B2 ROYAL SOCIETY OF CANADA 



Too oft shall the note of MacCrimmon's bewailing 

 Be heard when the Gael on their exile are sailing: — 

 " Dear Land! to the shores, whence unwilling we sever 

 Return — return — return, we shall never!" 



In the famous " Eout of Moy " MacCrimmon fell, and his pre- 

 monition was fulfilled. In Skye his death was mourned by his sweet- 

 heart, who is made pathetically to lament his death, in the following 

 lines which are those usually sung to the tune, " MacCrimmon's 

 Lament " : — 



Dh' iadh ceo man stùc niu aodann Chulainn; 

 Qu' n d' shemn a bhean shith a torgann mulaid; 

 Tha suilean gorm, clùin, 's an Dun ri sileadh; 

 O'n thriall thu bh'uainn, 's nach till thu tuille. 



Cha till, cha till, cha till MaoCriomthain, 

 An cogadjh no sith cha till e tuille: 

 Le airgiod no ni oha till MaoCriomthain; 

 Cha till gu brath gu la na cruinne. 



Tha osag nan gleann gu fann ag imeachd 

 Gach sruthan 's gach allt, gu mall le bruthtach, 

 Tha ialt nan speur feagh gheùgan dubhiach; 

 Ag caoldh gun d' fhalbh, 's nach till thu tuille. 



Cha till, cha till, etc. 



Tha'n fhairge fadheôidh, Ian brôin a's mulad; 

 Tha'm bata fo sheôl, ach dhiult i siubhal, 

 Tha gaire nan tonn, le fuaim neo-shubhach, 

 Ag rad'h gun d' fhalbh, 's nach till thu tuille. 



Cha till, cha till, etc. 



Cha cluinnear do oheôl "s an Dun imu fheasgair; 

 No Mactalla na mùr, le mùirn g'a fhreagairt: 

 Gach fleasgach a's oigh, gun cheôl gun bheadradh, 

 O'n thriall thu bh' uainn, 'is nach till thu tuille. 



Cha till, cha till, etc. 



Translated by Lachlan MacBean; 



O'er C'oolin's face the night is creeping, 

 The banshee's wail is round us sweeping, 

 Blue eyes in Dun are sadly weeping, 

 Since thou art gone, and ne'er returnest. 



The breeze of the bens is gently flo^wing. 

 The brooks in the glens are softly flowing, 

 Where boughs their darkest shades are throwing. 

 Birds mourn for thee who ne'er returnest. 



It's dirges of woe the sea is sighing, 

 The boat under sail unmoved is lying, 

 The voice of the waves in sadness dying 

 Say thou art away and ne'er returnest. 



