You can download this book in pdf format - Electric Scotland

—
ShiùbhlainnGleann-Laoich, 'usGleann-Conihan leat,
'S reidhìnn dh'am dheòin troimh Choiriche-Buidhe
leat.
Na hì ibh ò !
Fhir sin 'tha thall 'an Tir-a'-Gharbhlaich,
Shiubhlainn beann 'us gleann leat annioch ;
Bha mi uair bu tu mo shealgair
'S ghabhainn thu'n roghainn air rogha fir Alba,
Na hi ibh ò !
A Thearlaich òig, a Mhic Righ Seunias,
Chunna' mi tòir mhòr an dè ort,
ladsan gu sùbhach 's mis' gii deurach,
Uisge mo chinn 'cur dith air mo leiisinn,
Na hi ibh b !
James Hogg, " the Ettrick Shepherd," one of
our best Jacobite bards, also gives " The Lament
of Flora MacDonald," translated from the Gaelic,
and remarks that he got the original from his
friend, Neil Gow, who told him it was a translation
from the Gaelic so rude that he could not
publish it with the old air. Hogg versified it
anew, and improved upon it without altering one
sentiment. The following are a couple of stanzas
from it :
Far over yon hills of the heather so green,
And down by the Corrie that sings to the sea,
The bonnie young Flora sat sighing her lane,
The dew on her plaid, and the tear in her e'e ;
She looked at a boat with the breezes that swung
Away on the wave like a bird of the main.
And aye as it lessened she sighed and she sung,
" Farewell to the lad I shall ne'er see again.
Farewell to my hero, the gallant and young.
Farewell to the lad I shall ne'er see again.
" The moorcock that crows on the brow of Ben Connal
He knew o' his bed in a sweet mossy hame ;
The eagle that soars o'er the clifTs o' Clan-Ronald,
Unaw'd and unhunted, his eyrie can claim ;
The Solan can sleep on his shelf of the shore.
The cormorant roost on his rock of the sea.
there is ane whose hard fate I deplore,
But oh !
Nor house, ha', nor hame, in his country has he ;
The conflict is past, and our name is no more.
There's nought left but sorrow for Scotland and me."
This poet, who by the way, persists in putting
broad Scotch into West Highlanders' mouths,
and in calling Neil MacEachainn Flora Mac-
Donald's servant, has come nearer the uneducated
Highlanders of old method of pronouncing English
in " Prince Charles and Flora MacDonald's wel-
come to Skye," somewhat exaggerated :
" There are two penny maytens.
And three ponny maytens.
Come over the Minch,
And come over te main
Wit te wind for teir way,
And te corrie for teir hame,
Let us welcome tern pravely
Unto Skhee akain.
—
—
Come along, come along.
Wit your poatie and your song,
You two ponny maytens.
And tree ponny maytens.
For to-night it is tark,
And te red coat is gane.
And you're pravely welcome
To Skhee akain."
The above song was copied verbatim from the
mouth of Mrs Betty Cameron, from Lochaber, a
well-known character over a great part of the
Lowlands, especially for her great store of Jacobite
songs, and her attachment to Prince Charles
and the chiefs that sufiered in his cause, of whom
she never spoke without bursting into tears. She
said that the song was from the Gaelic, and James
Hogg thouglit it had been translated by herself.
No trace of the original now remains, which is
not at all surprising, as a great change came over
the whole Highlands shortly after the 'forty-five.
Many of the people emigrated, some from disgust,
others from compulsion. Those most implicated
in the rebellion would be the most likely to preserve
such a relic, and when these left their native
country the song probably left with them, and
probably perished on some foreign and inhospitable
shore. Several other poets have also sang
the praises of Flora MacDonald—Sir Walter Scott
and Professor Ayton in their works of fiction have
alluded to her in glowing terms. MacCodrnm,
the Uist poet, who never praised any woman,
sang in her favour, and John Campbell, the
Ledaig poet, wrote a beautiful Gaelic poem in
her honour of which the following is a free
translation :—
'Mid the pomp of huge London her heart was still
yearning
For her home in the corrie. the crag, and the glen ;
Though fair be the daughters of England, the fairest
And stateliest walks in the land of the Ben.
What poet may praise her! her virtues to number.
Would baffle the cunning of pencil and pen ;
Though fair be the casket, the jewel is fairer
The best of true hearts, for the best of good men.
She is comely and kind, and of graceful greeting,
Erect and well girt, as a lady should show.
And a heart with warm blood, and a pulse ever beating,
With loving reply te the high and the low.
On the occasion of her marriage another poet
sang :
A Fhionnagl\ail chaoimh chaoimhneil,
'S tu sgàthan gach maighdinn,
'S an reul-ii\il Iha toirt soillse
Dhaibh dh' oidhche 's a lò ;
'S oigh uasal air chinnte,
An ribhinn ghlan òg,
—