CHAPTER VIII.

JACOBITE BARDS.

“A field of the dead rushes red on my sight, And the clans of Culloden are scattered in fight.”—CAMPBELL.

A retrospect of the remains of ancient Gaelic Literature establishes the following among other facts:—1. That the Scottish Gael of the first centuries of the Christian era was not a barbarian. 2. That a considerable body of oral or traditional literature was then extant among the people. 3. That there is no evidence that writing was known in the British Islands before the Christian era. 4. That relics of the writings of Churchmen from the fifth century downwards still exist in manuscript. 5. That the literature of the Irish and Scottish Gael, till the period of the Reformation in the sixteenth century, had much in common, the language used in the north-west of Ireland and in the north-west of Scotland being the same.

We have come now to the consideration of the poetry which may be regarded as the beginnings of modern bardic literature. It shows a different spirit, while it is generally presented in a different form. After Mary MacLeod, the chief productions of the Gaelic muse from _Iain Lom_ to _MacMhaighstir Alasdair_ were Jacobite.

The persecutions and sufferings of the Clan-Gregor, “the clan that was nameless by day,” form the theme of many interesting and stirring ballads. The terrible valour, the undying courage, and the heroic faithfulness of this much injured sept have been beautifully drawn by Sir Walter Scott.

The authoress of Macgregor’s Lullaby was a daughter of Colin Campbell of Glenorchy, and the wife of Gregor Macgregor, whose death she laments in this Lullaby. Her husband, his brother, Malcolm Roy, along with their father, Duncan Macgregor, were beheaded in 1552 by Colin Campbell of Glenorchy, Campbell of Glenlyon, and Menzies of Rannoch. The Black Duncan mentioned in the song was her brother, the seventh laird of Glenorchy, whose picture is still preserved at Taymouth Castle. The following is Pattison’s rendering of the Lullaby, which, along with the next two songs referred to (not in the Dean’s book), have always been very popular:—

Early on a Lammas morning with my husband was I gay; But my heart got sorely wounded ere the middle of the day.

Chorus—Ochan, ochan, uiri, Though I cry, my child, with thee— Ochan, ochan, uiri, Now he hears not thee nor me.

Malison on judge and kindred, they have wrought me mickle woe; With deceit they came about us, with deceit they laid him low.

Had they met but twelve Macgregors with my Gregor at their head; Now my child had not been orphaned, nor these bitter tears been shed.

On an oaken block they laid him, and they spilt his blood around; I’d have drunk it in a goblet largely, ere it reached the ground.

* * * * *

When the rest have all got lovers now a lover have I none; My fair blossom, fresh and fragrant, withers on the ground alone.

While all other wives the night-time pass in slumbers balmy bands, I upon my bedside weary, never cease to wring my hands.

Far, far better be with Gregor where the heather’s in its prime, Than with mean and Lowland barons in a house of stone and lime, &c.

_Other Macgregor Songs_ of the same era are “_Macgregor O Ruara_” and “_The Braes of the Ceathach_.” _Macgregor O Ruara_ begins thus:—

There is sorrow, and sorrow, and sorrow now fills me— Poor pitiful sorrow no man can redress; It is sorrow and sighing, and sadness that thrills me— Oh! terrible sadness I cannot repress.

Macgregor has perished—Macgregor, pine-bannered— Macgregor, beloved in Glenlyon the green; Macgregor, the brave, by whose foes ever honoured The threatening roar of our pibroch has been.

“The Braes of the Mist” is one of the sweetest and most affecting songs in any language. The singer—a woman—concealed her husband and two sons of the fiercely persecuted Macgregors in a bed as the enemies were approaching the house. She sat at the fire and began singing her song. She sang of herself as waiting in solitude for her persecuted friends. The people outside listened as the woman sang, and accepting as true what she said, they passed on without troubling her. Her heart’s dearest wishes depended on the effect produced by her extempore verses. It has been well said that “seldom, indeed, has song or ballad been composed or chanted in circumstances of such intense excitement.” The first verse runs as follows:—

I sit here alone, by the plain of the highway, For my poor hunted kin, watching mist, watching by way; I’ve yet got no sign that they’re near to my dwelling; At Loch Fyne they were last seen—if true be that telling, &c.

_Mo Valie Veg Og_ is a very popular song, somewhat like “Helen or Kirkconnel Lea,” and Tennyson’s “Oriana.” The occasion of the composition was as follows:—One of the chiefs of the Clan Chisholm having carried off a daughter of Lord Lovat, placed her on an islet in Loch Bruiach, where she was soon discovered by the Frasers, who had mustered for the rescue. (Other accounts of the origin of the song have been given). A severe conflict ensued, during which the young lady was accidentally slain by a chance blow from her own lover, in defending her from her furious brothers. The lover was condemned to be executed next day. The night preceding his execution he composed Mo Valie Veg Og, _Young little May_. The following is a rendering of the spirit of the song:—

I groan for thee in prison, Mo Valie Veg Og O, dost thy spirit listen, Mo Valie Veg Og; From where the dew-drops glisten, From thy deep sleep uprisen, While these lone arms I miss in, Mo Valie Veg Og?

We met when summer flowered, Mo Valie Veg Og; Where am’rous birds embowered Mo Valie Veg Og; The trees that near us towered, Sweet dew-drops on us showered; But something near us lowered, Mo Valie Veg Og.

Wrapt in each other dreaming, Mo Valie Veg Og; We saw the distance gleaming, Mo Valie Veg Og; Thy kinsmen vengeful seeming, With fell intention teeming We strove, and blood was streaming, Mo Valie Veg Og!

Encountering their lance, Mo Valie Veg Og; I struck by sore mischance Mo Valie Veg Og; Cursed aye be their advance! I bent in trembling trance To drink thy dying glance, Mo Valie Veg Og.

Condemned thus I am grieving, Mo Valie Veg Og; Aye longing to be leaving, Mo Valie Veg Og; To-morrow sees them cleaving This frame; hope, undeceiving, Lifts me with thee believing, Mo Valie Veg Og.

_The Owlet._—It is said that this poem was composed by a Badenoch deer-stalker about 1550. It is two hundred and sixty-eight lines in length. The “Owl” is the form of a dialogue between the author and an owl, which, old and feeble, the unkind hunter’s wife, who was much younger than he, brought in to be a fit companion for her husband. There is a good deal of cleverness and poetical ingenuity in the piece. It is the only composition of the kind in the language, and reminds us of “Listen Little Porker,” by the Welsh poet Merddyn Wyllt.

_The Aged Bard’s Wish._—This poem appeared towards the end of last century, in the days of the Ossianic controversy, and has come under the suspicions of the sceptical. It was then regarded as an old poem, perhaps belonging to pre-Christian times. It probably belongs to the first part of the seventeenth century. It begins thus—

Oh! place me by the little brook, Of gentle wandering pace and slow, And lay my head near some green nook That kindly shades the sunny glow.

At ease upon the grass I’ll rest Of the balm-breathing flowery brae; My foot by the warm wave caress’d That winds throughout the plain away.

There the pale primrose let me see, There the small daisy close at hand, And every flower so dear to me, For grateful hue or odour bland.

About thy lofty banks, my glen, Be bending boughs and blooming sprays, Where small birds sing from bush and fen To aged cliffs their amorous lays.

There have been several translations of this much-admired poem, but on account of occasional vagueness of conception and obscurity of the style it has been found very difficult to convey with certainty and accuracy the sense of the original. In one hundred and forty-four lines the bard conjures up many scenes and images before his mental vision, and finally welcomes the “Hall of Ossian and Daol”—he cries, “Open, fly, the night comes, and the bard is gone!”

Among the poetesses whose names have not been forgotten in the story of Scottish letters is that of Mary Macleod, _Mairi ni’n Alastair Ruaidh_, or Mary, the daughter of red-haired Alexander. Her name as a poetess has become quite proverbial among the people. Apart from the mantle of poetry which she wore she was a very remarkable person, who would be long remembered. Like some others, her own assertive personality accounts for much of the popularity of her productions.

MAIRI NI’N ALASTAIR RUAIDH, who has been regarded by some as the first in point of time of the modern Gaelic bards, was born in Harris, in the Long Island, in 1569, and died at Dunvegan, Isle of Skye, in 1674, at the extraordinary age of 105 years. She received no education, yet her poetry is characterised by boldness, freshness, and originality. The metres she uses are often complicated and unusual; but the native melody of her song and the pathetic character of her conceptions render her poetry very enjoyable reading. She was a well-known visitor among her neighbours, who generally rallied her by references to a beverage stronger than water. Pattison translates a song she composed on her being banished from Dunvegan by the young chief of the MacLeods; who, on hearing her laudatory verses, sent a boat to bring back the affectionate poetess.

Alone on the hill-top, sadly and silently Downward on Islay and over the sea I look, and I wonder how time hath deceived me— A stranger in Scarba, who ne’er thought to be.

Ne’er thought it, my island, where rest the deep dark shade The grand mossy mountains for ages have made; God bless thee! and prosper thy chief of the sharp blade All over these islands his fame never fade!

Never fade it, Sir Norman! for well ’tis the right Of thy name to win credit in counsel or fight— By wisdom, by shrewdness, by spirit, by might, By manliness, courage, by daring, by sleight.

In counsel or fight, thy kindred know these should be thine— Branch of Lochlin’s wide-ruling and king-bearing line! And in Erin they know it, far over the brine; No Earl would in Albin thy friendship decline.

The name of _Mairi ni’n Alastair Ruaidh_ has been affectionately remembered by many generations of Highlanders.

JOHN MACDONALD.—This well-known Lochaber bard, called _Iain Lom_, or _bare_ John, was of the Keppoch family; lived in the reigns of Charles I. and II.; was a very old man about 1710.

The heir of Keppoch was sent abroad to be educated; and in his absence his affairs were entrusted to his cousins, who planned a scheme to get rid of him so that they themselves would get possession. The bard perceived their wicked scheme beforehand; and comes prominently before us in his endeavours to expose them; and again in the active part he took in punishing the murderers. The massacre took place in 1663; and soon after the poet persuaded Sir Alexander Macdonald to concert measures for punishing the perpetrators of the deed. They were seized and beheaded, and the awful retribution is commemorated by the ugly monument, “Tobar nan Ceann,” or “Well of the Heads,” in Invergarry. Macdonald was politician as well as poet in his day. He was a keen Jacobite, and acted as the laureate of the party in the Highlands. He was the means of bringing the armies of Montrose and Argyll together at Inverlochy, where, on Sunday, February 2, 1645, a bloody battle was fought, in which the flower of the Campbell clan were slain. He is a poet of great fire, vigour, and satiric power. He was buried in Dunaingeal, in the braes of Lochaber.

BATTLE OF INVERLOCHY.

Did you hear from Cille-Cummin How the tide of war came pouring? Far and wide the summons travelled, How they drove the Whigs before them!

From the castle-tower I viewed it, High on Sunday morning early, Looked and saw the ordered battle, Where Clan Donald triumphed rarely.

Up the green slope of Cail-Eachaidh Came Clan Donald marching stoutly; Churls who laid my home in ashes. Now shall pay the fine devoutly!

Many a bravely-mounted rider, With his back turned to the slaughter, Where his boots won’t keep him dry now, Learns to swim in Nevis water.

On the wings of eager rumour Far and wide the tale is flying, How the slippery knaves, the Campbells, With their cloven skulls are lying.

I have availed myself here of the rendering of Blackie, whose literary deftness in translation and poetic genius have successfully transferred not only the sense of, but frequently improved on, the more artless of the productions of the Gaelic muse. If the versatile Professor is not always boldly and simply literal in his versions of Gaelic poetry, he never fails to seize and attractively exhibit the spirit of the bard.

ARCHIBALD MACDONALD.—This minor bard, called “An Ciaran Mabach,” was a natural son of Sir Alexander Macdonald, 16th baron of Sleat. He was contemporary with _Iain Lom_. He was a clever and highly practical man, and was entrusted in matters of importance by his father, who allotted him a portion of land in North Uist.

NEIL MACKELLAR.—-Mackellar was a farmer in Jura in 1694. He does not appear to have composed much—a poetical address of his to _John Ruadh Mac Cailein_, the Earl of Argyll, which I found among the papers of the poet Livingston, was published in the fifth volume of the “GAEL.”

DIORBHAIL NIC-A’-BHRIUTHAIN, or Dorothy Brown, was a native of Luing, an island in Argyllshire. She lived towards the close of the seventeenth century, and, like many of the bards of the period, was a keen Jacobite. Like _Iain Lom_, she used her bitter satire against the Clan Campbell with considerable effect. She is known by her _Oran do Alastair Mac Colla_, the famous Sir Alexander Macdonnell of Antrim, and the gallant lieutenant of Montrose.

SILIS NI’N VIC RAONAILL, or Cicely Macdonald, was the daughter of Macdonald of Keppoch, and lived from the reign of Charles II. to that of George I. Like Iain Lom and Dorothy Brown, this poetess was a Roman Catholic, and her muse was employed against the house of Hanover. Her husband having died in a fit of intoxication while on a visit to Inverness, she composed _Marbhrann air bas a fir_, and afterwards some hymns.

NEIL MAC VURICH, who was born early in the seventeenth century, was bard and senachie to the family of Clanranald. He belonged to South Uist, where the land he had is still known as _Baile-bhaird_. He was a descendant of Muireadhach _Albannach_, and grandfather of Lachlan Mac Vurich, whose name appears in the Ossianic controversy. He wrote a Gaelic history of the Clan Ranald, whose records he kept. He was living and an old man in 1715.

JOHN MACDONALD, or _Iain Dubh Mac Iain ’ic Ailein_, a gentleman of the Clan Ranald family, was born in 1665. He held the farm of Grulean in the island of Eigg. One of his best pieces is a fiery martial poem called “Oran nam Fineachan Gaelach.”

The AOSDAN MATHESON, who flourished in the seventeenth century, belonged to Lochalsh, Ross-shire, where he had as his bard free lands from the Earl of Seaforth. Much of his poetry, like that of Neil Mac Vurich, has been lost. A poem, _Do’n Iarla Thuathach, Triath Chlann Choinnich_, has been freely rendered by Sir Walter Scott: “Farewell to Mackenzie, high Chief of Kintail.”

HECTOR MACLEAN, who lived in the seventeenth century, was bard and senachie to Sir Lachlan MacLean of Duart. The Chief’s _Elegy_ is the subject of a _special_ poem by the bard.

LACHLAN MACKINNON, who lived in the seventeenth century, was a native of Strath, Isle of Skye. He was a bard of real power, and a good many of his pieces have come down to us. Mackenzie, collector of “The Beauties of Gaelic Poetry,” who delighted in unearthing and publishing all the moral dirt he could lay his hands on, relates a story about Mackinnon which does not represent the bard’s character in a very attractive light.

RODERICK MORRISON.—This famous bard, commonly called _An Clarsair Dall_, or the Blind Harper, was born in the island of Lewis in 1646. He was a descendant of the _Brieve Leosach_, well known in the annals of the island. Roderick’s father was a man of piety and culture, in Lewis, whose memory is still fragrant among the people. It seems he was a true gospel light amid the half-heathenism which then prevailed in the Western Isles. He sent Rory and his other two sons to be educated at Inverness, intending to educate the three sons for the church. In course of time Angus settled in the parish of Contin, and Malcolm in Poolewe, Ross-shire. Roderick lost his eyesight through the small-pox when receiving his education in Inverness, and then turned his attention to the study of music. He soon became famous not only in Scotland, but also in Ireland. When returning from the latter country it is said that he called at every baronial residence on his way. Before going home to the north he visited Edinburgh, where at the time the Scotch nobility and gentry were met in Holyrood House. There he came across the chief, John Breac MacLeod of Harris, by whom Roderick was at once engaged as his family harper. While with MacLeod he composed many tunes and songs which are yet popular. His patron MacLeod afterwards gave him a rent-free farm at Totamor, in Glenelg. After the death of John Breac he went back to his native Lewis, where he was much respected in his old age. He died in this island, and was buried in the churchyard of I or Hy, near Stornoway. Morrison is a poet of considerable power and culture, although his fame as a harper—he was almost the last of that class so celebrated among the Gaels—has obscured his name as a poet.

JOHN MACKAY.—This bard, known as _Am Piobaire Dall_, or the Blind Piper, whose father was of the Sutherlandshire Mackays, was born in the parish of Gairloch, Ross-shire, in the year 1666. Being born blind he was taught music, first by his father, afterwards he was sent to the College of Pipers, in Skye, which was then presided over by MacCruimein, of world-wide fame. In course of time he became family bard to the chief of Gairloch. While he stayed with this chief he is said to have composed twenty-four _piobrachds_ and many strathspeys, reels, and jigs. He died in 1754 at the great age of ninety-eight, and was buried in Gairloch. The poems of this bard are thoughtful and well finished, but, like many of that period, are scarcely known now.

The learned Edward Lhuyd published his “Archæologia Britannica” in 1704; and the imaginative Celt of the day was delighted that so much of the dying language of his forefathers would be preserved—that so handsome a monument should be reared to its memory. In 1707 a second edition was issued, in which complimentary poetical addresses from Highland ministers were given. There is one from the Rev. James MacPherson, Kildalton, Islay, and another from the Rev. John Maclean of Killninian, Mull. The following stanzas from Maclean’s verses are of considerable merit in the original Gaelic:—

When the grey Gael—Milesian race from Spain— To green Ierne had crossed the mighty main, Great was the fame they carried to our shore, Of skill in arms, of poetry and lore. When that good seed had spread out far and near, The Gaelic then was honoured there and here; That musically sweet, expressive tongue, To which our fathers have so fondly clung.

In royal courts a thousand years and more It reigned in honour—spoke from shore to shore; Then bard and lyrist, prophet, sage and leech Wrote all their records in the Gaelic speech: Since first Gathelus came from Egypt’s strand That ancient tongue was written in our land; The great divines whose fame is shed abroad In Gaelic accents learned to praise their God.

’Twas Gaelic Patrick spoke in Innis-Fayl, And sainted Calum in Iona’s Isle. Rich polished France, where highest taste appears, Received her learning from that Isle of Tears;— Ie, alma mater, of each tribe and tongue, Once taught for France and Germany their young! Well may we now our swelling grief outpour, That seat in ruin, and our tongue no more!

Great praise and thanks, O noble Lhuyd, be thine, True learned patriot of the Cambrian line! Thou hast awaked the Celtic from the tomb, That our past life her records might illume. Engraved in every heart in lettered gold Thy name remains: thy silent words unfold To future ages what our sires had seen, While others say, ‘A Gaelic race hath been.’

The first of the Gaelic addresses comes from Andrew Maclean, Tyree, who calls himself “the son of the Bishop of Argyll”:—

_Aindra M’Ghileoin_ Fear an Cnuic, an tiridhe mac Easbuig _Earraghaoidhil_, C.C.

Ordheirc an gniomh saor bhur comhluinn Cliu do fhoghlum beirid uainn: Ti do chur do na thuit or sinnsreadh Cus do sgeimh bhur linn a mfuaim. Molsid _M’Liath_ na Sheanchas, Ochd mhacigh’achd do leanmhuinn oirinn, Brathreachus _Gaoidhil Fear Shaxan_, Thabhart nar ccuimhne ceart na loirg:

which may be freely rendered thus:—

Excellent is thy work completed; Thy deep lore is widely known; The sweet language of our fathers Grandly to the world hast shown. Praise shall be of Lhuyd’s great labours Which henceforth we emulate; Friendship for the Gael of England In our hearts he does create.

Robert Campbell, of Cowal, begins with the following dedicatory preface:—

“Den Uasal oirdherc Maighsdir _Edward Lhuid_, Fear coimhead tigh na seud a Noiltigh _Ath-Ndamh_ a _Nsagsan_, Ughdar a Nfoclair Ghaoidheilg, Failte.

“_Robert Caimpbel_ Fear Faraiste mhic _Chailin_ an _Comhal_ CC.”

To-day in Eire there is joy; While harp and song wake gentle sounds; The strains of tuneful throats are heard Within old Albin’s gladdened bounds.

The pow’r that kindles this delight Is that sweet tongue of those fair lands Which lay so long in captive chains; It wakens now and breaks the bands.

In it have terms of peace been sealed, In it Jehovah’s praises sung; Small be the lore of learned men Who know not this rich ancient tongue.

This moved to work the noble Lhuyd, Whose words of eloquence proceed From that deep fount beside which grew The Oakling of the Celtic seed.

’Tis time to teach and woo the muse Where fair Oxonia rears her towers, Where classic learning finds her home, And Isis shows her banks of flowers.

Tyree, Mull, and Cowal are not the only places where clergymen were wont to “woo the muse” in those days. Poetic expressions of admiration and encouragement were also sent to Lhuyd from Ardchattan, and Islay. Here is that of the Rev. James MacPherson, of Kildalton:

Thou art welcome, gentle scholar, To the Highlands’ wave-worn shore; In all provinces of Eire Thine is welcome evermore.

Welcome through the Gaelic borders, England will accord thee hail: Chiefs will make of thee companion, Praise will come from Ireland’s Gael.

From the tomb thou hast awakened Our neglected ancient tongue, Which, though long in bonds forgotten, Into printed life has sprung.

Rich and wise is thy instruction; Clear and learned is thy speech; Ancient words gain force and meaning On each page as thou dost teach.

Bear to learned Lhuyd my blessing, Who our language has restored; Hence to him great praise and welcome Gaels shall everywhere accord.

The Rev. Colin Campbell wrote his in Latin, which till that period was the medium of communication among Highland ecclesiastics.

JOHN WHYTE, called _Forsair Choir’an-t-Si_, belonged to the end of the seventeenth and beginning of the eighteenth century. He lived near Kilmun, and composed a good many songs which are recognised as of a superior order. He was the ancestor of some of the name who have been known for their strongly Celtic sympathies.

WILLIAM MACKENZIE, otherwise known as _An Ceisteir Crubach_, was born in Gairloch about 1670. He was a bard of superior powers; but the loose character and profanity of some of his compositions caused the Presbytery that engaged his services as a Catechist to dismiss him from his office. Mackenzie, of “The Beauties of Gaelic Poetry,” has published a lengthy song of his which is a blot on the whole work.

JOHN MACLEAN, who was a native of Mull, where he was for long a popular poet, is the author of a few songs of superior merit. His compositions were general favourites at the time of Johnson and Boswell’s journey to the Hebrides. They heard some of his songs sung by a lady. He composed an excellent piece on Sir Hector MacLean when he went to France in 1721. The bard died in 1760.

MALCOLM MACLEAN, otherwise known as _Calum a’ Ghlinne_, was a native of Kinlochewe, in Ross-shire. He was a soldier, and served for some time abroad, where he deeply learned the worship of Bacchus. “Mo Chailin donn og” is yet popular. It was composed for his daughter. He died in 1764.

AM BARD MUCANACH, a Macdonald, originally from Glencoe, lived in the island of Muck, and is the author of a very good poem on the “Massacre of Glencoe.”

ANGUS MACDONALD, a native of Glencoe, is the author of the popular song “_Bha Claidheamh air Iain ’san t-searmoin_.” It was intended to ridicule the cowardly conduct of a John Gibeach, who was at the battle of Sheriffmuir in 1715, but who took to flight instead of remaining to fight.

JOHN MACCODRUM.—This original and witty bard was a native of North Uist. He lived at the same time as his more famous contemporary, Alexander Macdonald. The accomplished Sir James Macdonald, who died at Rome in 1766, made MacCodrum his bard, and gave him free land in North Uist. He met James Macpherson when collecting Gaelic materials for the poems of Ossian; and the Uist bard appears to have indulged in wit at the expense of Macpherson. MacCodrum is a poet of great ability and satiric power. His poems on “Old Age” and “Whisky” are of a first-class order. He was, like many of the bards of his day, a keen Jacobite.

The poet’s attachment to his patron inspired a tender elegiac song of which the following translated verses are a specimen:—

As I awake it is not sleep That strives with me in troubles deep; My bed beneath the tears I weep Is in disquiet: My bed beneath, &c.

Of him, my patron bright, bereft, I have no fair possession left; While pain of loss my soul has cleft In sight and hearing: While pain of loss, &c.

Sore tears are ours; joy is no more; No hope of smiles; no cheer in store; We seem like the brave Fians of yore And Finn forsaken: We seem like the, &c.

Ah! true it seems the tale to tell; Our cup is filled with doings fell; Provoking in a rage of hell Bless’d God the Highest: Provoking in a rage, &c.

Blest One from Thee let us not swerve; Above with Thee he goes to serve; O Christ! do Thou for us preserve Our loving brothers: O Christ! do Thou, &c.

The early death of the subject of this elegy,—of Sir James Macdonald,—wrought the bard into unwonted seriousness. As his name indicates, this poet is a representative of the commingled Norse and Celtic races of the Hebridean people.

HECTOR MACLEOD was a native of South Uist. Like MacCodrum, he was a zealous Jacobite, and after 1715 lived in the Roman Catholic districts of Arisaig and Morar. There is much originality and poetical ingenuity in MacLeod, who, finding it dangerous to sing his Jacobite leanings without disguise, had recourse to allegorical ways of expressing himself.

ARCHIBALD MACDONALD, known as _Gilleasbuig na Ciotaig_, or left-handed Archibald, also a native of Uist, is one of the few comic bards that the Highlands have produced. An “Elegy” on John Roy, a piper while living, and the “Resurrection” of the same, are really clever productions, as well as his song for Dr MacLeod, a St. Kildian, who was for some time a surgeon in a Highland regiment.

ZACHARY MACAULAY, whose father was an accomplished Episcopalian clergyman, was born in the island of Lewis at the beginning of the eighteenth century. He is thought in his youth to have written some “wanton” songs; his published pieces show true poetic instinct and power. The air of one of his songs was a favourite with Burns. Lord Macaulay was a descendant of Zachary’s family, from whom the brilliant essayist and historian evidently inherited his genius.

Like that of all other peoples, the limited literature of the Scottish Clans has had its periods of revival and decadence. The bolder and more original poetry of the early centuries of our story was followed by the feeble and imitative strains of the verse writers of the medieval generations.

ALEXANDER MACDONALD.

In the seventeenth century we had the silver age, and about the middle of last century the golden age of modern Gaelic poetry. Singers of original power appeared in every part of the country. Of these Alexander Macdonald was the first and the greatest. From the wilds of the Ardnamurchan regions he poured forth his imperishable strains. After him Duncan Macintyre comes next, the poet-hunter of Glenorchay. From the heart of central Argyll and Breadalbane he sent forth unique and inimitable songs. In the grand wilds of Perthshire Dugald Buchanan, the sacred bard of Rannoch, was writing his sublime poems on such awful themes as the “Judgement” and the “Passion” of the God-man. In the far North Robert Mackay, the famous Sutherlandshire herd, was gladdening the firesides, of a happy peasantry—whose descendants are now in Canada—with his witty and satiric compositions. In the West the delicate and fine-fibred William Ross began to sing soon after these, his sweet lays of love and sorrow. Jacobite rebellions no doubt stirred up the Highland heart at this period; and in the midst of the political ferment of the times the muse appears to have thrown her choicest mantle on receptive spirits among the people to give song-utterance to their emotional aspirations. In the poetry of Macdonald, Mackay, and Macintyre, we see the greatest bards of modern times. It is difficult to decide which of the first and last mentioned is the greater poet—Mackay is not regarded as equal to either. As far as the works of preceding bards could help their poetic culture their minds were moulded by the same influences.

But in regard to ordinary education it must be remembered that Macdonald was for some time at a University, while Macintyre was never able to write. In their descriptions of outward nature their poetry shows very much like equal power, while the note of the one is not always distinguishable from that of the other. But the passionate depth of the one has no echo in the sweeter and gentler nature of the other. Each in his own way is a mighty singer of whom any country might be proud. And it is remarkable that both should be Argyllshire singers.

Alexander Macdonald, also more frequently called _Mac-Mhaighstir Alastair_, son of Master Alexander, was born early in the eighteenth century, the exact date and place of his birth being nowhere recorded. His father, Mr Alexander, as he was always styled by the Highlanders, was an Episcopalian clergyman. He resided at Dailea, in Moydart, and is said to have united farming with his ecclesiastical functions. He had several sons and daughters, and Alexander was his second son. Alexander received his education first under the superintendence of his father, and afterwards for a session or two in the University of Glasgow. His academic career was cut off early by an imprudent marriage. It is not known with certainty whether it was for the Church or for the Bar he was originally intended. It was feared that his general character and conduct would scarcely warrant entrance into the former; while his wild changeableness and irregularities would seriously bar his progress for the latter. He ultimately settled in Ardnamurchan, teaching, farming, and writing poetry. He then changed his ecclesiastical creed, became a Presbyterian and an elder in the Established Church, which he continued to be till the year 1745, when again he changed his creed, became a Roman Catholic, and forsook his all to join Prince Charles. He held a commission in the Highland Army, which he tried to animate by his fiery and warlike songs. For some time after the battle of Culloden he suffered much hardship. One night, while lurking outside somewhere, so intense was the cold that the side of Macdonald’s head, which rested on the ground, was grey when he rose in the morning. Soon after friends in Edinburgh procured teaching for the bard among Jacobite families. But he did not stay long there. He returned to the Highlands, where he died when he had reached a good old age. His life was stormy and checkered, like the historic period which was then also coming to a close.

Macdonald’s first literary work was a Gaelic and English Vocabulary, published in 1741. It was the first attempt of the kind. His poetry was first published in Edinburgh in 1761, and his volume was the first book of original poems ever published in Gaelic. He wrote extensively, but two thirds of his works in MSS. have been lost or destroyed. As we read the works of Macdonald and those of Macpherson’s Ossian—the two highest names in Gaelic poetry—we feel at once that we breathe the air of different regions, or move in the atmosphere of different ages. Between them and the common herd of bards we discern a vast interval in the range of their poetical conceptions. Both breathe the spirit of “Tir nam beann, nan gleann, ’s nan gaisgeach,” but their deep utterances of the soul from the mystic land of fancy and passion are not alike. The inspiration of both is that of the great Bens, the mysterious-seeming valleys, and of deep crying unto deep. Macdonald is wild, picturesque, and gorgeous, ever presenting the dread and sad realities of nature. He loves to picture her coarser characteristics more than her qualities of tenderness. His poetry glows with sensuous imagery, overflows with luxuriance of thought and voluptuousness of feeling, and exhibits much of the animal and material elements of creation. His music is wild, impetuous, and fiery; his metres sometimes smooth, and ruggedly rushing. In accomplishing his more elaborate efforts he shows signs of spasmodic tendencies. He excels in intensity of thought and in fiery vehemence of expression. The force of poetical ardour with which he

Hurls the Birlin through the cold glens, Loudly snoring,

is deeply absorbing. Natural scenes in the West Highlands he describes with vigour and striking effect. Sometimes he becomes quite majestic, as when he sings of “rain-charged clouds on thick squalls wandering loomed and towered.” Some of the parts of his principal poem, _The Birlin_, a boat voyage in the Hebrides, are very powerful and sometimes sublime. The unrestrained vehemence and gorgeousness of _The Birlin_ give place to simpler delineations in _The Sugar Brook_. There is much delicious portraiture in this last poem.

_The Praise of the Lion_ is a fiery appeal to the Scottish nationality. The Jacobite cause is the theme of many of his songs, Prince Charles being sometimes personified under female names, such as “Morag.” In his love songs Macdonald is sweet, tender, and musical, rough though his muse is at other times. His “Praise of Morag,” in a sort of _piobrachd_ measure, is powerful; but composed under such conditions as Burns wrote “Mary in Heaven,” Macdonald’s lawful spouse became alarmed and jealous. At once he turns to “Dispraising Morag,” which he works out elaborately with Mephistophelian ardour and spirit, regardless of all poetic justice and decency. “The Resurrection of the Gaelic Tongue” is a powerful poem, celebrating the antiquity and supreme excellence of the language of the Gael.

As specimens of the sweet and tender in Macdonald’s poetry, let us take a verse or two from his fine piece, _The Sugar Brook_. He has done for this insignificant burn what Burns has done for the Doon and Gray for the Luggie. He describes the different birds tuning their little throats in the morning to take up the several parts assigned to them in the great harmonic chorus of nature. He hears the rich treble of Robin, the deep bass of Richard, the “goo-goo” of the cuckoo; while on a stake apart from the rest the thrush sings lustily, and the blythesome brown wren and the vieing linnet tune up their choicest strings. The blackcock croaks, and the hen sings her hoarse response. Then come the fishes, the bees, and the frisking calves, the milkmaid and the herdsman, to fill up a scene already sufficiently gorgeous. There also—

The wailing swans their murmurs blend With birds that float and sing; Where joins the Sugar Brook the sea Their tuneful voices ring. Softly sweet they bend and breathe Through their melodious throat, Like the crooked bagpipes’ wailing strain, A sad but pleasing note.

The following two stanzas are very fine in the original, and Pattison has very successfully rendered them into English:—

O! dainty is the graving work By Nature near thee wrought! Whose fertile banks with shining flowers And pallid buds are fraught. The shamrock and the daisy Spread o’er thy borders fair, Like new-made spangles, or like stars, From out the frosty air.

Ah! what a charming sight display The ruddy rosy braes, When sunbeams dye their flowers as bright As brilliants all ablaze: And what a civil suit they wear Of ribgrass and of hay, And gay-topt herbs, o’er which the birds Pour forth their pompous lay.

The _Birlin_ has been translated by Sheriff Nicolson, and a part by Professor Blackie. The complete translation of Pattison was the first and is still the best. This poem is a master-piece of Gaelic poetry, and presents peculiar difficulties to the translator. After this “Blessing of the Ship,” the “Blessing of the Arms,” we have in the third part an incitement for rowing to a sailing place. The rowers are asked with a powerful sweep to

Wound the huge swell on the ocean meadow, Rolling and deep. With your sharp narrow blades white and slender, Strike its big breast; Hirsute and brawny, and rippled and hilly, And never at rest. O, stretch, and bend, and draw, young gallants! Forward going! Let your fists’ broad grasp be whitening In your rowing! Ye lusty, heavy, stalwart youngsters! Stretch your full length; With shoulders knotty, nervy, hairy, Hard with strength; See you raise and drop together With one motion. Your grey and beamy shafts well ordered, Sweeping ocean.

In this spirit the poem extends to more than 500 lines, divided into 16 parts, until finally the voyage of the Birlin ends somewhat like that of St. Paul.

Till within recent years the practice of walking cloth in peasant homes was a general thing. The writer has often witnessed it in the north as well as in the south Highlands, in places where walking mills did not extinguish the ancient ways of Highland women. The “MORAG” of Macdonald was a “Walking Refrain,” or song for a young woman of fair bewitching tresses. In history her _alias_ is Prince Charlie whose adventures touched the hearts of women, bards and weak-minded statesmen. “Ho Morag” in other words is a treasonable prayer, adoration, or incitement for Jacobitically-minded Highlanders and others. The bard’s heart was evidently in this wretched and ill-starred rebellion; but it ought not to be forgotten that if the poet’s heart tended to disloyalty he had thousands of titled traitors and sympathisers close to the Hanoverian throne. The Jacobite bard rushes with inexhaustible enthusiasm into the “walking” labours of the Highland women as their thoughts travel after the fair adventurer:

Bright Morag of my heart’s emotion I long to see thy yellow tresses. Yes; and Ho Morag, child of love, Beloved of many. If thou art gone across the ocean Return to help in our distresses. Yes; and Ho Morag, &c.

Bring back a set of winsome beauties To walk the red cloth well and tightly. Yes; and Ho Morag, &c. O! here at home amid thy duties Thy linen would be clean and sprightly. Yes; and Ho Morag, &c.

And thou wouldst never be o’er-laden In menial office of the servant. Yes; and Ho Morag, &c. She, Morag, my own handsome maiden, With the hair circlets fair and fervent. Yes; and Ho Morag, &c.

Further on the bard is “enthused” over the deeds of Montrose and _Alastair Mac Colla_, the brave Sir Alexander Macdonald of Antrim, whose heroism has not yet received its due reward:

On Mainland, Canna, Eigg, they wander, Brave troops, whom Allan led delighted. Yes; and Ho Morag, &c. When great Montrose and Alexander Proud Lowland hosts had fought and frighted. Yes; and Ho Morag, &c.

The close of this stirring lyric gives us the warrior-bard, after the ancient manner:

Thick and close, and walked and plaited Blood-coloured, reddened be the heather. Yes; and Ho Morag, &c. Haste with thy walking maidens mated With our brave girls to march together. Yes; and Ho Morag, &c.

[Illustration: (decorative end-of-chapter icon)]