Chapter 25
Tha cliu air na gaisgich dha'm b-aitreabh an tigh Dige, 'S priseil an eachdraidh th'air cleachdadh na sinnsear, Bu mhoralach, maiseach, an curaidh Sir Eachainn; Bha eis'neachd aig fhacal am Baile na rioghachd.
Sir _Frank_, an duin' uasal, bu shuairce ro choir e, Meas aig an t-sluagh air, 's bha 'n tuath air an seol leis, Sealgair na'm fuar-bheann, ceum uallach air mointich: 'S minic a bhuail e, na luath's an damh croiceach.
Buaidh 'us cinneachdainn piseach, 'us ainm dhoibh, Slainte 'us toileachdainn, sonas 'us sealbh dhoibh, Saoghal fada, gun ghainne, gun chearb dhoibh, Gearrloch 'us Lagaidh, bhi pailt ann an airgiod.
EPITHALAMIUM ON THE MARRIAGE OF SIR KENNETH MACKENZIE, BARONET OF GAIRLOCH, AND MISS EILA CAMPBELL OF ISLAY.
I heard a piece of news last night, good news that brings no sorrow, Good news that sped on lightsome wings from castled Edinboro', That good Sir Kenneth wisely shuns an English maid to woo, But he will marry a bonnie la.s.s of Celtic blood and true.
A daughter of brave Islay's lord, a perfect lady she From top to toe, this all who speak the truth will tell to thee; Handsome she is, stately and tall, winsome and chaste and good: In all she is, and all she does, a jewel of womanhood.
A n.o.ble couple, and well matched; this thing I dare to tell,-- Among a thousand ladies she will bravely bear the bell.
The Lady of Gairloch! I hear them shout with loud acclaim, While br.i.m.m.i.n.g cups are freely poured to her high honoured name.
And bonfires blaze on all the heights, and all hearts are ablaze, From the green shelter of the strath up to the h.o.a.ry braes; And all the clansmen stout and true attend with loyal pride, To prove their fealty to their chief, and greet his n.o.ble bride.
Both high and low are feasting now, and telling man to man The virtues that from sire to son flowed on to bless the clan: Proudly they sit in friendly groups, and pray that evermore On them and theirs a gracious G.o.d full horn of joy may pour.
The lovely lady long the pride of Islay's faithful strand, Of old heroic stock, shall now rule o'er this happy land; In west Argyll her kinsmen dwell, the clan of mighty name, Who never flinched and never failed to conquer where they came.
In Tigh mor's goodly hall they sit, where deeds of great renown The blazoned story of the clan from sire to son come down: Sir Hector was a n.o.ble man, and when debate was stirred At Dingwall or at Inverness they owned his mighty word.
Sir Francis was a gentleman, right courteous and polite, And all his tenants loved the lord who always loved the right; A hunter bold was he, and keen to mount from crag to crag, With wary foot, and bring to ground the fleet high-antlered stag.
Good luck and joy be with the pair, favour from G.o.d and man; Health and goodwill and acres broad well planted with the clan; And length
Alexander Cameron, who may be called "the Tournaig bard," is a native of Inverasdale, on the west side of Loch Ewe. He was born about 1848. He has been manager of Mr Osgood H. Mackenzie's farm at Tournaig for some sixteen years, and has been on the Inverewe estate since he was a boy of fifteen. He is the author of a number of songs and poems of considerable merit. Perhaps the best of them is a poem in twenty verses in praise of Tournaig. The song in its original Gaelic appeared in the _Northern Chronicle_ in 1883. I have had the pleasure of hearing Alexander Cameron sing several of his own songs, and can testify to their graceful intonation. He is tall, and rather slenderly built, and has the courteous manner of a true Gairloch Highlander.
The following are twelve verses of the song in praise of Tournaig, with an English version by Mr W. Clements Good, of Aberdeen:--
ORAN.
On's e'n diugh an dara Maigh Bho 'na ghabh mi 'n Turnaig tamh, Air leam fein nach b'olc an cas Air a sgath ged' dheilbhinn rann.
Hurabh o gun tog mi fonn, 'S toil leam fein an Coire donn, Diridh mi 'mach ris a mhaoil; 'S fallain gaoth a thaobh na meall.
'S gloirmhor obair Nadair fein, Grian a g'oradh neoil nan speur, Cuan na chomhnard boidheach reidh, 'S torman seimh aig seis nan allt.
Hurabh o, &c.
Turnaig aoibhinn, Turnaig aigh, Turnaig shaoibhir, Turnaig lan, Turnaig bheartach, 's pailte barr, Turnaig ghnaiseach, ghranach, throm.
Hurabh o, &c.
Tha gach tlachd na d' thaic'air fas, Sliabh is srath is cladach sail; D'uillt do neamhneidibh cho lan Far an snamh an dobhran donn.
Hurabh o, &c.
Tha do chladach clachadh, ard, Geodhach, stacach, fasgach, blath; H-uile sloc is lag is bagh Loma-lan do mhaorach trom.
Hurabh o, &c.
Bradain mheanmnach na d' loch sail, Iteach ballabhreac's earragheal tarr, Suibhlach luath, na chuaich mar bharc, Tigh'n on 'chuan gu tamh 'm bun d'allt Hurabh o, &c.
Loch-nan-dail le chladach 'seoin, Loch-nan-lach is glaise geoidh, Iasgach pailt air bhailc nan ob, 'S gasd 'an spors do sheoid dhol ann.
Hurabh o, &c.
Air gach dail tha mart le laogh, Anns gach glaic tha pailteas naoisg, Air gach stacan, coileach fraoich 'Mach na d' aonach sgaoth chearc donn.
Hurabh o, &c.
Coill Aigeascaig gu ceutach cluth, 'S am beil legion coileach-dubh, Sud an doire 'n goir iad moch, Seinn am puirt le'm bus-ghuib chrom, Hurabh o, &c.
Cuag chuldonn anns gach ait'
Seinn guggug an dluths 'nam barr, Breacaidh-beith 'sa ghlas charn, Snathadag is dreadhan donn, Hurabh o, &c.
Smudan, smeorach, creothar, dnag, Sud an ceol is boidhche sgread; 'S bru-dearg ruiteach gearradh fead, Thuas air creagan os an cionn.
Hurabh o, &c.
Leam a b'ait bhi seal le'm ghaol, G-eisdeachd cruitearan do chraobh; Gabhail beachd air obair shaor Nadair aonsgeulaich 's gach ball.
Hurabh o, &c.
SONG ON TOURNAIG.
Twice has the bright returning May Inspired me to poetic lay, Since Tournaig's hills first knew my tread And cast their shadows o'er my head.
Hurrah, the chorus let me raise!
The Corrie be my theme of praise, On whose brown ridge the heather grows, And where the healthful north wind blows.
Here nature glories in her pride; O'er heaven the clouds, all sunlit, glide; Like polished s.h.i.+eld the ocean glows, The babbling burn sings as it flows.
Hurrah, &c. &c.
Tournaig! thou home beloved by me!
With rich green crop and sloping lea, With fruitful fields and white-fleeced sheep Dotting afar each breezy steep.
Hurrah, &c. &c.
I ne'er can cease my praise of thee!
Here hill and strath and briny sea; There streams which from the mountains glide, Where pearls abound and otters hide.
Hurrah, &c. &c.
High is thy sh.o.r.e against the storm, Yet lined with sheltered coves and warm; Whilst sh.e.l.l-fish fill each rocky hole Where never ocean's waves can roll.
Hurrah, &c. &c.
And he who gazes in the deep May see the silvery salmon sweep, With graceful curve and stately turn, To seek his food below the burn.
Hurrah, &c. &c.
Or we can haste to Loch-nan-Dail, Where the brown trout will never fail; Whilst flocks of duck and grey goose soar From marshy haunts upon its sh.o.r.e.
Hurrah, &c. &c.
The s.h.a.ggy herd each meadow feeds, The snipe lies close within the reeds; Each step the heather-c.o.c.k may rouse, Loud warning his less wary spouse.
Hurrah, &c. &c.
Coille Aigeascaig,--shade from the heat!
Here is the blackc.o.c.k's sure retreat; Yonder they crow at early day, With bent bills crooning forth their lay.
Hurrah, &c. &c.