54 ROYAL SOCIETY OF CANADA 



courag-e and good cheer; the merriment of the home life, for alongside 

 the hardships were situations which gave play to the lively wit and 

 fancy of the buoyant Kelt, and these as well as the loves of the swains 

 and maidens furnished rich material to the bard. Every settlement 

 had its poets, and the connection between the life and the lyrics of 

 the people was well maintained. Thus, the labours of the day were 

 lightened by song, in the melodious speech of the fathers; the idea 

 of exile was softened and the land of adoption became more and more 

 a real home like the native land. But that native land was not for- 

 gotten, and " MacOrimmon's Lament," or the " Emigrant's Farewell " 

 had still the power of awakening memories of the past: 



" Is trie mi cuimhneach air tiir mo dhùthohais, 



Air tir nam beanntan 's nan gleanntan ùrar; 

 Air tir nan sgàmaichean arda, ruisg-te, 



Nan creagan corraoh, 's nan lochan dùghorm." 



Translated: — 



" Dear land of my fathers, my home in the HigTilands, 

 'Tis oft that I think on thy bannie green glens, 

 Thy far-g'leaming lochs, and the sJieer sided oorries, 

 Thy dark-frowning cliffs, and thy g'lory of Bens! " 



Or,— 



."Ib toigh leain a Ghaidhlig, a bardachd 's a ceôl, 

 Is trie 'thog i nios sinn 'n uair bhiodhmaid fo leôn; 

 'S i -dh' ionnsaich sinn tria ann an laithean ar n-oig, 

 'S nach fag sinn gu ibràth gus an laidh sinn fo'n fhoid." 



Translated: — 



" And the songs of the Gael on their pinions of fire. 

 How oft have they lifted my heart from the mire; 

 On the lap of my mother I lisp'd them to God; 

 Let them float round my grave, when I sleep 'neath the sod." 



By the Eestigouche or the St. Lawrence the peasant-poet sat and 

 mused upon the days of yore, and to the gathering neighbours poured 

 an oblation to the manes of his forefathers, such as the beautiful 

 " Canadian Boat Song,'^ said to have been translated from the Gaelic 

 by Earl Eglinton: — 



Translated: — 



" Lisiten to me as when ye heard our father. 

 Sing long ago the songs of other shores; 

 Listen to me and then in chorus gather, 

 All your deep voices as ye pull your oars — 



Chorus. 

 Fair these broad meads, these hoary woods are grand. 

 But we are exiles from our father's land. 



