Part 17

Bold as a prince is John[209] in each gathering, ’Twere long to sing his race’s glory; Of this there is no doubt ’mong men, That he is the first of the race of kings. Mac Gregor of the bravest deeds, Is the boldest chief in any land; Between his gold and Saxons’ spoil, Well may he live in ease and peace. Choice for courage of the Grecian Gael, Whose meed of praise shall ne’er decay, Abounding in charity and love, Known in the lands of the race of kings.[210] White-toothed falcon of the three glens,[211] With whom we read the bravest deeds, The boldest arm ’midst fight of clans, Best of the chiefs from the race of kings. When on Mac Phadrick of ruddy cheeks, Wrath in battle’s hour awaked, The men who with him share the fight Are never safe amidst its blows. Grandson to Malcom of bright eyes, Whom none could leave but felt their loss, The generous, gentle, shapely youth, The readiest hand when aught’s to do. The race of Gregor stand round John, Not as a weak one is their blow; The famous race without a fault, Round him like a fence they stand. Clan Gregor who show no fear, Even when with the king they strive, Though brave Gael may be the foe, That they count of little weight. Gael or Saxon are the same, To these brave men of kingly race, Sons of Gregor bold in fight, Bend not before the fiercest foe. Prince[212] of the host of generous men, To Gregor of golden bridles, heir, Pity the men whom you may spoil, Worse for them who you pursue. Chief of Glen Lyon of the blades, Shield and benefactor of the Church, His arm like Oscar’s in the fight, To whom in all things he is like. Kindness mantles on his red cheek, Thy praise he justly wins, ungrudged; Benevolence when to men he shows, Horses and gold he freely gives. Mac Gregor of the noble race, No wonder though bards should fill thy court; To his white breast there is no match, But he so famous ’mong the Feinn. Three fair watches him surround, Never as captives were his men; His arm in battle’s struggle strong, Well did he love to hunt the deer. In mien and manners he was like The king who ruled amongst the Feinn. Mac Gregor of the spoils, his fortune such That choicest men do covet it. Good and gentle is his blue eye, He’s like Mac Cumhail of liberal horn, Like when giving us his gold, Like when bestowing gifts on bards, Like in wooing or in hunt, To the Cu Caird[213] among the Feinn. Fortune attends the race of kings, Their fame and wisdom both are great, Their bounty, prudence, charity, Are knit to them, the race of kings, Wine and wax and honey, These, with the stag-hunt, their delight. Famous the actions of John’s clan, Like to the sons of the Fenian king; John himself was like to Finn, First and chief ’mongst all his men. Though many sought to have Finn’s power, ’Mongst those who fought against the Feinn, On Patrick’s son fortune attends, His enemies he has overcome. Mac Gregor who destroys is he, Bountiful friend of Church and bards. Of handsome form, of women loved, He of Glenstray of generous men. Easy ’tis to speak of John, His praise to raise loud in the song, Giving his horses and his gold, Just as a king should freely give. King of Heaven, Mary virgin, Keep me as I should be kept; To the great city fearless me bring Where dwells the Father of the king. Bold.

* * * * *

Fond[214] are men of being high-born, Whatever their wealth may be; Great scorn of the illegitimate, Who seek to approach the king. Hear me, though ye may mock, Ye race of commons and gentles, The number of famous chiefs, Who go to make up my fame. I’m of the blood of clan Dougal, A race of unquestioned right; But brave and bold though they be, ’Tis not of them I’ve my all. My kinsman is Mac Chailein, Who freely gives gold to the bards; Why should I be sorrowful, My native place is in Earla.[215] My native place is in Earla, Clan Donald lie off to the west; My dwelling is with clan Gillean, The men who in battle can fight. Mac Phee of Colonsay, No stranger is he to my race, And Mac Niel of Barray, Of pure and gentle descent. Mac Nee I also remember, And also the powerful Mac Sween, Clan Leod and clan Ranald, Chiefs from whom I descend. Cattanachs and Mac Intoshes, They too are among my friends; The Camerons and clan Gregor, The men from Breadalbane who come. Stewarts, though widely they be Scattered throughout the whole earth, Old, certain, swift-footed the tale, That of them was my father’s grandmother. In Balquhidder and Breadalbane, My friends are numerous found; Kindly men in bringing aid, These are my kindred true. Clan Lauchlan and clan Lamond, Clan Neil, who learn feats of war; Friends of mine are clan Tavish, ’Midst their green hills and their braes. These little vigorous men, Who dwell in the straths of the land, I visit M’Dougal of Craignish, I’ve a friend besides in Mac Ivor. Gillean who has come from Mull, Woman from the race of mariners, Never did compass the earth, The man whom she did not attract. Faithful and steadfast friend, Chief who was kind to Maol Donich, In the liking which this man has, No man more favour could get. Fond.

[208] This poet was probably a M’Gregor.

[209] In the Dean’s Obits, as already quoted, we find that, in 1519, died John Dow M’Patrick M’Gregor of Glenstray, at Stronmelochan. He was apparently the subject of this laudatory ode. He is called grandson of Malcolm. Accordingly, we find among the Dean’s Obits, that Malcolm M’Gregor, son and heir to John M’Gregor of Glenstray, died in 1498.

[210] The original is “sliochd an row,” or “an rudha.” It is translated as if the word were “rìghe,” _kings_; but the Editor is in doubt if this be the word meant.

[211] The M’Gregor’s glens were Glenurchay, Glendochart, and Glenlyon.

[212] “Brainean,” the word here translated _prince_, is the ancient Gaelic form of the Welsh “Brenhin,” _a king_. The word is now obsolete in the Highlands.

[213] “Cu ceaird,” _The artificer’s dog_, is an old name for Cuchullin. It is said in Ireland to have originated in Cuchullin having killed the watch-dog of Cullin, artificer to King Cormac; whereupon he undertook to watch himself, and hence obtained the name of Cullin’s dog, or Cuchullin, also “Cu ceaird.”

[214] This is a curious fragment, and is of interest from the references in it to the Highland clans. The writer, who towards the close gives his name as Maoldomhnaich, _Servus Domini_, was apparently the illegitimate son of some man of note, and was in all likelihood a Maclean.

[215] There is, between Tobermory and Aros in Mull, a place marked in the maps Arile. This was probably the residence of our bard.

The author of this is the Baron Ewen M’Omie.[216]

Long do I feel my lying here, My health to me is a stranger; Fain would I pay my health’s full price, Were mine the numerous spoils. A spoil of white-haired, heavy cows, A spoil of cows for drink or feasting, I’d give besides the heavy bull, If for my cure I had the price. The herds and flocks of Mannanan,[217] The sword and horn of Mac Cumhail, The trumpet of Manallan[218] I’d give, And the quiver of Cuchullin, Ir, Evir, and Eireamon,[219] And were I to possess them, The harp of Curcheoil,[220] which hid men’s grief, The shield of the King of Golnor.[221] Lomond’s[222] ship of greatest fame, Had I it upon the strand, All I’ve seen I’d freely give, Ere as now I’d long remain. Long to me appears the coming Of Alexander Mac Intosh, That my disease he might drive away, And thus I might no longer lie. Long.

[216] The Editor has not been able to identify the author of this poetical complaint. During the existence of baronies, with their bailies or local judges, the number of barons or baron bailies in the Highlands must have been large. Of this class was most likely our poet.

[217] An ancient Celtic hero, from whom the Isle of Man takes its name, as well as the district in Scotland called Slamannan.

[218] The Editor has not been able to obtain any account of this person. There is a contraction over the second _a_ in the MS., which makes the reading doubtful.

[219] The three sons of Milidh of Spain, from whom the Milesian races are descended, according to Celtic story.

[220] The Editor can give no account of these names. The traditions respecting them seem to have perished.

[221] The Editor can give no account of these names. The traditions respecting them seem to have perished.

[222] A famous Celtic hero, from whom Ben Lomond and Loch Lomond are said to derive their names.

No Author.[223]

For the race of Gael, from the land of Greece There is no place where they can rest; Doubtless thou would’st much prefer To raise the Gaelic race on high. Now that thou risest ’gainst the Saxon, Let not thy rising be a soft one; Have your swords with sharpened blades, Let your spears stand by your sides, Let us not forsake our country, Let us fiercely, bravely fight. It is said by the Gael of Banva,[224] Our fathers did the tale repeat, And I have heard there was a time, Long ago, that Innis Aingin[225] Was ruled by the Fomorian[226] race, Who raised from it a heavy tax. Thus for a while the Saxons have Our country burdened heavily; And now each clan is full of fear, And we are plunged in grievous doubt. But now that a gathering’s begun, There’s need that chiefs should rouse them up; For with them, ’tis my opinion, We will share a common fate. Who is the man, whom we can tell, Will from the Saxon save the Gael? Who in our day has won much fame, And whose house is truly noble? Know a man, were he but willing, Of whom we readily might tell, His power in Banva widely known, Men all bound with him to gather. Archibald of the pointed head, Of thee it is that men now speak. Earl of Argyle,[227] I thee beseech, Be as a hero in the conflict; A hero who shall reign supreme O’er Gael from the famous land; Noble, high-born prince of the Gael, Thou’lt in apportioned Albin reign. Hero, who’ll desert no fight, With sword, so long as right remains, Who for the Gael from Greece, subjection Ne’er suffer would at Saxon’s hand. The very roots from whence they grow, Pluck them that thou may’st us deliver; Suffer not a Saxon hence to live, After that thou overcom’st them. Burn all their women, ugly in form; Burn their children, every one; Burn their black huts, burn them all; And crush their enmity to us. Drown their warriors in their streams, When their accoutrements are burnt. Cease not, while a Saxon lives, To drown them weakened in their streams. Remember thou, of ruddy cheeks, The claims we on the Saxon have; Oppression and beggary all thy days, When that their oppression throve. Remember thy own father Colin;[228] Remember Archibald,[229] father to him; Remember Duncan,[230] the prosperous, He who was liberal and friendly; Remember thou that other Colin;[231] Remember Archibald[232] as well; Remember Colin[233] first of all, He who was brave amongst the Gael. Remember that they never gave Their tax from terror of the Saxon; Much more it now belongs to thee To see that thou bear’st not this tax. Now that there is but thy sire’s blood, Of Gael from the famous land, Let the men together come, Let them fill with fear their foes. Let them attack the Saxon now, Wake thee up then, son of Colin, Golden-haired one, war is begun, ’Tis not good to sleep too much. Great.

[223] There is a portion of the beginning of this ode wanting, and we have no means of knowing who the poet was. A reference to the history of the time, and the names introduced into the poem, however, suggest very emphatically the occasion of it. It is addressed to Archibald, Earl of Argyle, Chancellor of Scotland, who was killed at the battle of Flodden in 1513. The Saxons assailed so virulently by the poet are, in all likelihood, not the Lowland Scotch but the English, and the poem is probably a “Brosnachadh catha,” or incitement to the rising of the Scotch, and particularly the Argyle men, previous to the disastrous battle of Flodden. This invests the fragment with peculiar historical interest. There seems not to be much of the poem wanting, probably only a few lines.

[224] Ireland.

[225] There was an Innis Aingin, an island in the Shannon, famous as being the place to which St. Ciaran retired to spend the latter part of his life. It is here apparently taken to represent a portion of Ireland. See Mr. O’Curry’s Lect. p. 58.

[226] An early race of pirates, said to have infested the Irish coasts. The word is said to be derived from “fo mhuir,” _under the sea_, and is supposed to indicate their coming from the low sea coasts of Holland or Denmark.

[227] Archibald, Earl of Argyle, Chancellor of Scotland, who was killed at Flodden in 1513. He is called Iarla “Oirthir Ghaidheal,” _The sea-coast of the Gael_, which would seem to be the true etymology of “Argyle.”

[228] Colin, second Earl of Argyle, and Chancellor of Scotland, who married Isabella, second daughter of Stewart, Lord of Lorn.

[229] Sir Archibald, first Earl of Argyle, called “Gillespuig Ruadh,” _Archibald the red_.

[230] Sir Duncan of Argyle, commonly called “Dunchadh an aigh,” or _Duncan of good fortune_.

[231] Sir Colin of Argyle, called “Cailean iongantach,” _wonderful Colin_, and also “Cailean maith,” _good Colin_.

[232] Sir Archibald of Argyle, called “Gilleaspuig mòr,” _Archibald the great_.

[233] Sir Colin of Argyle, called “Cailean òg,” _young Colin_, son of Neil, son of Colin, called “Cailean mòr,” from whom the family take the patronymic of “Mac Chailein mhòir,” _The son of great Colin_. Cailean mòr was also called “Cailean na Sreang,” from a mountain between Loch Awe and Lorn, where he was killed in a feud with the Macdougalls. (MS. Gen. not. of fam. of Argyle, pen. Ed.)

The author of this is Duncan Mac Dougall Maoil.[234]

The history of the secret origin of John Mac Patrick,[235] Why should I conceal it? What belongs to his race is not feeble, The bearing of that race we love. Seldom of a feeble race it is, Among the Gael of purest fame, That inquiry of their origin is made, By the men who read in books. Firm the belief to them and me, During the evening time so dark, That in the blood of noble kings Were the rights of true clan Gregor. Now that I’m by thy green dwelling, Listen, John, to thy family story: A root of the very root we are, Of famous kings of noble story. Know that Patrick was thy father, Malcom father was to Patrick. Son of black John, not black his breast, Him who feasts and chariots owned. Another John was black John’s father, Son of Gregor, son of John the lucky. Three they were of liberal heart, Three beneficent to the Church. The father to that learned John, Was Malcom, who his wealth ne’er hid, Son of Duncan, surly and small, Whose standard never took reproach. His father was another Duncan, Son of Gillelan of the ambush, Noble he was, giving to friends, Son of the famous Hugh from Urquhay. Kennan[236] of the pointed spear, Of Hugh from Urquhay was the father. From Alpin,[237] of stately mien and fierce, Mighty king of weighty blows. This is the fourth account that’s given Of thee, who art the heir of Patrick. Remember well thy back-bone line, Down from Alpin, heir of Dougal. Twenty and one, besides thyself, John the black, not black in heart. Thy genealogy leads us truly To the prosperous Fergus M’Erc. Of thy race, which wastes not like froth, Six generations wore the crown. Forty kings there were and three, Their blood and origin are known. Three there were north and three to the south,[238] After the time of Malcom Kenmore. Ten of the race did wear the crown, From the time of Malcom up to Alpin. From Alpin upwards we do find Fourteen kings till we reach Fergus. Such is thy genealogy To Fergus,[239] son of Erc the prosperous. How many are there of thy race, Must have been from thee to Fergus! Noble the races mix with thy blood, Such as now we cannot number. The schools[240] would weary with our tale, Numbering the kings from whom thou’rt sprung. The blood of Arthur[241] is in thy bosom, Precious is that which fills thy veins; The blood of Cuan, the blood of Conn,[242] Two wise men, glory of the race. The blood of Grant in thy apple-red cheek, The blood of Neil, the fierce and mighty. Fierce and gentle, at all times, Is the story of the royal race. The history.

[234] This author is one of the writers of the MS., and a Macgregor. By referring to the genealogy at p. 143 of the MS., we find him designating himself as Dunchadh daoroglach, Mac Dhughaill, Mhic Eoin riabbaich--Duncan the apprentice, son of Dougall, son of John the grizzled.

[235] John dow M’Patrick M’Gregor of Glenstrae, who died in 1526.

[236] This is manifestly a mistake for Kenneth. The person meant is Kenneth M’Alpin, King of Scotland. In the genealogy given in p. 144 of the MS., this Kennan is said to have been high King of Scotland, to distinguish him from lesser chiefs, whom the Celts called kings.

[237] Alpin, King of the Scots, who flourished in the beginning of the ninth century. Several of the links in the Macgregor genealogy must be wanting in this poem. Even the name of Gregor, from whom the clan is called, does not appear at all.

[238] Both sides of Loch Tay, the ancient Macgregor territory, are still called “Tuaruith” and “Deasruith,” _north and south sides_.

[239] First king of the Dalriadic Scots.

[240] The schools of the bards, which abounded in Scotland and Ireland at this period, chiefly in Ireland, as may be discovered from this collection, for most of the composers were undoubtedly trained there. Poetry and genealogy were the chief branches studied.

[241] Arthur, King of the Strathclyde Britons, from whom the Campbells also are said to be descended.

[242] “Conn ceud catha,” _Conn of the hundred battles_, King of Ireland.

The author of this is Mac Eachag.[243]

Displeased am I with the south wind, Which hinders the coming of John,[244] And that he is kept away out, On his way from the north to M’Leod. Janet’s son, of whitest sails, Well would he like to cross the sea; But the south wind will not listen To John, William’s son of swift steeds. By night or by day as I sleep, From the beach I see to the north, The rushing bark of whitest sails, The bark of him who stays defeat. This is the fame which every man Awards to M’William from Clar Sgith,[245] An ardent, white-toothed, ready youth, One who for aught he did ne’er mourned. This is the eighth day without John, Heir to M’Leod of bluest eye; Like he is in mien and strength To the great house of liberal heart. Cheerful he is, does nought conceal, Such is the fame of sharp-armed John. In battle’s day he takes the lead, Ever ready fame to win. William’s son, my foster child, Son to Janet, royal her race, Did I but hear thou cam’st from the north, All my gloom would disappear.

[243] This name is very indistinct in the MS., and cannot be given with certainty.

[244] In 1480, William Macleod of Dunvegan was killed at the battle of the Bloody Bay, and was succeeded by his son Alexander, usually called “Alastair Crotach,” or _hump-backed_ (Greg. High. p. 74). The charters give no information as to John, if a son of this William Macleod. But William’s father was John, whose father was also in all likelihood a William; and this John, whose _floreat_ was early in the fifteenth century, might be the person here meant.

[245] The old name for Skye, and throws some doubt on the derivation of the name “Sgiathanach,” usually accepted.

The author of this is Mac Gillindak,[246] the man of songs.