262 CUCKOO 



Which bein<T translated, is to the following effect : — 



I found the nest of the heather hen 



On the top of the stormy waves ; 



While high in the skies rose the red-grey seal. 



And a creel on her back so bare. 



For love of thee I'm sad to-day, 



I'm sad for thee and lonely. 



For love of thee I'm sad to-day. 

 I saw the little kittiwakes 

 Our potatoes industriously till. 

 While the little brown wren with a pair of oars 

 'Gainst the wind a boat did pull. 



For love, etc. 

 I also observed the young coalfish 

 Their distaffs busily ply. 



While the eleujant crane strode along with men 

 With a cask for those who were dry. 



For love, etc. 

 I saw each slippery Httle brown fish 

 With a burden of faggots of fir. 

 And on her clumsy shell the buckie as well 

 Bore a load of mountain heather. 



For love, etc. 

 On the winnowing-floor the eels uprose 

 And danced on the tips of their tails. 

 While the crooked curlew, with a staff and haloo, 

 Drove the sheep to the fold without fail. 



For love, etc. 



To give even a reference to the many Gaelic and Highland 

 songs wherein the cuckoo is more or less made a theme of, or at 

 least referred to, is impossible, so the attempt is not made ; it is 

 notable, however, that, in his dire love-sick distress, William Ross, 

 who is perhaps the sweetest and most graceful of our numerous 

 Highland bards or minstrels, it was to the cuckoo of the grove 

 he addressed himself for sympathetic relief, saying : — 



' ' A chuachag nan craobh nach truagh 

 leat mo chaoidh 

 Ag osnaich ri oidhch' cheothar," etc. 



O cuckoo of the grove, don't you hear how I mourn 

 And sigh on this dull misty evening, etc. 



One Logan, who lived after 1748 in the South, was said to 

 have composed an ode to the cuckoo, which might have been 

 passed over with the mere reference were it not that it was 

 translated into Gaelic by " Caraid nan Gaidheal " ; it will be found 

 in the "Teachdaire Gaelach," for May 1829. There are only seven 

 verses, one of which we quote ; — the real composer, however, 

 settled after a long correspondence, was Michael Bruce. 



Do choillse ! coin nam buadh tha Sweet bird ! thy bower is ever green, 



gorm. Thy sky is ever clear. 



Do speur do gnath tha blath. Thou hast no sorrow in thy song, 

 Mulad cha 'n *eil a chaoidh ad dhan No winter in thy year. 



No gearahradh ann ad thra. 



