Fàilt' ort fhéin, a charaid bhàird,
   Siud dhuit mo làmh gam dheòin -
Bu tric a thog thu m' inntinn àrd
   Le tàlantan do bheòil;
Nuair bhithinn 'm ònar, 's mi fo ghruaim,
   'S mo bhuadhan gun chus treòir,
Cha b' fhada mulad teicheadh bhuam
   Am measg nan Sguaban Eòrn'.

Is iomadh eachdraidh rinn thu inns'
   'S a sgrìobh thu dhuinn le deòin
Le ealantachd a thug dhuit buaidh
   Is duais aig iomadh Mòd;
Cha d' dh'fhàg thu 'n easbhaidh tìr nam beann,
   Thug thu dhi fuinn is ceòl,
Thug thu an crùn a-nall bharr chuain -
   Is sgrìobh thu Sguaban Eòrn'.

Dh'inn's thu dhuinn mu ànradh cruaidh
   Do chuairt anns an Roinn Eòrp'
Fo bhinn an lasair, is an luaidh,
   Is iomadh cruas den t-seòrs',
Am prìosan cogaidh glaiste suas
   Cho fad' bho d' dhual is d' eòl,
Cho fad' bho eilean beag a' chuain
   'S cho fad' bho bhruaich na Cròic'.

Sgrìobh thu ann am briathran blàth
   Mu mhaise 's gràdh nan òigh,
Mhol thu Mòrag dhonn nan dual
   Is buadhan Maighread Òig;
Le eireachdas is loinn o d' pheann,
   Le còmhradh, cainnt is ceòl
Thog thu suas air stìopall àrd
   Taigh a' bhàird nach beò.
Guma fad' thu fallain buan
   An eilean uaine d' òig',
Ag àiteach fuinn, a' cur, 's a' buain,
   'S a' ceangal sguaban eòrn',
A' sgrìobhadh bàrdachd agus duain
   Bha dualach dhuit o d' òig,
'S gu h-inntinneach a' gabhail cuairt
   Mu bhruaichean Tràigh na Cròic'.

The Poet

I salute you, poet friend,
   And most willingly shake hands -
You often raised my mind aloft
   With the talents of your mouth;
When alone, and feeling low,
   My powers without much strength,
My sadness would not last for long
   Amongst the Barley Sheaves.¹

Many stories have you told us
   And gladly written down
With skill that's brought you much success
   And prizes at the Mòd;
You have enhanced our mountain land,
   And given her airs and music,
You brought the crown across the Minch -
   And wrote the Barley Sheaves.

You told us of the dreadful trials
   Which you experienced in Europe,
Enduring cruelty, flames of wrath,
   And many hardships of that kind,
In prison camp locked up so far
   From all you knew and loved,
From the little island of the sea
   And from the brae of the Cròic.²

In warm words you wrote of the beauty
   And of the love of the girls,
You praised Mòrag of the auburn locks
   And the charms of Maighread Òg;³
With your pen's skill and eloquence,
   With music, dialogue and speech
You raised on high upon a tower
   The house of the late poet.⁴

May you live a long and healthy life
   In the green isle of your youth,
Tilling land, sowing, reaping,
   And binding barley sheaves,
Writing down the poems and songs
   That were in your blood from childhood,
And going out for pleasant walks
   Round the braes of Tràigh na Cròice.

NOTES

1.   Donald John MacDonald's poetry was published by Club Leabhar, Inverness, as Sguaban Eòrna ('Barley Sheaves') in 1973, and reissued by Birlinn with Bill Innes's English translations as Chi Mi in 1998.

2.   Donald John MacDonald spent the years 1940-45 as a prisoner of war in Germany. His graphic account of his experiences appeared as Fo Sgàil a' Swastika (Club Leabhar, Inverness. 1974) and was reissued under the same title by Acair of Stornoway in 2000 with an English translation by Bill Innes.

3.   Sguaban Eòrna contains at pp. 99 and 101, poems to Mòrag and Maighread Òg.

4.   A reference to the poem 'Taigh a' Bhàird' ('The Poet's House'), for which see Chi Mi p.160, An Tuil p.424.