308 OWL 



love, the ardour of heroic enterprise, nor the joys of convivial 

 intercourse have any share." 



The late Professor Blackie published (says Dr Keith Norman 

 Macdonald) "a very good translation of the celebrated poem 

 " An seal/^air 's a Chomhachag, the Hunter and the Owl," in 

 the Celtic Magazine for September 1885, Vol. X. There are 

 sixty-seven stanzas of four lines in each in the original, sixty-three 

 of which have been translated. The Rev. Maclean Sinclair in his 

 Gaelic Bards from 1411 to 1715, gives his version of this poem 

 which differs from those above given. 



Another account, written in Gaelic, says : " Oran na Comh- 

 achaig, a rinn Domhnull Mac Fhionnlaidh nan Dan, sealgair 'us 

 bard ainmeil Abrach, mu thiomchioll 1590, 'nuair a bha e na 

 sheann duine, tha 'g innseadh mu am na h-iorghuil agus an deigh 

 sin. Bha seann chu agus bean og aig Domhnull, agus bha a 

 bhean co spideil air an t' seann duine agus a mhadadh 's gun tug 

 i dhachaidh seann chomhachag a chumail conaltraidh riutha. An 

 sin rinn Domhnull Oran na Comhachaig 'an riochd comhradh 

 eadar e fein agus an t-eun aosmhor." 



It will be seen that this last account also differs from the 

 foregoing. 



A full description will also be found in Vol. V. of the Gaidheal, 

 where it is stated to have been composed, or at least begun, by 

 the author while on the road to Fearsaid, while returning from 

 a wedding at which he was too late in arriving. Hearing an owl 

 hooting from a thickly wooded part of the way called the "Sron," 

 he addressed "Ian maol a mhothair choir" to the tune of (as 

 given in the Gaidheal) seventy-two verses. 



The music will be found in the " Gesto " collection by Dr 

 Keith N. Macdonald, under the heading " Creag guanach." 



ORAN NA COMHACHAIG. 



A Chomhachag bhochd na sroine, Oh wailing owl of Srona, 

 A nochd is bronach do leabadh. Mournful is thy bed this night. 



Ma bha u ann re linn Donnatjchail, If thou hast lived in the days 



Cho n iunadh ge troin leat t aigne. Donnagal, 



No wonder thy spirit is heavy. 



'S co-aoise mise do'n daraig, I am coeval with the ancient oak 



Bha na fhaillein ann sa choinnich. Whose roots spread wide in yonder 



'S ioma linn a chuir mi romham, moss, 



Many a 



And still I am the lonely owl of Srona. 



'Sgur mi comhachag bhochd na sroine. Many a race has past before me, 



■ ;lo 



Nois o'n a thi u aosda. Now since old age has overtaken thee, 



Deansa t aoisid ris an t shagairt. Confess as to a priest, 



Agus innis dha gun earadh, And fearless tell to me 



Gath ao:i sgeula ga bheil agat. The tales of days long past. 



