t h e  g r e a t  b o o k  o f  g a e l i c

a n  l e a b h a r  m r

 


Neach-ealain / Artist: Rita Duffy
Snas-sgrobhadair / Calligrapher: Donald Murray
Eadar-theangaichte aig / Translator: Colm Baoill
Roghainn / Nominator: Morag Montgomery


 

Alasdair Gleanna Garadh,
Thug thu n-diugh gal air mo shilibh;
S beag ioghnadh mi bhith fo chreuchdaibh
S gur tric gan reubadh s r iad;
S beag ioghnadh mi bhith trom-osnach,
S meud an dosgaidh th air mo chirdibh;
Gur tric an t-eug uainn a gearradh
Rogha nan darag as irde.

Chaill sinn ionann agus cmhla
Sir Dmhnall s a mhac s a bhrthair;
Ciod e n st dhuinn bhith gan gearan?
Thuit Mac Mhic Ailein sa bhlr uainn;
Chaill sinn darag lidir liath-ghlas
A chumadh don air ar cirdean,
Capall-coille bhrr na githsaich,
Seabhag sil-ghorm lthmhor lidir.

Bu tu ceann air cill s air comhairl
Anns gach gnothach am biodh cram,
Aghaidh shoilleir sholta thlachdmhor,
Cridhe fial farsaing mun chinneadh;
Bu tu roghainn nan sr-ghaisgeach,
Ar guala thaice, s tu b fhighail;
Lemhann smiorail fearail feumail,
Ceann-feachda chaill Seumas Stibhart.

Nam b ionann duitse s do Dhmhnall,
An uair a chuir e n long air muir,
Cha tigeadh tu dhachaigh gu brth
Gun fhios d m fth s n do chuir;
Nuair a chunnacas air an trigh sibh
A bhith gur fgail air faondradh,
Thuit ar cridheachan fo mhulad:
S lir a bhuil - cha robh sibh saoghlach.

Bu tu n lasair dhearg gan losgadh,
Bu tu sgoltadh iad gu n siltibh,
Bu tu curaidh cur a chatha,
Bu tu n laoch gun athadh limhe;
Bu tu m bradan anns an fhor-uisg,
Freun air an eunlaith s irde,
Bu tu n lemhann thar gach beathach,
Bu tu damh leathann na crice.

Bu tu n loch nach fhaodte thaomadh,
Bu tu tobar faoilidh na slinte,
Bu tu Beinn Nibheis thar gach aonach,
Bu tu chreag nach fhaodte thernadh;
Bu tu clach-uachdair a chaisteil,
Bu tu leac leathann na sride,
Bu tu leug lghmhor nam buadhan,
Bu tu clach uasal an fhinne.

Bu tu n t-iubhar thar gach coillidh,
Bu tu n darach daingeann lidir,
Bu tu n cuileann s bu tu n draigheann,
Bu tu n t-abhall molach blthmhor;
Cha robh do dhimh ris a chritheann
No do dhligheadh ris an fherna;
Cha robh bheag ionnad den leamhan;
Bu tu leannan nam ban lainn.

Bu tu cile na mn prseil,
S oil leam fhin da dth an drst thu;
Ged nach ionann domhsa s dhise,
S goirt a fhuair mise mo chradh;
H-uile bean a bhios gun chile,
Guidheadh i Mac D na ite,
O s E s urra bhith ga cmhnadh
Anns gach brn a chuireas cs oirr.

Guidheam t anam a bhith sbhailt
On a chireadh anns an ir thu;
Guidheam sonas air na dhfhg thu
Ann ad ros s ann ad dhthaich:
Gum faic mi do mhac ad ite
Ann an saidhbhreas s ann an cram:
Alasdair Gleanna Garadh,
Thug thu n-diugh gal air mo shilibh.

 

 

Alasdair of Glengarry, you have caused me to shed
tears today. Small wonder that I am covered with
wounds and that they are repeatedly being burst
open; small wonder that I am filled with deep sighing,
considering all the misfortune that has befallen my
friends. Death is constantly cutting off from us the
best of the tallest oaks.

We lost, almost at the same time, Sir Donald, his son
and his brother. What use is it for us to complain
over them? Clanranald fell from us on the battle-
field. We have lost a strong grey oak-tree which
sheltered our friends, a wood-grouse from the pine-
wood, a blue-eyed hawk, vigorous and strong.

You were the leader in wisdom and counsel in every
activity where responsibility was concerned; bright,
pleasant and handsome face, heart generous and liberal
with money. You were the choice of excellent warriors,
a shoulder to support us, as you were worthy to be;
a courageous, manly and effective lion, a leader whom
James Stuart has lost.

If you were in the same situation as Donald was when
he put the boat to sea, you would never have come
home without knowing why he launched it. When
you were seen on the strand, left alone in the lurch
our hearts fell into sorrow. The outcome is clear:
you were not long-lived.

You were a red torch to burn them, you would cleave
them to the heels, you were a hero for waging battle,
you were a champion whose arm never flinched. You
were the salmon in fresh water, the eagle in the highest
flock, you were the lion above all beasts, you were the
stout antlered stag.

You were an undrainable loch, you were the liberal
fount of health; you were Ben Nevis above every
moor, you were an unscalable crag. You were the
top-stone of the castle, you were the broad flag of the
street, you were a priceless gem, you were the jewel in
the ring.

You were the yew above every forest, you were the
strong steadfast oak, you were the holly and the black-
thorn, you were the apple-tree, rough-barked and
many-flowered. You had no kinship with the aspen,
owed no bonds to the alder; there was none of the
lime-tree in you; you were the darling of beautiful
women.

You were the husband of an invaluable wife, and it
grieves me that she is now without you: though it is
not the same for me as for her, I have myself suffered
a bitter fortune. Let every wife who is without a
husband pray to have the Son of God in his place,
for He it is who can aid her in every sorrow which
afflicts her.

I pray that your soul may be saved, now that you have
been buried in the clay. I pray for happiness for
those you have left, in your home and in your lands.
May I see your son in your place, in wealth and re-
sponsibility. Alasdair of Glengarry, you have caused
me to shed tears today.

 

 

 

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