228 NETHER LOCHABER. 



healing for him. The old Highlanders, you see, knew the value 

 of deer : they hadn't a good word to say of sheep. 



A few days ago we went into a cottage where a woman was 

 sitting spinning, and singing a song we had not heard for many 

 years, though we recoUect hearing it frequently sung in hoyhood. 

 The soft and plaintive air was an old favourite, and her style of 

 singing pleasing. With a very sweet voice and much feeling, she 

 sang it all on requesting her to do so ; and after tea in the evening 

 we threw the verses into English, as follows. It is, however, 

 rather an imitation than a translation. The original, which is 

 probably known to many of our readers, beguinLng — 



' ' Tha'n oidhche dorcha, dubh, gun remit 

 Tha aibh's na speur fo ghruaman," &c. 



is old ; how old we know not. Nor have we any clue to the name 

 of the author, or more probably authoress. Of the authors, indeed, 

 of many of our very finest Gaelic songs may be said what was said 

 of the old nameless border-bard, that they — 



" Nameless as the race from whence they sprung, 

 Saved other names and left their own unsung." 



The song in Gaelic has no particular title. It is known by the 

 two first lines quoted above, just as we say, " Of a' the airts the 

 wind can blaw," and " Ye banks and braes o' bonnie Doon." In 

 default of anything better, our English version may perhaps appro- 

 priately enough be entitled — 



Light and Shade. 



Dark and dreary is the world to me, 



No sun, no moon, no star ; 

 Vainly I struggle on my midnight sea, 



No beacon gleama afar ; 

 A wilderness of winter, frost and snow, 

 Sad and aloue I hang my head in woe. 



