[fraser] GAELIC FOLK-SONGS OF CANADA SI 



Crimmon, the hereditary piper, seems to have had a premonition that he 

 should fall in the war, and accompanied his chief reluctantly. On the 

 eve of his departure he is said to have composed the piobaireachd known 

 as " MacCrimmon's Lament," and the Gaelic words which have been 

 paraphrased by Sir Walter Scott, viz : — 



CUMHA Mhic-iCriomthain. 



Bratach bhuadhail Mhic-L-eoid o'n tùr mhôo- a' lasadh, 

 'S luchd iomradh nan ràmh grea&adh bhàrc thar a ghlas-chuan; 

 Bogha, sgiath, 's claidheamih mar, 's tu&gh gu leôn, airm nam fleasgach, 

 'S Mac-Criomthain cLuich cuairt, " Soraidh bhuan do Dhun Bheagain." 



Slan leis gach creig àrd ris 'bheil gairich ard-thonnan, 

 Slan leis gach gleann fas 's dean oràc-dhaimh an langan; 

 Eilean Sgiathanaioh aigh! slan Je d'bheanntaiblh 's guirm' flrich, 

 Tillidh, dti' fheutadb, MaciLeoid, ach cha bheô do Mhac-Criomthain. 



Soraidh bhuan do'n gheal-cheô, a tha comhdaciiadli Chuilinn, 

 Slan leis gach blà-shùil, 'th'air an Dun, 's iad a' tuireadh! 

 Soraidh bhuan do'n luohd-oiùil, 's trie 'chuir sunnd orm is tioma— 

 Sheôl Mac-Criomthain thar sail, is gu brath cha till tuilleadh. 



Nuallan allt' na piob-mhoir a cluich marWh-rarm an fhilidh, 



Agus dearbh bbrat a bhàis mar fhalluing aig' uime; 



Ach cha mheataich mo chridh' is aha ragaich mo chuislean, 



Ged dh' fhalbham le m' dheôin, 's fios nach till mi chaoidh tuilleadh. 



'S trie a chluinnear fuaim bhinn oaoi thiom-chridh' Mhic-Criom'thain, 

 'N uair 'bhios Gaidheil a' falbh thar an fhairge 'g an iomain — 

 O! chaomh ^thir ar graidh, o do thraigh 's rag ar n-im'eachd; 

 Och! eha till, cha till, oha till sinn tuilleadh. 



Translated by Sir Walter Scott: — 



MacLeod's wizard flag from the grey oastle sallies, 

 The rowers are seated, unmoored are the galleys. 

 Gleam war -axe and broad-sfword, clamg target and quiver, 

 As MaeCrimmon plays, "Farewell to Dunvegan for ever!" 



" Farewell to each cliff, on which breakers are foaming; 

 Farewell, eaoh dark glen, in which red deer are roaming; 

 Farewell, lonely Skye, to lake, mountain, and river; 

 MacLeod may return, but iv^aoCrimmon shall never! " 



"Farewell the bright clouds that on Coolin are sleeping; 

 Farewell the bright eyes in the fort that are weeping; 

 To each minstrel delusion, farewell; and for ever — 

 MaeCrimmon departs, to return to you never! " 



'The Banshee's wild voice sings the death-dirge before me, 

 And the pall of the dead for a mantle hangs o'er me; 

 But my heart shall not flag, and my nerve shall not quiver, 

 Though devoted I go — to return again never! " 



