Fògradh, Fàisneachd, Filidheachd Read online

  During our journey in the wilderness.

  Even if the Egyptians were pursuing us,

  To bring us again under submission,

  There will be no hesitation in our step,

  We will never suffer distress.

  We will therefore continue our pilgrimage

  Until we reach the mountain

  Where the sun never sets,

  Where we will not suffer pain or death.

  We will climb to the top of Mount Zion,

  Where we will enjoy lasting happiness;

  We will sing a song of triumph

  Despite the multitude of enemies.

  We will travel in the name of the Lord;

  We will fight and strive

  Until we reach the land

  Where there is everlasting peace.

  Though diabolical fiends are about

  To destroy us with treachery,

  We will be secure at the end,

  Despite Satan’s evil machinations.

  Niagara Falls

  (This is Duncan Blair’s best-known poem. He wrote it in Upper Canada, or Ontario, in 1848. It was first published in the magazine An Gàidheal in 1871and subsequently in three books: Clàrsach na Coille (1886); Bàrdachd Gàidhlig (1918); and Caran an t-Saoghail (2003). There are some variations in the vocabulary of the poem in the different sources. There were two lines and several words in the book editions that did not appear in Mac-Talla or An Gàidheal, but since they were in the books we have included them here. The rest of the poem is based on the Mac-Talla version of October 31, 1896.)

  Almighty Lord who created the elements,

  and placed the universe

  with your strong and powerful arm

  on its foundation;

  Glorious is the work you did

  on famous Niagara,

  the large waterfall that you formed

  aeons ago.

  That is the wonderful, majestic waterfall,

  the great, raging cascade,

  the misty, cloudy, grey-dark rapids

  with fearful roaring.

  The loud, noisy, thundering cataract,

  leaping in bursts

  over the rim of the ancient rocks

  in white torrents.

  Shimmering, sparkling, snow-white,

  of bright appearance,

  tumbling from the top to the bottom

  with furious rage;

  A green current breaking around its surface,

  running in surges

  over the escarpment of the high cliffs

  with endless noise;

  With blustery buffeting falling

  into a deep gulley,

  to dark blue murky pools

  boiling like a cauldron.

  The abyss is turned from the bottom

  with great force,

  and the grey water rushes to the surface

  with the speed of an arrow.

  The pool is stirred and churned

  into turmoil,

  as it opens its boisterous bosom

  to the skies.

  It was a strange sight to see

  grey-blue fog

  rising into the sky

  on a sunny day;

  When you would look from a distance

  at the phenomenon,

  you would say it was a steamship

  letting off smoke.

  But when you would come near it,

  to have a close look at it,

  the white gushing spindrift would soak you

  with drops of dew;

  And you would see the rainbow

  with its beautiful colours,

  though there would be calm dry weather

  in the skies.

  The spray falling around you

  on the meadow,

  and the field fresh and green,

  as you would wish it;

  The trees sprouting lush branches

  and fresh green flora

  growing by the power of the sun

  with ease under that dew.

  The gardens that are around you

  do not need water;

  they do not know drought

  in scorching weather.

  They do not understand what it means

  to be without moisture,

  though each place around them should shrink

  to the hardness of a stone.

  The sky without shortage or thrift

  pours its powers

  into the boundless reserve of the river,

  sumptuously and lavishly.

  That made the face of that land,

  by night and by day,

  fresh, green-grassed, attractive,

  growing healthily.

  When you would descend into the pool

  to the edge of the water,

  the terrible rumbling would deafen

  your ears completely.

  When you would then look around you

  at the rapids,

  it would make your head dizzy

  as you become confused.

  And when you would come close to

  the grey-green blanket

  hanging against the face of the rock,

  you would have fear and dread.

  When the wind would blow strongly,

  with the rain showers

  blowing wildly in your face

  wherever you would run for cover;

  Like a stormy day in January

  with wind and rain

  that would wet you in the twinkling of an eye

  and soak you thoroughly.

  Like a blast from the bellows

  of an iron furnace

  is that shrill hard wind

  that comes with mighty force

  Between the rock and the cataract

  that falls downwards;

  the covering on your head

  will scarcely stay there.

  You would think that a storm had arisen

  in the heavens,

  though the weather stays as calm as it was,

  bright and sunny.*

  But I cannot relate one third

  of every wonder

  that is to be seen on that cascade,

  the famous waterfall;

  A majestic and awe-inspiring spectacle*

  it was, without doubt;

  if there are wonders in the world

  it is one of them.

  Thousands of tons every minute

  fall down together

  over the rock’s edge to the whirlpool

  in one great spate.

  There are almost eight score feet

  in that leap,

  from the top to the base of the rock

  standing vertical.

  And the rock high at its crest

  is half-round in shape,

  like the shoe of a coach-horse

  or half of a circle.

  The water pouring in splashes

  a great distance

  from the base of the rock in the pool,

  twenty yards from it.

  You would hear its murmur seven miles

  away from it,

  like thunder in the skies

  roaring powerfully.

  And when you stood close to it

  its clamour was like

  a thousand wagons on a causeway

  going past at high speed.

  The air around you would shake

  with the blasts

  that the teeming water keeps throwing

  on it from the summit.

&n
bsp; The heavy earth trembles gently

  under the soles of your feet,

  as one notices on a stormy day

  a house being shaken.

  Even if I had a thousand tongues in my mouth

  I could not describe

  all the wonders of that waterfall;

  therefore I will finish.

  *Two lines and three words that were not in the Mac-Talla version.

  BARDACHD

  (30 Dàmhair 1903)

  Aiseirigh na Gaidhealtachd

  “Togaidh na Gàidheil an ceann,

  Cha bhi iad am fang na ’s mò,”

  Rùisgte fo chasaibh luchd sannt,

  Na ’n truaghanaibh fann gun treòir;

  Bidh daoin’ a’ siubhal nam beann,

  Air srathaibh nan gleann gu leòir;

  Chithear ann mnathan is clann

  A’ mireadh le dannsa ’s ceòl.

  Teichidh na caoirich ’s na fèidh

  Nuair chluinneas iad èibh an t-sluaigh,

  Ruithidh ’s cha seall iad ’nan dèidh

  ’S iad uile gu lèir ’nan ruaig;

  Theid cìobairean mòra nan treud

  Nam breislich a’ spleuchdadh suas;

  ’S forsairean luinnseach, gun fheum,

  Na ’n deannaibh a’ leum nan cruach.

  Tha fearann fada na thàmh

  Gun duine gu àiteach ann;

  Chuireadh an sluagh às an àit’

  Air fògradh thar sàile thall;

  Tha caoirich mhaol-cheannach bhàn

  Air srathaibh is àird nam beann,

  Is uain a’ mireadh ’s a’ leum

  Mu ’n tulaich ’s am b’èibhinn clann.

  Far an robh soisgeul nan gràs

  Ga sheirm ann an càirdeas dhuinn,

  Pobull a’ tional gach tràth

  Air leithibh na Sàbaid cruinn,

  Cha chluinnear ach langanaich fhiadh

  A’ bùirich air sliabh ’s air beinn,

  ’S comhartaich chon air an leirg

  ’S an àit’ an robh sailm ’gan seinn.

  Theid cuibhlean Freasdail mun cuairt,

  Bidh ’n taobh a tha ’n uachdar shìos,

  Is èiridh an t-iochdar suas

  Le ceartas bith-bhuan an Triath.

  Togar na làraichean aosd’,

  Na h-ionadan sgaoilt o chian,

  Bailtean tha fàsail is faoin

  ’S tha nise làn fraoich is ian.

  Càirdean nan Gàidheal le fonn

  Tha nis air am bonn ’s gach àit,

  Cothrom gu fhaotainn do’n t-sluagh

  An deas agus tuath gun dàil,

  Le rùn gun aisigear dhaibh

  Am fearann a chaill iad fèin

  Nuair dh’fhògradh mach iad gun taing

  Le h-ain-iochd is ainneart geur.

  Theid Clanna nan Gàidheal gu lèir

  An guaillibh a chèile cruinn,

  Mar anns na làithibh o chèin

  Rinn Calgach, an treun, ’s na suinn

  A chog ri Aighriochol garg

  ’S ri cumhachd armachd na Ròimh

  Le còmhrag fuileachdach searbh

  Aig slios a’ Gharbh-mhonaidh mhòir.

  Gàidheil Aimeireaga thall

  ’S a’ chlann a thàinig ’nan dèidh,

  Cuidichibh leotha san àm,

  Mar chàirdibh nach meall ’s nach trèig;

  Togaidh so ’m misneach o’n làr,

  Is nì iad co-spàirn le chèil’,

  A chum gum faigh iad air ais

  Gach còir a bha aca bho chèin.

  Slàn gu robh Gladstone an àigh

  A’s caraid a ghnàth do’n Tuath,

  An t-uasal ainmeil thug bàrr

  Le ghliocas gu h-àrd gun uaill;

  Deònaicheadh Freasdal nan gràs

  Mòr aois dha le slàinte bhuain,

  Gu ceartas fhaotainn do chàch

  Le reachd na Pàrlamaid nuaidh.

  Ceud fàilte air gaisgeach nam buadh

  An inbhear nan stuadh aig Neis,

  A thionnsgail Sgeuladair nuadh;

  Ar dùrachd-ne buaidh bhi leis

  Na oidhirp a chobhair an t-sluaigh

  An aghaidh nan uaibhreach borb,

  A chreach iad le foireigin chruaidh

  Gun chàirdeas, gun truas nam bolg.

  ’S le Dia an talamh ’s a làn

  Is chuir e sliochd Adhaimh ann,

  Dh’ullaich e ’n Cruinne so dhaibh

  Mar oighreachd dhiongail nach gann;

  Cha d’ àithn e chur fo na fèidh,

  No fhàgail aig sprèidh is eòin,

  Ach chuir e gach nì fo ’n ghrèin

  Fo riaghladh sliochd Eubh’ le còir.

  Cò a thug comas na truaigh’

  Do dhaoinibh tha uasal àrd

  Fearann a thabhairt o’n t-sluagh

  ’S am fògradh thar chuan gun bhàigh?

  Nach b’fheàrr bhi faicinn nan gleann

  Làn bhan, agus clann ’nan làimh,

  Na brùidean fiadhaich gun chèill

  A’ siubhal an t-slèibh le ’n àl?

  Ruaig nan Tighearnan

  An cuala sibh a nis an sgeul,

  Haoi! Hò! Na tighearnan!

  Theich na creachadairean geur,

  Haoi! Hò! Na tighearnan!

  Dh’fhalbh na forsairean ’s na fèidh,

  Thèid na caoirich às an dèidh,

  Gheibh an sluagh am fearann rèidh,

  Bidh iad èibhinn, cridheil ann.

  Sud na fir a rinn an call,

  Haoi! Hò! Na tighearnan!

  Chreach iad daoine bochda, fann,

  Haoi! Hò! Na tighearnan!

  Chlaoidh iad mnathan agus clann,

  Loisg na taighean os an ceann,

  Ged bhiodh sneachda ’s reothadh teann

  A’ cur greann is crith orra.

  Sud na daoine bha gun truas,

  Haoi! Hò! Na tighearnan!

  Bha neo-bhàigheil ris an tuath,

  Haoi! Hò! Na tighearnan!

  Chaidh am màl a thogail suas,

  Thàinig bochdainn agus truaigh,

  Dh’fhàg sin tana, glas, an gruaidh,

  Cha robh snuadh sam bith orra.

  Leis an ainneart fhuair iad còir,

  Haoi! Hò! Na tighearnan!

  Air an oighreachd nach bu leò,

  Haoi! Hò! Na tighearnan!

  Tha iad sanntach air an òr,

  Ghlac iad fearann pailt gu leòr;

  Dh’fhuadaich iad gach duine beò,

  Sean is òg mar chitheadh iad.

  Ann an Cataibh dubh gun tuar,

  Haoi! Hò! Na tighearnan!

  Rinneadh obair a bha cruaidh,

  Haoi! Hò! Na tighearnan!

  Cha robh iochd ann ris an t-sluagh,

  Ach am fògradh thar a’ chuain

  Gus na coilltibh farsainn, buan,

  An ceann tuath Aimeireaga.

  Triall Nan Croitearan

  Gabhaidh sinne ’n rathad mòr,

  Gabhaidh sinne ’n rathad mòr,

  Gabhaidh sinne ’n rathad mòr,

  Olc air mhath le càch e.

  Olc air mhath le bodaich bhaoth,

  Bhios ag earbsa às am maoin,

  Le ’n cuid threudan air gach raon,

  Caoirich mhaola bhàna.

  Chaidh gach gleann is àilean rèidh

  Chur fo mheanbh-chrodh agus sprèidh,

  No mar àros aig na fèidh

  Air na slèibhtibh àrda.

  Shaltair iad fo ’n cois gun truas

  Daoine bochda,
falamh, truagh,

  Agus dh’fhògair iad an sluagh

  Le ’n lagh cruaidh, neo-bhàigheil.

  Cha robh cùisean mar so riamh

  Aig ar n-athraichibh bho chian,

  Nuair a b’àbhaist dhaibh bhi triall

  Feadh nan sliabh ’s nam fàsach.

  ’S bochd ri aithris e gu fìor,

  Thàinig caochladh air an tìr,

  Chan eil òigridh loinneil ghrinn

  Anns na glinn mar b’àbhaist.

  Ach thig leasachadh gu luath,

  Theid a’ chuibhle chur mu ’n cuairt,

  Nithear ceartas ris an t-sluagh,

  ’S gheibh na h-uaibhrich bàirlinn.

  Nuair thig Gladstone air an stiùir

  Anns an riaghladh mar cheann-iùil,

  Tòisichidh gach nì às ùr,

  Is cha bhi chùis mar bhà i.

  (13 Samhain 1904)

  Braigh’ Abhainn Bharnaidh

  Thig an àird’ leam gu Bràigh’

  Abhainn Bhàrnaidh do ’n choille;

  Far am fàs an subh làir,

  ’S cnothan làna gun ghainne.

  An lòn* àrd bidh na uaill

  Gabhail cuairt ann gu loinneil,

  ’S bidh an fheòrag le srann

  Null ’s a nall feadh a dhoirean.

  Gheibhear fìor-uisg’ nach truaill

  Anns na fuaranaibh fallain,

  Agus àile glan, ùr

  Feadh nam flùr is a’ bharraich.

  Bheir sinn sgrìob feadh nan stac,

  Feadh nan glac is nan gleannan,

  ’S bidh sinn sòlasach, ait,

  Leis gach taitneas nar sealladh.

  Anns a’ gheamhradh neo-chaoin

  Thig a ghaoth le fead ghoineant’,

  ’S bidh cruaidh ghaoir feadh nan craobh,

  ’S iad fo shraonadh na doininn.

  Bidh sneachd trom air gach gleann,

  ’S cathadh teann mu gach doras ;

  Ach bidh lòn againn ’s blàths,

  ’S bidh sinn mànranach, sona.

  Thig na h-eòin le ’n ceòl réidh,

  Nuair a dh’ éireas an t-earrach,

  Theid an geamhradh air chùl

  Agus dùdlachd na gaillinn.

  Bidh gach àilein is cluain

  Sealltainn uain›-fheurach, maiseach,

  ’S bidh gach creutair fo àgh

  Is am blàths tigh’nn air ais uc’.

  Thig an samhradh mu ’n cuairt

  Chuireas snuadh air an fhearann ;

  Cinnidh blàthan a Mhàigh†

  Agus neòineanan geala.

  Aig Loch Bhrùra an àigh,

  Air gach àird agus bealach,

  Bidh sinn aoibhneach gach là,

  Ma bhios slàinte m’ ar teallach.

  *Elk, moose. †Mayflowers.

  (30 Dàmhair 1903)

  Och is Mise tha fo Leòn

  (Tuireadh nighinn airson a leannain ann an tìr Phictou)