Fògradh, Fàisneachd, Filidheachd Page 22
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)