na durdan bodaich,
Os ceann lie aig eararadh sil,
Buireinandairah'rabighnedhuinned,
Air leacainn beinne 's e ri sin.
'N uair bhuiris darah beinne bige,
'S a bheicis damh beinn na craige,
Freagraidh na daimh ud da cheile
'S thig feigh a' coire na snaige.
Bha mi o'n rugadh mi riabh,
Ann an caidribh fhiagh a's earb',
Cha n fhachda mi dath air bian,
Ach buidhe, riadhach, a's dearg.
Cha mhi fhin a sgaoil an comunn,
A bha eadar mi 's creag ghuanach,
Ach an aois ga'r to'irt o cheile,
Gur grathunn an fheil a fhuaras.
Si creag mo chroidhe-se chreag
ghuanach,
A chreag dhuilleach, bhiolaireach,
bhraonach,
Na 'n tulach ard, aluinn, fiarach,
Gur cian a ghabh i o'n mhaorach,
Cha mhinig a bha mi'g eisteachd.
Re seitrich na mulee mara,
Ach 's trie a chuala mi raoran.
Do chronanaich an daimh allaidh.
Cha do chair mi duil san iasgach,
Bhi ga iaraidh leis a mhadhar,
'S mor gu'm b' annsa leam am
fiaghach,
'S bhi air falbh na'n sliabh is t f haghar.
More delightful is the deep valley
behind it
Than the rich fields and proud castles
of the stranger !
my delight ! thou reedy mountain
of springs !
The rushy bog, whence the stag roars.
The hound of clearest cry, who was
wont to chase
The deer to Invermearin.
More pleasant to me than the hum-
ming song of the rustic
Over the quern, as he grinds the
crackling corn.
The low cry of the stag, of brownish
hue,
On the declivity of the mountain in
the storm.
When roars the stag of the little hill.
And bellows the stag of the rocky
height.
These stags answer each other.
And the deer ascend alarmed, from
the corrie of retreat.
From my birth I have ever sought
The society of deers and roes,
1 never bestowed a look on a skin of
any other colour
Than yellow, red, or brindled.
I broke not the band of kindness.
Which held me to the Craig Guanich,
But old age has separated us.
Long, however, was the festival I
enjoyed.
Rock of my heart ! thou rock of refuge,
The rock of leaves, of water-cresses,
of freshening showers.
Of the lofty, beautiful, grassy heights.
Far distant from the shelly brink of
the sea.
Seldom did I listen
To the spouting tumult of the whales.
But much have I heard
Of the murmuring of the wild harts.
I placed not ray confidence in
searching
For the swift-gliding fish with the
baited hook —
Far more delightful to me was the
rapid chase
Traversing the purple mountains in
autumn.