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  Bha na cinn-fheadhna a’ misneachadh nam bàrd gus an dàin a ghleidheadh air chuimhne le bhi toirt duais do’n neach bu mhò a dh’aithriseadh dhiubh. Mar sin bhiodh na bàird a’ strì ri chèile a dh’fheuchainn cò dhiubh bu mhò a ghleidheadh air chuimhne de na Dànaibh; agus bhiodh amannan suidhichte aca anns am biodh iad ’gan aithris air cuideachd de na cinn-fheadhna. Air an dòigh so bha na Dàin air an cumail air chuimhne, agus leis an tlachd a bha na Gàidheil a’ gabhail annta cha b’fhurasta leo’ an leigeil air dio-chuimhne. A thuilleadh air so faodar a thoirt fainear gu’m bheil a’ chuimhne mòran na’s treise aig an dream sin nach urrainn leughadh no sgrìobhadh idir, na tha i aig an dream sin a tha ag earbsadh ris na treosdain sin gu an cuideachadh. Agus an uair nach robh na bàird a’ dèanamh nì sam bith eile fad làithean am beatha ach a’ seinn nan Dàn so cha b’urrainn iad an leigeil air chall. Tha so a’ dearbhadh mar an ceudna gur h-i a’ Ghàidhlig a labhair luchd-àitich na tìre aig an àm ud, oir cha ghabhadh iad gleidheadh air chuimhne ach ann an cainnt an t-sluaigh am measg an do chuireadh iad ri chèile o thoiseach.

  POETRY

  (30 October 1903)

  Resurrection of the Highlands

  “The Gaels will rise again,

  They will not be in torment anymore,”

  Bereft under the feet of mercenaries,

  As weak powerless wretches;

  People will traverse the hills,

  And the straths of many glens;

  Women and children will be seen

  Revelling in dance and music.

  The sheep and deer will flee

  When they hear the shouts of the people,

  They will run and not look behind them

  As they all take flight;

  The big shepherds of the flocks

  Will gape in confusion;

  And the lazy inept foresters

  Will leap quickly over the stacks.

  The land is long empty

  With no one to cultivate it;

  The people were driven away

  And banished overseas;

  White hornless sheep

  Are on the straths and hills,

  And lambs are romping and jumping

  On the knoll where children were happy.

  Where the gospel of grace

  Was sung to us in fellowship,

  As people gathered at prayer-time

  Together on the Sabbath,

  You can only hear the hollering of deer

  As they bellow on every slope and hill,

  And the barking of dogs on the moor

  Where psalms used to be sung.

  The wheels of providence will go round,

  The top end will be down,

  And the bottom side will be raised

  By the eternal justice of the Trinity.

  The old sites will be rebuilt,

  The places abandoned long ago,

  Villages deserted and empty

  That are now full of heather and birds.

  Friends of the Gaels are happy

  Wherever they might be,

  To seek an opportunity for the people

  North and south without delay,

  Hoping they will be given back

  The land they themselves lost

  When they were thanklessly evicted

  With cruelty and bitter oppression.

  All the children of the Gaels

  Will gather shoulder to shoulder,

  As happened in days of yore

  When brave Calgacus and the heroes

  Fought the fierce Agricola

  And the might of the Roman army

  In a bloody and bitter conflict

  On the slopes of Mons Graupius.

  Gaels across in America

  And the children who succeeded them,

  Help them at this time,

  As friends who will not deceive or abandon;

  This will raise their courage from the ground,

  And they will strive together,

  In order to get back

  Every right that they had of old.

  May the distinguished Gladstone be hale and hearty

  He who is always a friend of the peasantry,

  The noble gentleman who triumphed

  Because of his prudence without vanity;

  May gracious Providence grant him

  A long life with good health,

  To get justice for others

  By statute of the new Parliament.

  A hundred welcomes to the talented hero

  At the confluence of the waters at Ness,

  Who assembled a new historical account;

  We wish him success

  In his effort to help the people

  Against the barbaric grandees

  Who plundered them with violence,

  Without innate empathy or sympathy.

  God owns the land and what it holds

  And he put the offspring of Adam there;,

  He prepared this universe for them

  As a territory of worth and abundance;

  He did not dictate that it be dominated by deer,

  Or left to cattle and birds,

  But he put everything under the sun

  Under the rule of the children of Eve, by right.

  Who gave the miserable prerogative

  To high and mighty noblemen

  To deprive the people of land

  And banish them across the ocean without compassion?

  Would it not be better to see the glens

  Full of women, with children by the hand,

  Than dumb wild animals

  Wandering in the moor with their brood?

  Persecution by the Landlords

  Have you heard the story?

  Hey! Ho! The landlords!

  The bitter plunderers vanished,

  Hey! Ho! The landlords!

  The deer and their foresters left,

  The sheep will follow,

  The people will get the land ready,

  They will be happy and hearty there.

  These are the men who did the damage,

  Hey! Ho! The landlords!

  They annihilated poor, feeble people,

  Hey! Ho! The landlords!

  They harassed women and children,

  The houses went ablaze above them,

  As severe snow and frost

  Made them irascible and tremulous.

  These were men without compassion,

  Hey! Ho! The landlords!

  They were nasty to the people,

  Hey! Ho! The landlords!

  The rent was increased,

  Poverty and misery came,

  It left their complexion emaciated and grey,

  Their skin had no colour.

  With violence they acquired,

  Hey! Ho! The landlords!

  Claim to land that was not theirs,

  Hey! Ho! The landlords!

  They were greedy for the gold,

  They grabbed property galore;

  They banished every person,

  Whom they saw, young and old.

  In dark and dreary Sutherland,

  Hey! Ho! The landlords!

  Harsh work was done,

  Hey! Ho! The landlords!

  There was no concern for the people,

  But to deport them across the ocean

  To the wide, endless forests,

  In North America.

  The Crofters’ Journey

  We will take the high road,

  We will take the high road,

  We will take the high road,

  Whether others approve
or not.

  Whatever foolish old fogeys may think,

  Those who put their trust in wealth,

  With their flocks on every plain,

  Hornless white sheep.

  Every valley and level meadow

  Were put under goats and cattle,

  Or a sanctuary for deer

  On the high hills.

  They trampled remorselessly underfoot

  Poor, bereft, miserable people,

  And ejected them

  With their harsh and heartless edict.

  Things were never like this

  With our ancestors of old,

  When we used to travel

  Through the hills and glens.

  It is indeed sad to relate

  How the land changed;

  There are no gracious, smart youths

  In the valleys where they used to be.

  But improvement will come quickly,

  The wheel will be turned,

  People will get justice,

  And the elite will get notice of removal,

  When Gladstone takes control

  As leader of the government,

  Everything will start afresh

  And the situation will be different.

  (13 November 1904)

  Upper Barney’s River

  Come up with me to the wood

  On the Brae of Barney’s River;

  Where the wood-strawberry grows,

  And nuts richly full.

  The tall and stately moose

  Will wander there gracefully,

  And the droning squirrel

  Will be all over its groves.

  There will be pure fresh water

  In the healthy springs,

  And clean fresh air

  Among the flowers and branches.

  We will stroll around the hills,

  Around the dells and glens,

  And we will be elated and jolly,

  With all the delights that we see.

  In the turbulent winter

  The wind will come with a piercing whistle;

  There will be a raucous sound among the trees

  Under the rush of the storm.

  There will be heavy snow in every valley

  And deep snowdrifts at every door;

  But we will have nourishment and warmth,

  And we will be convivial and content.

  The birds will come with their melodies

  When spring begins,

  Winter will be behind us,

  And the dreariness of the storm.

  Every meadow and pasture

  Will be green with grass and beautiful,

  And every creature will be joyful

  As the warmth returns to them.

  Summer will come round

  And give colour to the land;

  The mayflowers will bloom,

  And the white daisies.

  At glorious Loch Brora,

  In every hill and glen,

  We will be happy every day

  If there is good health around our hearth.

  (30 October 1903)

  I Am Stricken with Grief

  (A young woman’s lament for her lover in Pictou)

  I gave love, love, love,

  I gave love to the fair one,

  I gave love to you my dear,

  Alas, I cannot be healed.

  I am stricken with grief,

  And alone at this time;

  The cause of my sorrow is painful,

  My MacDonald has died.

  I would travel with you worldwide,

  Leaving my loved ones behind;

  If you were beside me

  I would be carefree with joy.

  I would travel with you on sea and land

  Around the distant Indies;

  If you were beside me

  I would not feel grief or loss.

  But now that you have passed away

  I will be tearful for ever;

  Sadly, heavy on the grass

  Will my step be every day.

  Though I stand at your grave,

  The place is sad and desolate;

  Our tryst can only be depressing,

  Since you are in the cold embrace of death.

  Girls with locks of brown hair,

  Who live around these knolls,

  Please mourn with me,

  For my loved one is not alive.

  Please have compassion for me,

  Since I am sapped with sorrow,

  Like the tawny owl

  Wailing in the woods.

  Girls of the Blue Mountain,

  I am not a cause of envy,

  Since you cannot see the man I love

  Beside me at the fair.

  When I am asleep

  I dream incessantly

  Of the gentle young man

  Who was more worthy than others.

  I put on mourning garments,

  Though wearing them was strange;

  I am deeply melancholy,

  But others are unaware of that.

  I am wringing my hands,

  Being wounded and in pain,

  Since I cannot be married

  To the young man that I loved.

  Lovely Mary

  (Dr. Blair composed this song in Iona, Scotland, in July 1851, when he returned from Canada to marry Mary MacLean)

  Ho! My lovely Mary,

  You are my winsome Mary,

  Ho! My lovely Mary,

  You are my sweet Mary,

  Ho! My lovely Mary,

  You are my handsome Mary.

  Beautiful, kind Mary,

  You are my chosen one.

  When I go to live

  In the big forest,

  I will be happy, merry,

  High-spirited enough.

  If Mary is with me

  Weeping and sorrow will vanish;

  The weather will not take long

  To get better for us.

  Come with me to the backwoods,

  Leave your own people;

  The land of your birth and upbringing,

  Leave it behind you.

  Though it would be hard for you

  To separate from all of them,

  Do not be dejected

  About crossing the ocean with me.

  Come with me without delay,

  Leave your dear mother,

  Your sister and your brother,

  And all your beloved friends;

  And come over with me

  To America of the trees,

  A large and splendid country,

  Even if it has no heather.

  It’s a pity, Mary,

  That you weren’t with me in the outback,

  Among the dense forests

  In the vast country.

  I would not be sad or depressed

  Or getting weary;

  If you were beside me

  I would always be in good health.

  But if you do not come with me

  I will be mournful and melancholy;

  I will have no humour or pleasure,

  I will be in physical agony;

  I will never sing a song,

  Ditty, music or tune;

  Your love will make me bitter

  If you do not go with me.

  (13 November 1903)

  Wedding Song

  (On the first day of August 1882 Dr. Blair conducted a marriage service and wrote this song as if it were composed by the bridegroom. The groom was the Rev. Alexander Maclean S
inclair. He and Blair were close friends.)

  The fellowship, fellowship,

  The fellowship has gone;

  The partnership has split,

  Only a new one will suffice.

  A fond farewell to my mother,

  Who gave me love from the start;

  She reared me when young,

  As a baby on her knee.

  I am now leaving her

  For my beloved Mary,

  The warm-eyed young lady

  Who enticed me with affection.

  The genteel and beautiful maiden,

  I gave her love anew;

  She is my choice forever,

  I will put the others behind me.

  She will be with me everywhere,

  For she is all I can see;

  Nothing but death will separate us,

  That is my hope at this time.

  As is our desire, Mr. Blair

  Will join us together,

  According to the custom of the place

  And the decree of the presbytery.

  When I get her by the hand

  I will rejoice;

  There will be no one in the place

  Who will be as gratified as I will be.

  She will be my beloved wife

  During my days on earth,

  On my journey through the wilderness

  To God’s Paradise.

  It is my sincerest wish

  That she will be safe forever,

  In the care of the almighty God

  Who gave us love that will never cease.

  (5 July 1901)

  The Believers’ Pilgrimage

  We will take the high road,

  We will take the high road,

  We will take the high road,

  Whether Satan likes it or not.

  Whether the rest of the world likes it or not,

  Whether the rest of the world likes it or not,

  Whether the rest of the world likes it or not,

  The lank old men full of arrogance.

  We will travel through the Red Sea,

  We will recover from every torment,

  Even if we have our ups and downs,