AT LIANACHAN.
A strong man of the name of Kennedy or MacCuaric,50residing at Lianachan in Lochaber, was coming home in the evening from setting a salmon net in the river when a Glaistig met him on the bank of the stream. He locked his arms round her (ghlas e lamhun), took her with him to the house, and would not let her go till she built for him a large barn of six couples (sia suidheachun). This she did in one night. As her parting gift she left a blessing and a curse to the MacCuarics, that they should grow like rushes but wither like ferns. This proved to be the case—the man’s family grew up tall, and straight, and handsome, but when they attained their full strength and growth they wasted prematurely away.
The following is a close translation of a much fullerand slightly different version of the legend (see volume of Gaelic poems calledAn Duanaire, p. 123). The Gaelic is not given as the volume is easily accessible. It is a pity that the author of the piece, if known to the collector, is not given.
“One night the big black lad MacCuaric was going home from the smithy; the Glaistig met him as he was crossingCurrat the ford of Croisg:
“Hail to thee, Big Black Lad, said she,Would you be the better of a rider behind?Yes, and a rider before, said he;And he gave her a little big liftFrom the bare beach,And tied her before him,Safely and surely,On the back of the mettlesome horse,With the wizard belt of Fillan;And he swore and asseveratedVehemently and stubbornly,He would not let her whole from his grasp,Till he showed her before men.Let me go, said she, and I will giveFor loss and damage,A fold full of speckled cattle,White-bellied, black, white-headed,Success on hill and in companyTo yourself and your sort after you.That is mine in spite of you, said he,And it suffices not to set you free.Let me go, and I will leave your land,Where in the knoll I stayed;And I will build thee to-night.On yonder field,A big, strong, dike house,A house fire will not pierce,Water, nor arrow, nor iron,And will keep thee dry and comfortable,Without dread, or fear, and charmedAgainst poison, caterans, and fairies.Fulfil your words, said he,And from me get your leave.She gave a shriek with wailing,That was heard over seven hills!It seemed as if the Horn of Worth,Owned by Fionn, had whistled.Every Fairy dwelling and beetling cliffWakened and echoed,And ‘they’ gathered round the meadow,Waiting her orders.She set them to work speedily,Calmly, orderly,And they brought flags and stonesFrom the shore of Clianaig waterfall,Reaching them from hand to hand;From the Knoll of Shore IsletWere cut beams and rafters;And supports long,Straight, and thick, in the Rowan wood;While she herself unceasing saidOne stone above two stones,And two stones above one stone,Fetch stake, clod, thatching pin,Every timber in the woodBut mulberry;Alas for him, who gets not as he sows,And sows not as he gets!And at the grey dawningThere was divot on the roof,And smoke from it!He kept the coulter in the fire,To keep him from mischance,Since he knew the pranksAnd enchantments of the Fairies.When the house was now finishedAnd she had made up each loss,He loosened the maidAnd suffered no harm.Going past the window in frontShe stretched him her crooked palmTo bid him farewell,—But (truly) to take him to the shïen.The skin of her palm stuck to it (the coulter);She sprang then on a grey stoneOf the Field, to pronounce his doom.She brought the curse of the people on him,And the curse of the goblins,And if we may believe as we hear,She obtained her request.‘Grow like rushes.Wither like fern,Turn grey in childhood,Change in height of your strength;I ask not a son may not succeed.I am the sorrowing GlaistigThat staid in the land of the Meadow,I built a big house on the Field,Which caused a sore pain in my side;I will put out my heart’s blood,High on the peak of Finisgeig,Which will be red for evermore.’And she leapt in a green flame,Over the shoulder of the peak.”51
“Hail to thee, Big Black Lad, said she,Would you be the better of a rider behind?Yes, and a rider before, said he;And he gave her a little big liftFrom the bare beach,And tied her before him,Safely and surely,On the back of the mettlesome horse,With the wizard belt of Fillan;And he swore and asseveratedVehemently and stubbornly,He would not let her whole from his grasp,Till he showed her before men.Let me go, said she, and I will giveFor loss and damage,A fold full of speckled cattle,White-bellied, black, white-headed,Success on hill and in companyTo yourself and your sort after you.That is mine in spite of you, said he,And it suffices not to set you free.Let me go, and I will leave your land,Where in the knoll I stayed;And I will build thee to-night.On yonder field,A big, strong, dike house,A house fire will not pierce,Water, nor arrow, nor iron,And will keep thee dry and comfortable,Without dread, or fear, and charmedAgainst poison, caterans, and fairies.Fulfil your words, said he,And from me get your leave.She gave a shriek with wailing,That was heard over seven hills!It seemed as if the Horn of Worth,Owned by Fionn, had whistled.Every Fairy dwelling and beetling cliffWakened and echoed,And ‘they’ gathered round the meadow,Waiting her orders.She set them to work speedily,Calmly, orderly,And they brought flags and stonesFrom the shore of Clianaig waterfall,Reaching them from hand to hand;From the Knoll of Shore IsletWere cut beams and rafters;And supports long,Straight, and thick, in the Rowan wood;While she herself unceasing saidOne stone above two stones,And two stones above one stone,Fetch stake, clod, thatching pin,Every timber in the woodBut mulberry;Alas for him, who gets not as he sows,And sows not as he gets!And at the grey dawningThere was divot on the roof,And smoke from it!He kept the coulter in the fire,To keep him from mischance,Since he knew the pranksAnd enchantments of the Fairies.When the house was now finishedAnd she had made up each loss,He loosened the maidAnd suffered no harm.Going past the window in frontShe stretched him her crooked palmTo bid him farewell,—But (truly) to take him to the shïen.The skin of her palm stuck to it (the coulter);She sprang then on a grey stoneOf the Field, to pronounce his doom.She brought the curse of the people on him,And the curse of the goblins,And if we may believe as we hear,She obtained her request.‘Grow like rushes.Wither like fern,Turn grey in childhood,Change in height of your strength;I ask not a son may not succeed.I am the sorrowing GlaistigThat staid in the land of the Meadow,I built a big house on the Field,Which caused a sore pain in my side;I will put out my heart’s blood,High on the peak of Finisgeig,Which will be red for evermore.’And she leapt in a green flame,Over the shoulder of the peak.”51
“Hail to thee, Big Black Lad, said she,Would you be the better of a rider behind?Yes, and a rider before, said he;And he gave her a little big liftFrom the bare beach,And tied her before him,Safely and surely,On the back of the mettlesome horse,With the wizard belt of Fillan;And he swore and asseveratedVehemently and stubbornly,He would not let her whole from his grasp,Till he showed her before men.Let me go, said she, and I will giveFor loss and damage,A fold full of speckled cattle,White-bellied, black, white-headed,Success on hill and in companyTo yourself and your sort after you.That is mine in spite of you, said he,And it suffices not to set you free.Let me go, and I will leave your land,Where in the knoll I stayed;And I will build thee to-night.On yonder field,A big, strong, dike house,A house fire will not pierce,Water, nor arrow, nor iron,And will keep thee dry and comfortable,Without dread, or fear, and charmedAgainst poison, caterans, and fairies.Fulfil your words, said he,And from me get your leave.She gave a shriek with wailing,That was heard over seven hills!It seemed as if the Horn of Worth,Owned by Fionn, had whistled.Every Fairy dwelling and beetling cliffWakened and echoed,And ‘they’ gathered round the meadow,Waiting her orders.She set them to work speedily,Calmly, orderly,And they brought flags and stonesFrom the shore of Clianaig waterfall,Reaching them from hand to hand;From the Knoll of Shore IsletWere cut beams and rafters;And supports long,Straight, and thick, in the Rowan wood;While she herself unceasing saidOne stone above two stones,And two stones above one stone,Fetch stake, clod, thatching pin,Every timber in the woodBut mulberry;Alas for him, who gets not as he sows,And sows not as he gets!And at the grey dawningThere was divot on the roof,And smoke from it!He kept the coulter in the fire,To keep him from mischance,Since he knew the pranksAnd enchantments of the Fairies.When the house was now finishedAnd she had made up each loss,He loosened the maidAnd suffered no harm.Going past the window in frontShe stretched him her crooked palmTo bid him farewell,—But (truly) to take him to the shïen.The skin of her palm stuck to it (the coulter);She sprang then on a grey stoneOf the Field, to pronounce his doom.She brought the curse of the people on him,And the curse of the goblins,And if we may believe as we hear,She obtained her request.‘Grow like rushes.Wither like fern,Turn grey in childhood,Change in height of your strength;I ask not a son may not succeed.I am the sorrowing GlaistigThat staid in the land of the Meadow,I built a big house on the Field,Which caused a sore pain in my side;I will put out my heart’s blood,High on the peak of Finisgeig,Which will be red for evermore.’And she leapt in a green flame,Over the shoulder of the peak.”51
“Hail to thee, Big Black Lad, said she,
Would you be the better of a rider behind?
Yes, and a rider before, said he;
And he gave her a little big lift
From the bare beach,
And tied her before him,
Safely and surely,
On the back of the mettlesome horse,
With the wizard belt of Fillan;
And he swore and asseverated
Vehemently and stubbornly,
He would not let her whole from his grasp,
Till he showed her before men.
Let me go, said she, and I will give
For loss and damage,
A fold full of speckled cattle,
White-bellied, black, white-headed,
Success on hill and in company
To yourself and your sort after you.
That is mine in spite of you, said he,
And it suffices not to set you free.
Let me go, and I will leave your land,
Where in the knoll I stayed;
And I will build thee to-night.
On yonder field,
A big, strong, dike house,
A house fire will not pierce,
Water, nor arrow, nor iron,
And will keep thee dry and comfortable,
Without dread, or fear, and charmed
Against poison, caterans, and fairies.
Fulfil your words, said he,
And from me get your leave.
She gave a shriek with wailing,
That was heard over seven hills!
It seemed as if the Horn of Worth,
Owned by Fionn, had whistled.
Every Fairy dwelling and beetling cliff
Wakened and echoed,
And ‘they’ gathered round the meadow,
Waiting her orders.
She set them to work speedily,
Calmly, orderly,
And they brought flags and stones
From the shore of Clianaig waterfall,
Reaching them from hand to hand;
From the Knoll of Shore Islet
Were cut beams and rafters;
And supports long,
Straight, and thick, in the Rowan wood;
While she herself unceasing said
One stone above two stones,
And two stones above one stone,
Fetch stake, clod, thatching pin,
Every timber in the wood
But mulberry;
Alas for him, who gets not as he sows,
And sows not as he gets!
And at the grey dawning
There was divot on the roof,
And smoke from it!
He kept the coulter in the fire,
To keep him from mischance,
Since he knew the pranks
And enchantments of the Fairies.
When the house was now finished
And she had made up each loss,
He loosened the maid
And suffered no harm.
Going past the window in front
She stretched him her crooked palm
To bid him farewell,—
But (truly) to take him to the shïen.
The skin of her palm stuck to it (the coulter);
She sprang then on a grey stone
Of the Field, to pronounce his doom.
She brought the curse of the people on him,
And the curse of the goblins,
And if we may believe as we hear,
She obtained her request.
‘Grow like rushes.
Wither like fern,
Turn grey in childhood,
Change in height of your strength;
I ask not a son may not succeed.
I am the sorrowing Glaistig
That staid in the land of the Meadow,
I built a big house on the Field,
Which caused a sore pain in my side;
I will put out my heart’s blood,
High on the peak of Finisgeig,
Which will be red for evermore.’
And she leapt in a green flame,
Over the shoulder of the peak.”51