'S colgarra na feachd Dhiùc Uilleim
"Teachd mar thuil air Tir nam beann!
'Crasgadh Thatha, 'casgadh Theamhuill,
'Snaigheadh sìos le buillean treun'
Glacan beithe Coille-Chragaidh,
'Magadh air an cliù o chéin!
Ainmean caomh'! Ach dh' fhalbh an druidheachd!
Cluinn 'g an éigheach gill' an Roid,
Blar-an-Adholl! Dail-an-Spideil!
Feuch Dail-Chuinnidh! Agaidh-mhòr!
Gairidh druidt' le tòrr 'us daingnich,
Steud sinn suas 'n ar deann r'a taobh,
'Fuadachadh a chaoidh o 'lochan
Codal tosdach nan linn aosd'.
Bàideanach nan gaillionn fiadhaich,
Anns an lìonmhor liath-chlach mhòr,
'S carragh-cuimhne bhlàran fuilteach-
Uaigneach cha bhi 'cnuic ni's mò.
Ghluais sinn tosdachd chian nan àrd-bheann,
'Steudadh sìos an gleann le gaoir,
Air Srath-Spé 'us Ratamhurchuis
Fridhean àrd' nan giuthas aosd'.
'Mhuc 's an Torc* theich as 'n an deann-ruith!
Beinn ri beinn gu teann a' stri!
Sgòrr, 'us creag, 'us sliabh a' ruidhleadh
'S gann a "sheas Creag-Eileachaidh!"
'S a' Ghleann-mhòr, 'n Gleann-Feishidh uaigneach,
Suas air fad an cluaintean glas',
Cluinnear sgal an fheadain bhuaireant',
'S airde fuaim na 'n easan cas'.
Carbaid iaruinn ged is neònach,
'S neònaiche an lòd do shluaghSráidean Lunnuinn air an taomadh
Mach air raointean an Taoibh-Tuath!
Sow of Atholl and Boar of Badenoch, two contiguous mountains.
Cockneys, Frenchmen, swells, and tourists,
Motley-garbed and garish crew!
Belted pouches, knickerbockers,
Silken hose and patent shoe.
While from carriage-window gazing,
Eye-glassed damsels, yawning, drawl,
"Strange these names of yours-Braeriach,
Ben-Mac-Dhui, Cairntoul."
What to them are birk-tree fragrance,
Pine-wood scents, moss-myrtle balm!
What the burns down corries sounding,
Or the solemn mountain calm!
Point not them to Loch-an-Eilan,
Lochindorbh's grim island hold:
Tell them not wild tales of Comyn,
Or the Badenoch Wolf of old.
O Cairngoram! O Braeriach!
Roll ye blinding swathes of cloud
Down your crags, that these insult not
Your majestic foreheads proud.
On, still on-let drear Culloden
For clan-slogans hear this scream,
Shake, ye woods! by Beauly river,-
Start, thou beauty-haunted Dhruim!
Northward still the iron horses,
Naught may stay their destined path,
Till their snort, by Pentland surges,
Stun the cliffs of far Cape Wrath.
Must they pass, quite disappearing
From their glens, the ancient Gael?
In and in must Saxon struggle?
Southron, Cockney more prevail!
Clans long gone, and pibrochs going,
Shall the patriarchal tongue
From these mountains fade for ever,
With its names and memories hung?
Sas'naich, Frangaich, spailp, 's luchd-turuis,
Ann an uidheam do gach li!
Brigis fharsuinn, pòcan leathraich,
Brògan lainn'reach, 's osain shiod'!
'S anns 's gach uinneag carbaid, maighdean
'G ràdh, 's i 'sealltuinn suas gu dian:
"'S ainmean neònach Carn-an-t-sabhail,
Beinn-mac-duthaidh, 's am Bràigh'-ria'ch!"
'S beag an sgoinns' do'n bholtrach chùbhraidh 'Dh'éireas ùr o lus 's o chrann,
'Suillt a' ruith feadh ghleann gu fuaimneach, 'S tosdachd shòluimt' bhuan nam beann !
'S coma leò-san Loch-an-eilein,
Loch-nan-doirb, 's a dhaingneach liath,
'N Cuimeanach 'us 'euchdan gàbhaidh,
'S Faol-chu Bhaideanaich o chian.
O Chùirn-ghuirm! 'Us thus', Bhràigh'-riabhaich!
Tilgibh sìos mu'r creagan neòil,
Chum nach dean na daormuinn thruagha
Tarcuis air 'ur cruachan mòr'.
'Steudadh seach! Cluinneadh Cuil-fhodair,
'N àit' gairm-chogaidh Threubh, an fhuaims'; Criothnaicheadh gach coill' mu'n Mhan'chuinnDhruim, mu'n iadh gach àille, gluais-s'!
'Sior-dhol tuath, a chaoidh cha srianar
Na h-eich iaruinn 'n an steud dheirg,
Gus am bòdhrar le an srannail
Creagan geala Rudh'-na-Feirg'.
'N fheudar buileach do na Gàidheil
Triall o'n àrois 'measg nan gleann?
'Chuid 's a chuid an saltair Sas'naich
Tur fo'n casan Tir nam beann?
Fineachan a chean' air dibreadh,
Ceòl na pìob' 'dol as gu luath;
'M bàsaich tur á Tìr nan àrd-bheann
Gàilig àghmhor aosd' nam buadh?
Oh! you say, it little recketh,
Let the ancient manners go,
Heaven will work through their destroying
Some end greater than you know!
Be it so! but will Invention,
With her smooth mechanic arts,
Raise, when gone, the Highland warriors,
Bring again warm Highland hearts?
Nay! whate'er of good they herald,
Whereso comes that hideous roar,
The old charm is disenchanted,
The old Highlands are no more!
Yet, I know, there lie, all lonely,
Still to feed thought's loftiest mood,
Countless glens, undesecrated,-
Many an awful solitude!
Many a burn in unknown corries.
Down dark linns the white foam flings,
Fringed with ruddy-berried rowans,
Fed from everlasting springs.
Ştill there sleep unnumbered lochans,
Craig-begirt mid deserts dumb,
Where no human road yet travels,
Never tourist's foot hath come!
Many a Scuir, like bald sea-eagle,
Scalped all white with boulder piles,
Stands against the sunset, eyeing
Ocean and the utmost Isles.
If e'en these should fail, I'll get me
To some rock roared round by seas,
There to drink calm nature's freedom,
Till they bridge the Hebrides!
[The above was written by Professor Shairp of St. Andrews, after travelling for the first time to Inverness by the Highland Railway, August, 1864.]
"'S coma," 'deir thu, "ged a rachadh
Na seann chleachdaidhean air cùl,
Bheir an Triath gu buil tre 'n sgrios-san
Criochan ris nach 'eil do dhùil!"
Feudaidh sin 'bhi; ach 'n toir Innleachd,
Le a h-ealdhain mhìn 's a snas,
Treun-laoich cholgarra nan àrd-bheann,
No 'n seann chàirdeas ris air ais?
Ni h-eadh: ach dh' aindeòin am buannachd
Far an d' thig an cruaidh-ghaoir bhreun,
Dh' fhalbh gu tur a' bhuaidh 's an druidheachd,
'S cha bhi 'Ghàidh'ltachd chaoidh i féin!
Ach tha fathast glacan bruachach
'Dhùisgeas annam smuaintean àrd',
'S glinn gun àireamh nach do thruailleadh,
'S iomadh dithreabh uamhalt fhàs;
Iomadh allt 'an coirean uaigneach,
Bho sheann fhuarain 'g éiridh suas,
"Taomadh 'n linnean dorch' an uisge,
'S caorann ruiteach air gach bruaich;
Iomadh loch, le creagan cuairticht',
"Tàmh gun bhruaillean 'measg nam beann,
Air nach d'thàinig slighe duine,
No fear-turuis fathast teann;
Iomadh sgòrr, mar iolair mhara,
Suas fa chomhair laidhe gréin', Geal-cheannach le stùchdan cruachach, 'Beachdach' 'chuain 's nan Eilean céin.
Fàilnicheadh iad sin, 'us théid mi
Gu creig éigin 'measg nan stuadh, 'Mhealtuinn lan-shaors', gus an crochar Drochaidean os-cionn a' chuain!
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