Callum o' the Glen.Chorus.My bonnie dark maid,My precious, my pretty,I'll sing in your praiseA light-hearted ditty;Fair daughter whom noneHad the sense yet to marry;And I'll tell you the causeWhy their love did miscarry,My bonnie dark maid!I.For sure thou art beautiful,Faultless to see;No malice can fastenA blot upon thee.Thy bosom's soft whitenessThe seagull may shame,And for thou art lordless'Tis I am to blame.II.And indeed I am sorry,My fault I deplore,Who won thee notocherBy swelling my store;With drinking and drinkingMy tin slipped away,And so there's small boastOf my sporran to-day.III.While I sit at the board,Well seasoned with drinking,And wish for the thingThat lies nearest my thinking,'Tis the little brown jugThat my eye will detain,And when once I have seen itI'd see it again!IV.The men of the countryMay jeer and may gibe,That I rank with the pennilessBeggarly tribe;But though few are my cattle,I'll still find a wayFor a drop in my bottle,Till I'm under the clay.V.There's a grumpy old fellow,As proud as a king,Whose lambs will be dyingBy scores in the spring,Drinks three bottles a year,Most sober of men,But dies a poor sinnerLike Callum o' Glen.VI.When I'm at the market,With a dozen like meOf proper good fellowsThat love barley-bree,I sit round the table,And drink without fear,For my good-wife says only,"God bless you, my dear!"VII.Though I'm poor, what of that?I can live and not steal,Though pinched at a timeBy the high price of meal.There's good luck with God,And He gives without measure;And while He gives health,I can pay for my pleasure.VIII.Very true that my drinkMakes my money go quicker;Yet I'll not take a vowTo dispense with good liquor:In my own liquid wayI'd be great amongst men,—Now you know what to thinkOf good Callum o' Glen.
Callum o' the Glen.
Chorus.
My bonnie dark maid,My precious, my pretty,I'll sing in your praiseA light-hearted ditty;Fair daughter whom noneHad the sense yet to marry;And I'll tell you the causeWhy their love did miscarry,My bonnie dark maid!
I.
For sure thou art beautiful,Faultless to see;No malice can fastenA blot upon thee.Thy bosom's soft whitenessThe seagull may shame,And for thou art lordless'Tis I am to blame.
II.
And indeed I am sorry,My fault I deplore,Who won thee notocherBy swelling my store;With drinking and drinkingMy tin slipped away,And so there's small boastOf my sporran to-day.
III.
While I sit at the board,Well seasoned with drinking,And wish for the thingThat lies nearest my thinking,'Tis the little brown jugThat my eye will detain,And when once I have seen itI'd see it again!
IV.
The men of the countryMay jeer and may gibe,That I rank with the pennilessBeggarly tribe;But though few are my cattle,I'll still find a wayFor a drop in my bottle,Till I'm under the clay.
V.
There's a grumpy old fellow,As proud as a king,Whose lambs will be dyingBy scores in the spring,Drinks three bottles a year,Most sober of men,But dies a poor sinnerLike Callum o' Glen.
VI.
When I'm at the market,With a dozen like meOf proper good fellowsThat love barley-bree,I sit round the table,And drink without fear,For my good-wife says only,"God bless you, my dear!"
VII.
Though I'm poor, what of that?I can live and not steal,Though pinched at a timeBy the high price of meal.There's good luck with God,And He gives without measure;And while He gives health,I can pay for my pleasure.
VIII.
Very true that my drinkMakes my money go quicker;Yet I'll not take a vowTo dispense with good liquor:In my own liquid wayI'd be great amongst men,—Now you know what to thinkOf good Callum o' Glen.
WilliamRoss, known as "the Gairloch bard," was born at Broadford, Skye, in 1762. His mother was a native of Gairloch, and daughter of the celebrated blind piper and poetIain Dall, or John Mackay, already noticed. For want of a regular school in Skye he and a little sister were sent to the Grammar School at Forres to be educated. Here his aptness in learning attracted the notice of the master, who declared that of the many pupils he had had under his care he did not remember one who had excelled young Ross as a general scholar. After he had been some years at Forres he joined his parents, who had removed to the parish of Gairloch. His father became a pedlar, and travelled through the Lews and other western islands. The young bard, who was of a delicate constitution, accompanied his father in these travels, and endeavoured to become acquainted with the different dialects of the Gaelic language. Heafterwards travelled through parts of the Highlands of Perthshire, Breadalbane, and Argyllshire, and finally returned to Gairloch, where, at the age of twenty-four, he was appointed to the charge of the parish school, which he conducted until near the time of his death with much success. In a short time he acquired a great reputation as a teacher of the young, whom he endeared to himself by his tact and humour. His company was much sought after, not only for his excellent songs but also for his intelligence and sense of humour, and he maintained an intimacy with several respectable families with whom he had become acquainted during his travels. He played on the violin, flute, and several other instruments with considerable skill, and was a good singer; he acted as precentor in the parish church. Never strong he soon became a prey to asthma and consumption, and his short but brilliant poetic career was terminated by his death, in 1790, at the early age of twenty-seven. On the monument on his grave his age is stated to have been twenty-eight; but John Mackenzie, in the "Beauties," says William Ross died in his twenty-eighth year. He was residing at Badachro at the time of his death. He was buried in the churchyard of Gairloch, where a simple stone with an English inscription was all that for many years marked the spot. The funeral was attended by nearly the whole male population of the surrounding country.
A handsome freestone monument was in 1850 erected on the grave, mainly through the exertions of his clansman Mr George Ross, who was for many years head-keeper at Flowerdale, Gairloch, and is now (1886) living in well-earned retirement with a handsome pension from Sir Kenneth Mackenzie. The monument bears inscriptions in Gaelic and English. The English one is as follows:—
"In memory of William Ross, sometime schoolmaster of Gairloch, better known as the Gairloch bard, who died in 1790, aged 28 years, this monument is erected over his grave by a few of his countrymen and others, headed by the amiable and accomplished proprietor of Gairloch, in testimony of their respect and admiration of his extraordinary genius and great native talent. 1850.
His name to future ages shall extend,While Gaelic poetry can claim a friend."
His name to future ages shall extend,While Gaelic poetry can claim a friend."
In personal appearance William Ross was tall and handsome, with open and regular features, and brown hair, and was nearly six feet high. As a student he excelled in Latin and Greek, and it was universally allowed that he was the best Gaelic scholar of his day. During his excursions to the Lews he paid his addresses to Marion Ross, of Stornoway, but was rejected, and he never married. He composed songs to his flame both before and after his rejection. Some of his best pieces were composed during his travels, but the majority of his songs were the product of his later years. John Mackenzie included twenty-one of William Ross's songs and poems in the "Beauties of Gaelic Poetry," and published a separate volume of them, comprising in all thirty-three productions. John Mackenzie says that William Ross's poetry deserves to be styled the poetry of the heart,—of a heart full to overflowing with noble sentiments and sublime and tender passions.
Thisfamous bard of Gairloch is remembered in his native parish asAlastair Buidhe Mac Iamhair, or the "yellow-haired Alexander M'Iver." The surname Campbell is called M'Iver in Gairloch. He was born in 1767, probably at Melvaig, in Gairloch. On his mother's side he was descended from the Mackenzies of Shieldaig. His father's ancestor is said to have come from the Lorne country as attendant to Anna, daughter of Macdougal of Dunolly, who, about 1440, became the wife of Alexander the Upright, sixth lord of Kintail, father of Hector Roy Mackenzie. It is said that from the days of Hector Roy the bard's ancestors had always been ground-officers under the lairds of Gairloch.
Alastair Buidhespent his youthful days at Melvaig, and assisted his father in the usual avocations of a small farmer. One of his best songs was composed whilst he was herding his father's cattle on the hill at Melvaig.
When he came to man's estate Alastair was appointed by Sir Hector Mackenzie to be one of his ground-officers, as well as his family bard. He seems to have displayed considerable tact in performing his duties. Here is an anecdote of him which illustrates not only his own character but the footing he was on with Sir Hector. It appears that Sir Hector had been much annoyed with a tenant at Poolewe, who was in arrear with his rent, and would not pay up any part of it. So he calledAlastair Buidheand instructed him to go and demand the rent once more, and in default of payment to take the roof off the house. On the tenant still refusing to pay up, Alastair got on the roof and removed one divot from the ridge at the very top of the roof, and one other from the top of the wall at the lowest part of the roof. Sir Hector, whose kind heart had by this time repented of the order he had given, met Alastair on his return. Sir Hector inquired if he had done the job. Alastair replied that he had. Sir Hector said he hoped he had not done as bad as he had been told. Alastair then told him he had put the highest divot from the roof as far down as the lowest. On this Sir Hector expressed his vexation, and remarked that Alastair had done very badly. Then Alastair said it was not so bad but that it could yet be made better, for that he had only taken off the two divots altogether. Sir Hector said, "Sandy, you are a wiser man than I am."
As bard to Sir Hector, Alastair regularly attended two or three days a week at Flowerdale House, as well as at other times when his services were required. He was much appreciated by every member of the family. Dr Mackenzie, Sir Hector's only surviving son, writing of him under date of 30th August 1878, said:—"I see honestAlastair Buidhe, with his broad bonnet and blue greatcoat (summer and winter), clearly before me now, sitting in the dining-room at Flowerdale, quite 'raised' like, while reciting Ossian's poems, suchas 'The Brown Boar of Diarmid' and others (though he had never heard of Macpherson's collection), to very interested visitors, though as unacquainted with Gaelic as Alastair was with English. This must have been as early as 1812 or so, when I used to come into the room after dinner about nine years old." Dr Mackenzie says in his "Odd and End Stories" that it was Alastair who told them the story of Hector Roy and "The Gairloch" (seePart I., chap. ix.). The Doctor adds:—"One of our summer evening amusements was getting him (Alastair) to the dining-room after dinner, where, well dined below stairs and primed by a bumper of port wine, he would stand up and with really grand action and eloquence give us poem after poem of Ossian in Gaelic. Alastair could not read, and only understood Gaelic, and these poems came down to him through generations numberless, as repeated by his ancestors around their winter evening fires."
When Alastair became ground-officer and bard to Sir Hector, he took up his abode at Inverkerry near Flowerdale. In his later years he removed to Strath, and Sir Hector allowed him to hold his land there rent free for the rest of his days. He survived his beloved patron seventeen years; he died in 1843, at the age of seventy-six, and was buried in his family grave in the Gairloch churchyard.
Alastair was of middle height, and had, as his Gaelicsoubriquetimplies, yellow hair; he was a slender man, and never strong at his best. In his later years he suffered from bad health, and was very weakly long before his death.
His character is described as peculiarly attractive; he was of a gentle kindly disposition, highly esteemed by all who knew him of whatever rank, and children loved him as well as their seniors. He had a great fund of humour, combined with a deep sense of the pathetic, and was "splendid company."
William Ross, "the Gairloch bard," and he were intimate friends. As Alastair was wading the Achtercairn river one day, on his way to a sister's wedding, he met William Ross, and humorous verses were hurled from one to the other across the stream in reference to Alastair's coat, which was a "Cota gearr" of homespun cloth slightly dipped in indigo, the colour being between a pale blue and a dirty white. Alastair was also on good terms with Alexander Grant, the great bard of Slaggan.
Alastair was married, and left five sons, viz., Roderick (grandfather of Alexander Mackenzie the historian of the Mackenzies, and editor of theCeltic Magazine), Alastair Buidhe, Iain Buidhe, and Donald Buidhe (who was a cripple and became a tailor). Roderick, a son of Evander Buidhe, is now shepherd at Tollie, and has supplied much of the information here given about his grandfather. Another son of Evander Buidhe was in a shop at Inverness, where he died; he made a capital song to his grandfather's old house at Strath, entitled in Gaelic "Tigh mo Sheanair." So the poetic afflatus of the old bard has not altogether disappeared in his descendants.
It is remarkable that two such bright stars should have illuminated the poetic firmament at the same time in Gairloch as WilliamRoss and Alexander Campbell. It is difficult for a southerner to appreciate the fame of these two Gairloch poets, but it may be said almost to correspond with that of Southey and Wordsworth. The poetry of William Ross appeals most strongly to the cultured mind, whilst Alastair's is more in tune with the simpler instincts and impulsive heartiness of a rural life. As we should expect, the poems ofAlastair Buidheare in the present day preferred in Gairloch to the compositions of his friend. No complete collection has been published of the poems ofAlastair Buidhe, though several pieces have appeared in theCeltic Magazine. It is feared that many of the poems, which only live in the memories of the people, may soon be lost.
AlexanderGrant, known as "Bard mor an t' Slaggan," or "the great bard of Slaggan," was born at Mellon Charles about 1742. His ancestor came to Gairloch from Strathspey, as attendant to Anne, daughter of Sir John Grant of Grant, who was married in 1640 to Kenneth Mackenzie, sixth laird of Gairloch. Most of the bard's life was passed at Slaggan, but shortly before his death he removed with his son to Tournaig, where he died in 1820 (or perhaps later), being about eighty years of age. The title bestowed on Sandy Grant of the "great bard" would perhaps be more correctly translated as the "big bard," for it was given him on account of his enormous stature and strength rather than for his merits as a poet. In height he was a giant, far exceeding in size any man then or now living in Gairloch; nor had he his equal in point of muscular strength. He did not fight; but on one occasion there was a row, to quell which the great bard caught Donald Morrison, of Drumchork, and held him fast by the hand. Donald, though himself a giant as compared with most men, was a pigmy by the side of Sandy Grant, and neither he nor all the bystanders could pull the bard's hand from his. Another proof of his great strength is remembered. In that day black periwinkles were plentiful, and were a favourite article of food; only two men in the country could break or crush a handful of them by the mere force of their grasp, viz., Sir Hector Mackenzie of Gairloch and the "great bard." It is doubtful whether any man could be found in Gairloch to perform this feat in the present day.
Sandy Grant was not so eminent a bard as were his contemporaries William Ross and Alastair Buidhe. He composed comparatively few songs or poems. In manner he is described as having been a "blunt" man. In appearance he was most remarkable for his gigantic form, already alluded to. I can get no positive information what was his exact height in inches; he far exceeded the heightgenerally considered that of a tall man, and I am told he certainly stood more than seven feet in his stockings. The bard was a fine-looking man in face, features, and expression. A portrait of him, which they say was an excellent likeness, appeared in the first edition of John Mackenzie's "Beauties of Gaelic Poetry." John Mackenzie made a collection of Sandy Grant's poems, intending to publish them in a new edition of the "Beauties," but death frustrated this design, and the poems seem to have been lost.
The "bard mor" was a canny man, if we may judge from the following amusing anecdote, which is quite authentic, and illustrates the superstitions of the times. It was told me by James Mackenzie:— There was a man in Loch Carron who had his cheeses stolen from his barn by a neighbour. Now Sandy Grant, the "bard mor," was reputed to have the power of discovering things that had been lost, by the faculty of second-sight. The worthy but simple-minded man who had been robbed of his cheeses sent a message immediately he discovered his loss to the bard at Slaggan, and requested that he would find out who had stolen them. The bard, who thought he saw a chance of earning an "honest penny," at once started on foot for Loch Carron. The man who had stolen the cheeses heard that the bard had been sent for, and was terrified; every day he walked out three miles on the road towards the north, hoping to intercept Sandy Grant. At last he met Sandy. Says he, "Are you not a stranger coming to Loch Carron?" "Yes," said Sandy, "I come from Slaggan." "Well," he says, "I am the man that stole the cheeses, and I'll give you fifteen shillings if you will not tell that I am the man." The bard replied, "Of course I know it was you that stole the cheeses, but where did you put them?" "Oh, dear!" said the man, "I put them in a peat-stack at the back of the township." "Yes; I know that," said Sandy, "but which stack did you put them in?" He replied, "The one that's farthest from the township altogether." "Are you sure that you put all the cheeses there?" again asked the cautious bard. "Yes," the man said, "I put them all there, but one cheese is out of count." "Well," said the bard, "I will not tell your name; when once they get the cheeses they will be satisfied." The Loch Carron man gave him the fifteen shillings, and as they passed his house he pressed the bard to come in and have a dram. "Oh, no, no," said Sandy; "be off, that they may not suspect we have been together." Then they parted, and the bard went to the house of the man who had sent for him. After refreshing the inner man, Sandy was asked to state who had stolen the cheeses, and where they now were. "Well," he said, "I will not tell you who stole them, but I will tell you where they are." He then asked what he was to receive for coming all the way from Slaggan. The man inquired how much he asked. Sandy named twenty-five shillings, and that sum was paid to him. "When to-morrow comes," said he "I will tell you where the cheeses are; but I must warn you that there will be one cheese missing." The next day the cheeses were duly discovered and restored to their rightful owner, and the "bard mor" returned to Slaggan with both the fifteen shillings and thetwenty-five shillings in his pocket, making two pounds,—in those days a more considerable sum than it is now.
The Grants, who formerly lived at Mellon Udrigil but are now at Londubh, are descendants of the "Bard mor an t'Slaggan."
JohnMackenzie, piper, poet, and author, is best remembered as having been the collector and editor of the work entitled the "Beauties of the Gaelic Language." He was born 17th July 1806, at Mellon Charles. He was the eldest son of "Alastair Og," who, like his father before him, was tacksman of all the lands on the north side of Loch Ewe belonging to the lairds of Gairloch. John Mackenzie's mother was Margaret, daughter of Mr Mackenzie of Badachro. On the father's side he was fifth in direct male descent from Alastair Cam, youngest son of Alastair Breac, fifth laird of Gairloch. He was educated primarily at home, afterwards at a small school on Isle Ewe, and finally at the parish school of Gairloch. From childhood he evinced a peculiar delight in reading, and especially devoted himself to the study of the songs and music of his native district. While a mere child he made a fiddle for himself, and later on a set of bagpipes, using no other instrument or tool than his pocket-knife. He became an excellent piper, and could also play the piano, fiddle, flute, and several other instruments. His parents, seeing his skill with his knife, apprenticed him to a travelling joiner named William Ross. During his travels with his master, John Mackenzie found congenial employment in noting down the Gaelic songs and tales floating among his countrymen. While executing some work at the manse of Gairloch he received a severe blow on the head, which for a time incapacitated him. On partially recovering he went to a carpenter at Conan Bridge to complete his apprenticeship, but he soon found that the injury to his head was of such a permanent character as to unfit him to pursue his trade further. Nor was he sorry to give up what was by no means congenial to his taste. He returned to Gairloch, and employed himself in collecting the poems of William Ross, most of which he obtained from Alexander Campbell. He spent twenty-one nights taking down Ross's poems from the lips of Alastair Buidhe. He seems from this time to have given himself up to literary work, and strenuously he laboured at it, spending some twelve years in travelling through the Highlands collecting materials for his great work the "Beauties of Gaelic Poetry." While thus travelling he procured a large list of subscribers for this work and other publications. In 1833 he left his native parish, and in the same year appeared "The Poems of William Ross, the Gairloch bard," with "The History of Mac Cruislig; a Highland Tale," in one volume; and several other works of minor importance. Within theyear a second edition of Ross's poems was called for. In 1836 he obtained a situation as bookkeeper in the Glasgow University Printing-office. The "Beauties" appeared in 1841. He disposed of the copyright for a mere trifle to a publishing firm in Glasgow, he himself engaging to superintend the work while passing through the press, a labour which undermined his never very robust constitution. His next work of importance was the "History of Prince Charles," in Gaelic, which was published by an Edinburgh firm. This was a translation, but poor John Mackenzie received very small remuneration for his skill and labour. The publication of these works brought him considerable fame in literary circles, and he soon after obtained an engagement with Messrs Maclachlan & Stewart, Edinburgh, at one pound per week. He produced for them translations into Gaelic of Baxter's "Call to the Unconverted;" Bunyan's "Pilgrim's Progress," "Come and Welcome," "World to Come," "Grace Abounding," "Water of Life," and "Sighs from Hell;" as also, Dyer's "Christ's Famous Titles," and Guthrie's "Christian's Great Interest." John Mackenzie was also the author of the English-Gaelic part of the dictionary known as MacAlpine's. He produced an enlarged edition of the poems of Duncan Ban Macintyre, and various other works. In all he composed, edited, or translated above thirty publications. His last completed work was "MacAlpine's Dictionary." In 1847 he issued a prospectus for an enlarged edition of the "Beauties." He was also the sub-editor of theCuairtear nan Gleann; and he wrote some original Gaelic sermons, for Highland ministers who were too ignorant of the language to compose their own sermons in it. At the time of his death he was preparing a new edition of the Gaelic Bible, which he left in an incomplete state. Being in very weak health he returned in May 1848, after an absence of fourteen years, to his father's house at Kirkton, or Inverewe, where, after a lingering illness, he died on 19th August 1848, aged forty-two years. He was buried in the old chapel in the churchyard at Gairloch. Almost the whole population of the district attended the funeral.
John Mackenzie was slenderly built, fair-haired, and sharp-featured. He was from his youth upwards considered quite a character in his native district. He composed several pieces of his own, but not of the highest order. He made a song in 1830 to Mary Sudge (with whom he had fallen in love), and published it in his "Cruitear; or Gaelic Melodist." He also composed an excellent song to a weaver's loom. He became well known as a good piper; he and John Macrae of Raasay used to be judges of pipe music at the Edinburgh competitions.
Several anecdotes are related exhibiting his originality and humour. One is worth recording here. He was travelling through Skye and the Islands gathering materials for his own works, and collecting accounts for theInverness Courier. He had collected a considerable sum and paid it into a bank at Portree, where he was invited by the banker to spend the night. Next morning he strolled down to the pier, and there saw a ship with the form of a woman asfigurehead. At this he stared so intently and earnestly, assuming at the same time his usual comic attitudes, that the captain's son noticing him asked, "Is she not really a very beautiful woman?" "Oh, yes," answered John, "I wish you would sell her to me." "You had better buy the ship," said he. "Oh, I cannot; it's not every man who could buy the ship, and it's her figurehead I want." The captain's son, still chaffing one whom he took to be a mere simpleton, and referring to John's long overcoat, answered, "I have seen many a man with a shorter coat than yours who could buy her." "Well, if she is cheap, I would like to buy her for the figurehead. Have you any cargo in her?" "Yes; I have five hundred bolls of meal in her; and you shall have the whole for three hundred pounds." John jumped on board, handed a five-pound note to the captain's son, who was part owner and was working the vessel, and said, "The ship is mine as she stands, cargo and all; come to the bank at twelve to-morrow, and you shall have the money." John went to the banker, related what had passed, informed the banker he had no money to pay for the ship, but that she was a good bargain, and that they must watch lest the captain's son should get away with her and the five pounds. Inquiries were made, and the banker agreed to pay for the ship, which was really worth more than three hundred pounds. They went at once to the captain's son, and offered him the money. He was in great distress, and begged to be relieved of the foolish bargain, finally offering John sixty pounds for himself if he would give up his right to the ship. This sum he magnanimously declined, and gave up the ship, strongly advising the captain's son to be more careful in future; not to chaff any one who had no intention of interfering with him or his; and, particularly, never to judge a man by his appearance, or by the length of his coat.
On 26th July 1878 a monument to the memory of John Mackenzie, which had been erected on a projecting rock outside the Gairloch churchyard, near the high road, was uncovered by Sir Kenneth Mackenzie of Gairloch, in presence of a large number of spectators. The monument, which is a granite column thirteen feet six inches high, was raised by a public subscription, originated and carried through by Mr Alexander Mackenzie of theCeltic Magazine. There are suitable inscriptions in Gaelic and English, that in English being as follows:—"In memory of John Mackenzie (of the family of Alastair Cam of Gairloch), who compiled and edited the 'Beauties of Gaelic Poetry;' and also compiled, wrote, translated, or edited, under surpassing difficulties, about thirty other works. Born at Mellon Charles, 1806; Died at Inverewe, 1848. In grateful recognition of his valuable services to Celtic literature, this monument is erected by a number of his fellow-countrymen, 1878."
Thereare several Gairloch men now living who essay the poetic vein in their own language.
One of them is Alexander Mackenzie, of Oban, or Opinan, near Mellon Udrigil. He is called "the bard," and has composed, it is said, some good songs. He lives the ordinary life of a crofter.
Perhaps the best known of living Gairloch bards is Duncan Mackenzie, the Kenlochewe bard. He was born in 1831, on the Culinellan farm near Kenlochewe. His father Hector was a weaver at Kenlochewe, and composed some poems, but his muse was neither so prolific nor so notable as that of his son. Duncan's mother was of the Loch Carron Mackenzies, some of whom were also poets. Duncan Mackenzie was never at school, and only learned to read Gaelic after attaining manhood. He had a brother named Malcolm, who was a piper, and died some years ago. The bard displayed his talents at an early age, for he composed several pieces when only eleven years old. The first which attracted public attention to his talents as a bard was a dialogue in verse between himself and Fionnla Leith, which he composed at the age of fifteen. The bard is a crofter at Kenlochewe. Like his father he is a good weaver; at times he has also proved himself an efficient shoemaker, mason, and carpenter. He is not a great singer, but he sometimes, though rarely, renders his own songs in a low voice but with expression. He has composed a large number of songs. A dozen of them have been published by Mr Alexander Mackenzie, under the auspices of the Gaelic Society of Inverness. Many of his pieces are forgotten by himself, though remembered by his neighbours. He has over fifty in manuscript. He excels in satire, and a vein of sometimes rather strong humour pervades his poems. He is a tall slender man, with plenty of beard, and still frequently dons the kilt.
The following poem was composed by the Kenlochewe bard on the marriage of Sir Kenneth S. Mackenzie, Bart. of Gairloch. Appended is an English version of the song which Professor Blackie has kindly made for this book. It is a close translation:—
Oran da Shir Coinneach Ghearrloch an oidhche a phos e.Chuala mi naigheachd ro thaitneach ri h-eis 'neachd,Sgeula chaidh aithris am baile Dhun-eidin,Sir Coinneach bhi seachnadh ard bhan-tighearnan Shasuinn,Sa posadh ri ainnir, cho maiseach ri te dhiu'.Nighean tighearn Ilè tha cinnteach ro uasal,Cho fad sa theid firinn a sgriobhadh man cuairt dì',Eireachdail, finealta, direach, ro-stuama,Ailleagan priseil, bho shin i air gluasad.'S ciatach a charaid 's iad Gaidh'lach le cheile,Tha uaisle nan nadur thug bar air na ceudan,"Ban-tighearn og Ghearrloch" an trath sa dha h-eigheachd,'S cupaichean lana dha 'n traghadh le eibhneas.Tein-aighir 's gach aite, le gairdeachas inntinn,Bho iosal Strath Ghearrloch gu Braighé na tirèAn tuath-cheatharn laidir dha'm b-abhaist bhi dileas,A dearbhadh an cairdeas 's an daimh nach da dhiobair.Tha i' slean 'us uaislean san uair so aig feasda,Ag innse gach buaidh a bha dualach dha'n teaghlach,Nan suidhè gu h-uallach an guaillean a cheileAg guidhe bhi buan doibh, le suaibhneas 'us eibhneas.A bhan-tighearn og aluinn tha'n traths air an tir so,A dh-fhior fhuil nan Armunn bha tamh ann an Ilè,Na Caimbeulaich laidir, bho chrioch Ar-a-Ghaidheil,Toir buaidh air an namhaid 's gach ait anns am bi iad.Tha cliu air na gaisgich dha'm b-aitreabh an tigh Digè,'S priseil an eachdraidh th'air cleachdadh na sinnsear,Bu mhoralach, maiseach, an curaidh Sir Eachainn;Bha eis'neachd aig fhacal am Bailè na rioghachd.SirFrank, an duin' uasal, bu shuaircè ro choir e,Meas aig an t-sluagh air, 's bha 'n tuath air an seol leis,Sealgair na'm fuar-bheann, ceum uallach air mointich:'S minic a bhuail e, na luath's an damh croiceach.Buaidh 'us cinneachdainn piseach, 'us ainm dhoibh,Slaintè 'us toileachdainn, sonas 'us sealbh dhoibh,Saoghal fada, gun ghainnè, gun chearb dhoibh,Gearrloch 'us Lagaidh, bhi pailt ann an airgiod.
Oran da Shir Coinneach Ghearrloch an oidhche a phos e.
Chuala mi naigheachd ro thaitneach ri h-eis 'neachd,Sgeula chaidh aithris am baile Dhun-eidin,Sir Coinneach bhi seachnadh ard bhan-tighearnan Shasuinn,Sa posadh ri ainnir, cho maiseach ri te dhiu'.
Nighean tighearn Ilè tha cinnteach ro uasal,Cho fad sa theid firinn a sgriobhadh man cuairt dì',Eireachdail, finealta, direach, ro-stuama,Ailleagan priseil, bho shin i air gluasad.
'S ciatach a charaid 's iad Gaidh'lach le cheile,Tha uaisle nan nadur thug bar air na ceudan,"Ban-tighearn og Ghearrloch" an trath sa dha h-eigheachd,'S cupaichean lana dha 'n traghadh le eibhneas.
Tein-aighir 's gach aite, le gairdeachas inntinn,Bho iosal Strath Ghearrloch gu Braighé na tirèAn tuath-cheatharn laidir dha'm b-abhaist bhi dileas,A dearbhadh an cairdeas 's an daimh nach da dhiobair.
Tha i' slean 'us uaislean san uair so aig feasda,Ag innse gach buaidh a bha dualach dha'n teaghlach,Nan suidhè gu h-uallach an guaillean a cheileAg guidhe bhi buan doibh, le suaibhneas 'us eibhneas.
A bhan-tighearn og aluinn tha'n traths air an tir so,A dh-fhior fhuil nan Armunn bha tamh ann an Ilè,Na Caimbeulaich laidir, bho chrioch Ar-a-Ghaidheil,Toir buaidh air an namhaid 's gach ait anns am bi iad.
Tha cliu air na gaisgich dha'm b-aitreabh an tigh Digè,'S priseil an eachdraidh th'air cleachdadh na sinnsear,Bu mhoralach, maiseach, an curaidh Sir Eachainn;Bha eis'neachd aig fhacal am Bailè na rioghachd.
SirFrank, an duin' uasal, bu shuaircè ro choir e,Meas aig an t-sluagh air, 's bha 'n tuath air an seol leis,Sealgair na'm fuar-bheann, ceum uallach air mointich:'S minic a bhuail e, na luath's an damh croiceach.
Buaidh 'us cinneachdainn piseach, 'us ainm dhoibh,Slaintè 'us toileachdainn, sonas 'us sealbh dhoibh,Saoghal fada, gun ghainnè, gun chearb dhoibh,Gearrloch 'us Lagaidh, bhi pailt ann an airgiod.
Epithalamium on the Marriage of Sir Kenneth Mackenzie, Baronet of Gairloch, and Miss Eila Campbell of Islay.
I heard a piece of news last night, good news that brings no sorrow,Good news that sped on lightsome wings from castled Edinboro',That good Sir Kenneth wisely shuns an English maid to woo,But he will marry a bonnie lass of Celtic blood and true.A daughter of brave Islay's lord, a perfect lady sheFrom top to toe, this all who speak the truth will tell to thee;Handsome she is, stately and tall, winsome and chaste and good:In all she is, and all she does, a jewel of womanhood.A noble couple, and well matched; this thing I dare to tell,—Among a thousand ladies she will bravely bear the bell.The Lady of Gairloch! I hear them shout with loud acclaim,While brimming cups are freely poured to her high honoured name.And bonfires blaze on all the heights, and all hearts are ablaze,From the green shelter of the strath up to the hoary braes;And all the clansmen stout and true attend with loyal pride,To prove their fealty to their chief, and greet his noble bride.Both high and low are feasting now, and telling man to manThe virtues that from sire to son flowed on to bless the clan:Proudly they sit in friendly groups, and pray that evermoreOn them and theirs a gracious God full horn of joy may pour.The lovely lady long the pride of Islay's faithful strand,Of old heroic stock, shall now rule o'er this happy land;In west Argyll her kinsmen dwell, the clan of mighty name,Who never flinched and never failed to conquer where they came.In Tigh mor's goodly hall they sit, where deeds of great renownThe blazoned story of the clan from sire to son come down:Sir Hector was a noble man, and when debate was stirredAt Dingwall or at Inverness they owned his mighty word.Sir Francis was a gentleman, right courteous and polite,And all his tenants loved the lord who always loved the right;A hunter bold was he, and keen to mount from crag to crag,With wary foot, and bring to ground the fleet high-antlered stag.Good luck and joy be with the pair, favour from God and man;Health and goodwill and acres broad well planted with the clan;And length of happy days be theirs, and blessings without measure,And a fat purse to serve their need and entertain their leisure.
I heard a piece of news last night, good news that brings no sorrow,Good news that sped on lightsome wings from castled Edinboro',That good Sir Kenneth wisely shuns an English maid to woo,But he will marry a bonnie lass of Celtic blood and true.
A daughter of brave Islay's lord, a perfect lady sheFrom top to toe, this all who speak the truth will tell to thee;Handsome she is, stately and tall, winsome and chaste and good:In all she is, and all she does, a jewel of womanhood.
A noble couple, and well matched; this thing I dare to tell,—Among a thousand ladies she will bravely bear the bell.The Lady of Gairloch! I hear them shout with loud acclaim,While brimming cups are freely poured to her high honoured name.
And bonfires blaze on all the heights, and all hearts are ablaze,From the green shelter of the strath up to the hoary braes;And all the clansmen stout and true attend with loyal pride,To prove their fealty to their chief, and greet his noble bride.
Both high and low are feasting now, and telling man to manThe virtues that from sire to son flowed on to bless the clan:Proudly they sit in friendly groups, and pray that evermoreOn them and theirs a gracious God full horn of joy may pour.
The lovely lady long the pride of Islay's faithful strand,Of old heroic stock, shall now rule o'er this happy land;In west Argyll her kinsmen dwell, the clan of mighty name,Who never flinched and never failed to conquer where they came.
In Tigh mor's goodly hall they sit, where deeds of great renownThe blazoned story of the clan from sire to son come down:Sir Hector was a noble man, and when debate was stirredAt Dingwall or at Inverness they owned his mighty word.
Sir Francis was a gentleman, right courteous and polite,And all his tenants loved the lord who always loved the right;A hunter bold was he, and keen to mount from crag to crag,With wary foot, and bring to ground the fleet high-antlered stag.
Good luck and joy be with the pair, favour from God and man;Health and goodwill and acres broad well planted with the clan;And length of happy days be theirs, and blessings without measure,And a fat purse to serve their need and entertain their leisure.
Alexander Cameron, who may be called "the Tournaig bard," is a native of Inverasdale, on the west side of Loch Ewe. He was born about 1848. He has been manager of Mr Osgood H. Mackenzie's farm at Tournaig for some sixteen years, and has been on the Inverewe estate since he was a boy of fifteen. He is the author of a number of songs and poems of considerable merit. Perhaps the best of them is a poem in twenty verses in praise of Tournaig. The song in its original Gaelic appeared in theNorthern Chroniclein 1883. I have had the pleasure of hearing Alexander Cameron sing several of his own songs, and can testify to their graceful intonation. He is tall, and rather slenderly built, and has the courteous manner of a true Gairloch Highlander.
The following are twelve verses of the song in praise of Tournaig, with an English version by Mr W. Clements Good, of Aberdeen:—
Oran.On's e'n diugh an dara MaighBho 'na ghabh mi 'n Turnaig tamh,Air leam fein nach b'olc an casAir a sgath ged' dheilbhinn rann.Hurabh o gun tog mi fonn,'S toil leam fein an Coire donn,Diridh mi 'mach ris a mhaoil;'S fallain gaoth a thaobh na meall.'S gloirmhor obair Nadair fein,Grian a g'oradh neoil nan speur,Cuan na chomhnard boidheach reidh,'S torman seimh aig seis nan allt.Hurabh o, &c.Turnaig aoibhinn, Turnaig aigh,Turnaig shaoibhir, Turnaig lan,Turnaig bheartach, 's pailte barr,Turnaig ghnaiseach, ghranach, throm.Hurabh o, &c.Tha gach tlachd na d' thaic'air fas,Sliabh is srath is cladach sail;D'uillt do neamhneidibh cho lanFar an snamh an dobhran donn.Hurabh o, &c.Tha do chladach clachadh, ard,Geodhach, stacach, fasgach, blath;H-uile sloc is lag is baghLoma-lan do mhaorach trom.Hurabh o, &c.Bradain mheanmnach na d' loch sail,Iteach ballabhreac's earragheal tarr,Suibhlach luath, na chuaich mar bharc,Tigh'n on 'chuan gu tamh 'm bun d'alltHurabh o, &c.Loch-nan-dail le chladach 'seoin,Loch-nan-lach is glaise geoidh,Iasgach pailt air bhailc nan ob,'S gasd 'an spors do sheoid dhol ann.Hurabh o, &c.Air gach dail tha mart le laogh,Anns gach glaic tha pailteas naoisg,Air gach stacan, coileach fraoich'Mach na d' aonach sgaoth chearc donn.Hurabh o, &c.Coill Aigeascaig gu ceutach cluth,'S am beil legion coileach-dubh,Sud an doire 'n goir iad moch,Seinn am puirt le'm bus-ghuib chrom,Hurabh o, &c.Cuag chuldonn anns gach ait'Seinn guggug an dluths 'nam barr,Breacaidh-beith 'sa ghlas charn,Snathadag is dreadhan donn,Hurabh o, &c.Smudan, smeorach, creothar, dnag,Sud an ceol is boidhche sgread;'S bru-dearg ruiteach gearradh fead,Thuas air creagan os an cionn.Hurabh o, &c.Leam a b'ait bhi seal le'm ghaol,G-eisdeachd cruitearan do chraobh;Gabhail beachd air obair shaorNadair aonsgeulaich 's gach ball.Hurabh o, &c.
Oran.
On's e'n diugh an dara MaighBho 'na ghabh mi 'n Turnaig tamh,Air leam fein nach b'olc an casAir a sgath ged' dheilbhinn rann.Hurabh o gun tog mi fonn,'S toil leam fein an Coire donn,Diridh mi 'mach ris a mhaoil;'S fallain gaoth a thaobh na meall.
'S gloirmhor obair Nadair fein,Grian a g'oradh neoil nan speur,Cuan na chomhnard boidheach reidh,'S torman seimh aig seis nan allt.Hurabh o, &c.
Turnaig aoibhinn, Turnaig aigh,Turnaig shaoibhir, Turnaig lan,Turnaig bheartach, 's pailte barr,Turnaig ghnaiseach, ghranach, throm.Hurabh o, &c.
Tha gach tlachd na d' thaic'air fas,Sliabh is srath is cladach sail;D'uillt do neamhneidibh cho lanFar an snamh an dobhran donn.Hurabh o, &c.
Tha do chladach clachadh, ard,Geodhach, stacach, fasgach, blath;H-uile sloc is lag is baghLoma-lan do mhaorach trom.Hurabh o, &c.
Bradain mheanmnach na d' loch sail,Iteach ballabhreac's earragheal tarr,Suibhlach luath, na chuaich mar bharc,Tigh'n on 'chuan gu tamh 'm bun d'alltHurabh o, &c.
Loch-nan-dail le chladach 'seoin,Loch-nan-lach is glaise geoidh,Iasgach pailt air bhailc nan ob,'S gasd 'an spors do sheoid dhol ann.Hurabh o, &c.
Air gach dail tha mart le laogh,Anns gach glaic tha pailteas naoisg,Air gach stacan, coileach fraoich'Mach na d' aonach sgaoth chearc donn.Hurabh o, &c.
Coill Aigeascaig gu ceutach cluth,'S am beil legion coileach-dubh,Sud an doire 'n goir iad moch,Seinn am puirt le'm bus-ghuib chrom,Hurabh o, &c.
Cuag chuldonn anns gach ait'Seinn guggug an dluths 'nam barr,Breacaidh-beith 'sa ghlas charn,Snathadag is dreadhan donn,Hurabh o, &c.
Smudan, smeorach, creothar, dnag,Sud an ceol is boidhche sgread;'S bru-dearg ruiteach gearradh fead,Thuas air creagan os an cionn.Hurabh o, &c.
Leam a b'ait bhi seal le'm ghaol,G-eisdeachd cruitearan do chraobh;Gabhail beachd air obair shaorNadair aonsgeulaich 's gach ball.Hurabh o, &c.
Song on Tournaig.Twice has the bright returning MayInspired me to poetic lay,Since Tournaig's hills first knew my treadAnd cast their shadows o'er my head.Hurrah, the chorus let me raise!The Corrie be my theme of praise,On whose brown ridge the heather grows,And where the healthful north wind blows.Here nature glories in her pride;O'er heaven the clouds, all sunlit, glide;Like polished shield the ocean glows,The babbling burn sings as it flows.Hurrah, &c. &c.Tournaig! thou home beloved by me!With rich green crop and sloping lea,With fruitful fields and white-fleeced sheepDotting afar each breezy steep.Hurrah, &c. &c.I ne'er can cease my praise of thee!Here hill and strath and briny sea;There streams which from the mountains glide,Where pearls abound and otters hide.Hurrah, &c. &c.High is thy shore against the storm,Yet lined with sheltered coves and warm;Whilst shell-fish fill each rocky holeWhere never ocean's waves can roll.Hurrah, &c. &c.And he who gazes in the deepMay see the silvery salmon sweep,With graceful curve and stately turn,To seek his food below the burn.Hurrah, &c. &c.Or we can haste to Loch-nan-Dail,Where the brown trout will never fail;Whilst flocks of duck and grey goose soarFrom marshy haunts upon its shore.Hurrah, &c. &c.The shaggy herd each meadow feeds,The snipe lies close within the reeds;Each step the heather-cock may rouse,Loud warning his less wary spouse.Hurrah, &c. &c.Coille Aigeascaig,—shade from the heat!Here is the blackcock's sure retreat;Yonder they crow at early day,With bent bills crooning forth their lay.Hurrah, &c. &c.Wood pigeon, mavis, and night jar,Make music sweet both near and far;Full joyously the redbreasts call,Perched on the rock high o'er them all.Hurrah, &c. &c."Coo, coo," the cuckoo cries aloft,The chaffinch sings in tones more soft,The fieldfare, titlark, and the wrenAll swell the chorus of thy glen.Hurrah, &c. &c.No symphony can rival thine;Nor elsewhere do more clearly shineThe works of God in nature's face,Harmonious in every place.Hurrah, &c. &c.Would that we two were wandering nowWhere these wild woods could hear our vow!Ne'er could we roam midst scenes more grandThan in this rugged northern land!Hurrah, &c. &c.
Song on Tournaig.
Twice has the bright returning MayInspired me to poetic lay,Since Tournaig's hills first knew my treadAnd cast their shadows o'er my head.Hurrah, the chorus let me raise!The Corrie be my theme of praise,On whose brown ridge the heather grows,And where the healthful north wind blows.
Here nature glories in her pride;O'er heaven the clouds, all sunlit, glide;Like polished shield the ocean glows,The babbling burn sings as it flows.Hurrah, &c. &c.
Tournaig! thou home beloved by me!With rich green crop and sloping lea,With fruitful fields and white-fleeced sheepDotting afar each breezy steep.Hurrah, &c. &c.
I ne'er can cease my praise of thee!Here hill and strath and briny sea;There streams which from the mountains glide,Where pearls abound and otters hide.Hurrah, &c. &c.
High is thy shore against the storm,Yet lined with sheltered coves and warm;Whilst shell-fish fill each rocky holeWhere never ocean's waves can roll.Hurrah, &c. &c.
And he who gazes in the deepMay see the silvery salmon sweep,With graceful curve and stately turn,To seek his food below the burn.Hurrah, &c. &c.
Or we can haste to Loch-nan-Dail,Where the brown trout will never fail;Whilst flocks of duck and grey goose soarFrom marshy haunts upon its shore.Hurrah, &c. &c.
The shaggy herd each meadow feeds,The snipe lies close within the reeds;Each step the heather-cock may rouse,Loud warning his less wary spouse.Hurrah, &c. &c.
Coille Aigeascaig,—shade from the heat!Here is the blackcock's sure retreat;Yonder they crow at early day,With bent bills crooning forth their lay.Hurrah, &c. &c.
Wood pigeon, mavis, and night jar,Make music sweet both near and far;Full joyously the redbreasts call,Perched on the rock high o'er them all.Hurrah, &c. &c.
"Coo, coo," the cuckoo cries aloft,The chaffinch sings in tones more soft,The fieldfare, titlark, and the wrenAll swell the chorus of thy glen.Hurrah, &c. &c.
No symphony can rival thine;Nor elsewhere do more clearly shineThe works of God in nature's face,Harmonious in every place.Hurrah, &c. &c.
Would that we two were wandering nowWhere these wild woods could hear our vow!Ne'er could we roam midst scenes more grandThan in this rugged northern land!Hurrah, &c. &c.
Alexander Bain, who is a crofter, thatcher, and dyker at Lonmor, was born about 1849. He has composed a number of excellent poems and songs in his native tongue. He is a much-respected and very worthy man, and is a sergeant in the Gairloch volunteers. He is of middle height and good physique.
Alexander Bain has composed the following elegy on the late well-known Dr Kennedy of Dingwall, who died in 1884, and who might be termed the bishop of the Free Church in the north-west Highlands. The doctor's fervid eloquence was often to be heard during sacramental services in theLeabaidh na Bàineat Gairloch. Appended is an English rendering of the elegy, mainly contributed by Mr Good:—