Ged a shéideadh faoilteach oirnn
   Is faobhar nan gaoth tuath,
Ged bhiodh an sneachd' a' taosgadh
   'S 'na stac ri taobh nam bruach,
Ged reothadh i mar stàilinn
   Gu mullach àrd nan cruach,
Cha chumadh siud bhon chéilidh sinn
   Far 'n cluinnte sgeul is duan.

Ged shileadh i gu dìorrasach
   Le frasan fiadhaich fuar'
'S clach-mheallain tighinn bhon iarmailt
   Ga siabadh oirnn mun cuairt,
Cha chumadh tuil no dìle sinn
   'S cha bhiodh oirnn sgìths no gruaim
'S na h-eachdraidhean gan innse dhuinn
   Le seanchaidh sìtheil suairc.

Bhiodh sloinneadh air ar sinnsearachd
   Ga mhìneachadh 's ga luaidh,
Bhiodh deasbad air an iasgach ann,
   'S gach deacair bha 'na ruaig;
Bhiodh tubaistean is bàthadh,
   Is gàbhaidhean a' chuain,
'S bhiodh ionndrainn air na càirdean ann
   Thug tuinn an t-sàile bhuainn.

Bhiodh Cogadh Mór a' Cheusair
   Le chuid chreuchdan is mì-stàth,
A dh'fhàg na ceudan mìle
   Ann an ìobradh fuar a' bhàis;
'Na sheanchas dh'fhàgadh leòinte sinn,
   'S bu tric thug deòir 'nar pàirt
A' cuimhneachadh a' chòmhlain sin
   A thréig an deò sna blàir.

Chluinnte sgeul bhiodh sònraichte
   Aig seòladair a' chuain,
A-muigh air bhàrr nam bòc-thonnan
   Ri aimsir reòdhta 's fhuar,
A' dìreadh do na h-àrd-chroinn
   'S a' teàrnadh asta nuas
'S an iùbhrach dol gu dùbhlan
   Ann an dùrantachd nan stuadh.

Bhiodh birlinnean MhicDhòmhnaill
   Le'n cuid sheòl a' dol gu sàil,
A' fàgail bun Loch Aoineart
   Le soills' na madainn thràth,
A' seòladh tro Chaol Ìle
   Ri aimsir iargalt' gràic
Gu fasgadh Carraig Fhearghais,
   Mar chaidh ainmeachas san dàn.

A-muigh air bhàrr Cuan Éirinn
   'S muir ag éirigh do na neòil,
Bhiodh Mac Nìll cur bhréid rith'
   Gu reubadh nan tonn mòr';
Cha chumadh aimsir Ruairidh
   An àm ceangal cruaidh nan ròp -
Bu Tartar anns a' chruadal e
   An àm cur suas nan seòl.

Bhiodh bòcain agus sìthich
   A' tuineadh cinnteach feadh nam bruach -
Bha iomadh sgeul ri inns' orra
   San tìm a chaidh air ruaig;
Bhiodh iad tric ri fàth-feith
   'S 'nan aincheist don an t-sluagh,
A' cur geas air pàistean
   'S a' cur mhàthraichean fo ghruaim.

Chluinnte sgeul mun àirigh
   Is mun mhànran is an ceòl
A bha cho tric a' tàrmachadh
   Am measg nan àlach òg';
Bhiodh tàin ann air am buachailleachd
   A-muigh feadh chluaintean feòir -
Bha saorsa 's sìth neo-bhuaireasach
   A' cuartachadh nan crò.

Dh'fhalbh na taighean càirdeil ud,
   'S 'nan àit' tha gnàthach' ùr
'S tha mhuinntir bha gam pàirteachadh
   An-diugh a' cnàmh san ùir;
Tha dòighean eil' air tàrmachadh
   'S tha 'n abhcaideachd air chùl,
'S tha fàrdaichean an t-sòlais ud
   'S an còmhlaichean 's iad dùint'.

The Tales of the Ceilidh-Houses

Even if wolftime were blowing on us
   And the keen blade of the northerlies,
Even if snow were cascading down
   And piling up on the hillsides,
Even if frost were as hard as steel
   Up to the high tops of the stacks,
It wouldn't keep us from the ceilidh
   Where story and song could be heard.

Even in torrential rain
   Full of cold squally showers
With hailstones coming from the sky
   Being swept round about us,
No flood or downpour kept us back
   Nor did we feel tired or gloomy
As we were being told stories
   By some calm competent reciter.

Our ancestral genealogy
   Would be set out and explained,
There'd be a debate about fishing
   And the difficulties besetting it;
There'd be accidents and drownings
   And the perils of the ocean,
And we'd remember the kinsfolk
   Of whom the sea waves had robbed us.

There'd be the Great War of the Kaiser
   With all its wounds and pointlessness,
Leaving hundreds of thousands
   In death's cold sacrifice;
It made us anguished to hear it,
   And our tears frequently flowed
As we remembered the many
   Who lost their lives in the battlefields.

Some special tale would be heard
   From the sailor of the sea,
Out on top of the swelling waves
   In cold freezing weather,
Climbing into the high masts
   And climbing down them again
As the ship faced a challenge
   Amongst the obdurate breakers.

The birlinns of MacDonald
   Would put to sea fully rigged,
Leaving Loch Eynort's mouth
   In the early morning light,
Sailing through Islay's Sound
   In harsh inclement weather
To Carrickfergus's shelter
   As described in the poem.⁵

Out on the height of the Irish Sea
   With ocean rising to the clouds,
MacNeil would lay on more sail
   For tearing the great waves;
No weather could stop Ruairi
   In time of lashing the ropes -
He was a Tartar for toughness
   When it came to hoisting sails.⁶

Ghosts and fairies most certainly
   Dwelt amongst the braes -
Many tales would be told of them
   In times now gone by;
They often lay in wait
   And caused folk much trouble,
Placing spells upon the children
   And worrying the mothers.

There'd be a tale of the shieling
   And of the fun and music
That were so often pursued
   By the younger generations;
Cattle would be herded there
   Out around the pastures -
Untroubled peace and freedom
   Encompassed the cowfolds.

Those friendly houses have gone,
   And new customs have replaced them
While the people who shared them
   Now rot in the soil;
Other ways have taken hold
   And such entertainment has gone,
While those buildings of pleasure
   Have had their doors all closed.

NOTES

5.   'Birlinn Chlann Raghnaill' (Clanranald's Gallery') by Alexander MacDonald, Alistair mac Mhaighstir Alistair (c. 1698 - c. 1770).

6.   Ruairidh an Tartair, a MacNeil warrior who lived around 1600. His name actually means 'Ruairi of the Big Noise' but the poet takes advantage of the double meaning of 'tartar'.