ENGLISH
Though I'm here crouching lowly
In a gloomy, lonely dwelling,
Once I was in a good company
Though they chased to put me from them;
Oft I look towards the hillside
To see thy image, John Mac Rory,
And if I should see thee coming
My heart from sorrow would awaken.
My mind from sorrow would awaken
Were I with thee, John Mac Rory,
I would tell thee what I knew of,
And what I knew not would be asking;
On that day the blows were given
I indeed did see them striking,
On the King's side they were routed,
'Twas on us that dread descended.
'Twas a dreadful tale to tell of,
That King George's folk were routed,
Before the blows they fled in terror
When they but beheld Prince Charlie;
Not a pair remained together
Between Edinbro' and Stirling,
In many a steading were some of them
Taking shelter when the night fell!
We were bold and full of courage
Going up towards the hillside
But before we got in order
Down upon us came the Rebels!
Not for long the field did we hold
When we scattered from each other,
Then indeed the red-coat soldiers
Did receive a thorough mauling.
It gave to our foes assistance
That of leading we were wanting,
To fire we never got the order
When the enemy came upon us;
Then we fled off at full gallop,
Waiting not to be together,
Ne'er before was such a thing seen
Since the day of Inverlochy.
I, together with Mac Patrick
Travelled over the moss and moorside,
If we had not then gone fleeing
Our lives for certain had been taken;
All our Englishmen retreated
At the onslaught of Clan Donald,
'Twould indeed their lives have shortened
To have faced the mighty heroes.
'Twould indeed their lives have shortened
To have faced that race in battle,
Who had come to win the kingdom
For their King and for the right cause;
Many an unflinching hero
Between Kintail and Strathlochy
Had put shoulder close to shoulder,
And in conflict great their value.
Great their value in the conflict,
Mighty, valiant, fearless heroes,
Both the Camerons and Clan Donald
And the brave men in their party;
And if they had got the fair play
Of the Feinne, between their foemen
And themselves, not all of Europe
Could have kept King George from falling.
Alone the Highlanders in Scotland
Would have caused King George's downfall,
If they had been all of one mid
In the year when came the rising;
If they all had been together,
They, the mighty valiant heroes,
Who were wonted to be hardy,
And were dwelling 'midst the Mountains.
That day when they fought Culloden
Fortune to us was but bitter,
In an ill hour Duke William,
Great the harm he's been to Scotland!
For the chieftains' lands are forfeit,
And the yeomen are disarmèd,
Now we'll wear but hat and black coats
In the place of checkered tartans.
Now we'll wear but hat and black coats
In the stead of new-made tartans,
Stockings too, and light-grey trousers,
Round the knee-tops tightly fastened;
When we've lost our arms and clothing
How can we be ever happy?
With out light-grey clumsy long coats,
Ne'er ere now seen in our country.
Ne'er ere now was in our country
Aught but handsome new-made clothing,
Never did we have to change it
Till our fame was from us taken;
Lost we likewise all our world's goods,
Our men and our money with it,
All our gaiety and gladness,
Bitter is that tale to tell it.
Bitter is that tale to tell it,
Of the men we lost for ever,
Who that day fell at Culloden
And got their death-wounds in the battle;
Down a troop came from behind them,
Three to one man were before them,
Had they had but fortune's fairness
Havoc they'd have wrought ere fled they.
No renown have had the Gaëls
Since Prince Charles left us for exile,
We are left like lambs unmothered,
Without cause for joy or laughter;
Now we are to England yielding,
And King George's host do follow;
Part of every prayer we offer,
May he go home to Hanòver!
We shall yet remain a-hoping
That young Charles shall come back to us,
And if he should come back quickly
Then would our brave spirits waken;
Every man would rise up with thee,
And we all would be as faithful
In battlefield or facing fighting,
We would ne'er refuse a danger.
Ne'er again would we refuse thee,
'Tis the prayer we'd soonest granted
That the Frenchmen would come over
With Prince Charles to lead the army;
Camerons would come from Lochy,
MacIntyres, MacDonalds with thee,
Whose like was ne'er within our borders
Since the Clanna Baoisge ended
And the MacNabs would rise with thee,
Mighty, vigorous, war-like, loyal,
Well-targed, well-armed, loudly shouting,
With their banners and their muskets;
When they draw their swords a-shining
Of cutting edges, and their halberds,
Striking, wounding, shouting, banded,
In the onset they were famous.
Gregors, too, of might unfailing,
Ever were they noble, loyal,
In time of trouble, war, or quarrel,
Where was aught heard to their ill-fame?
Charging down 'gainst lead and power
In defeat they're e'er unyielding;
While you keep your ancient spirit
Never shall your foes subdue you.
Every northern clan will join you,
Both the nobles and the commons,
With heart-felt keenness and all goodwill
Since thou'st placed thy hope in justice;
We'll all bear the same love to thee,
Since we have one cause in common,
'Tis thy cause, O Prince Charles Stewart,
Since our peace comes with thy crowning. |
GAELIC
Sed a tha mi 'n so chrùban
Ann an sean-taigh ùdlaidh, uaigneach,
Bha mi roimhe mar ri cuideachd,
Ged a thuit dhaibh mo chur uapa;
Is tric mì 'g amharc ris an aonach
Am faic mi t'aogas, Iain Mhic Ruairidh,
Us nam faicinn thù ri tighinn
Dh'éireadh mo chridhe o smuairean.
Dh'éireadh m' inntinn-se o smalan,
Mì bhith mar riut, Iain Mhic Ruairidh,
Dh'innsinn dhuit na bhiodh air m'aire,
'S bhithinn farraid na bhiodh uam dheth;
An là sin thug iad na buillean,
'S mìs' a chunnaic bhith 'gam bualadh,
Chaidh an teich' air taobh Rìgh Deórsa,
Is ann oirnne thàin' am fuathas!
B'é 'n sgeul an fhuathais r'a innse
Gun do theich an Rìgh 's a mhuinntir,
Ghabh iad eagal roimh na buillean,
'N uair a chunnaic iad am Prionnsa;
Cha d'fhan duine dhiubh r'a chéile
Eadar Dun-Eideann us Sruibhleadh,
'S iomadh baile 'san robh pàirt dhiubh
Gabhail tàimh air teachd na h-oidhche!
Bha sinn gu misneachail dàna,
Dol an aird a dh'ionnsaigh 'n t-sléibhe,
'S mu'n deachaidh sinn ceart an ordugh
Thàinig iadoirnne na Reubail!
Cha b'fhada mheal sinn an àrach
'N uair a sgànr sinn as a chéile,
'S ann an sin a bha 'n droch-càradh
Air na bhà luchd aodaich dhéirg ann.
Rinn e cuideachadh d'ar nàimhdibh
Gun robh dìth comanndaidh oirnne;
Cha d'fhuair sinn ordugh gu làmhach
An am do chàch bhith tighinn 'nar comhdhail;
'S ann a theich sinn ann ar deannaibh,
'S cha n-fhanamaid ri bhith comhla,
Cha n-fhacas roimhe a leithid
O'n thugadh là Inbhir-Lóchaidh.
Bha mis' us Calum Mac Phàdhruig
Siubhail càthair agus móintich,
'S mura teicheamaid 'san am ud
'S cinnteach gum biodh calldachd oirnne;
Ghabh na bh' againn de luchd Beurla
An ratreuta roimh Chlann Domhnuill,
Sud a ghiorraicheadh an saoghal,
Dol ri h-aodainn nam fear móra!
B'é sud a ghiorraicheadh an saoghal
Dol a chaonnag ris a' phór ud,
Thàin' a chomhsachadh na rìoghachd
As leth an Rìgh us na córach;
'S iomadh laoch gun athadh-làimhe
Eadar Ceann-t-sàile 's Srath Lóchaidh
A chuireadh an guaillean r'a chéile,
'S bu mhór am feum anns a' chomhraig.
Bu mhór am feum anns a' chomhraig,
Na fir mhóra bha neo-sgàthach,
Eadar Chamshronaich us Chlann Domhnuill,
'S na bha chomhlain ann am pàirt riu;
'S nam faigheadh iad cothrom na Féinne
Eadar iad féin us an nàmhaid,
Dh'aindeoin na bha anns an Roinn Eórpa,
Chuireadh iad Rìgh Deórs' as 'àite.
Chuireadh iad Rìgh Deórs' as 'àite,
Na bha 'Ghàidheil ann an Alba,
Nam biodh iad uile mar a bhà iad
A' bhliadhna thàinig an armailt;
Nam biodh iad uile r'a chéile,
Gum biodh iad na treun-fhir chalma
Dh'am bu dùthchas a bhith cródha,
Bha chomhnuidh am measg nan Garbh-chrìoch.
An là sina thug iad Cùil-lodair,
Cha robh 'm fortan ud ach searbh dhuinn,
Choisinn Diùc Uilleam 'san droch-uair,
'S mór an rosad é do dh'Alba!
Chaill na cinn-fheadhna am fearann,
'S an tuath-cheathairn' an cuid armachd,
Cha bhi oirnn ach ad us casag
An àite nan deiseachan ball-bhreac.
Cha bhi oirnn ach ad us casag,
An àite nam breacanan ùra,
Stocainnean us briogsa glasa,
'S iad air glasadh mu na glùinean;
'N uair chaill sinn ar n-airm 's ar n-aodach,
Cia mar dh'fhaodas sinn bhith sunndach?
Le'r casagan leobhar liath-ghlas
Nach robh roimhe riamh 'nar dùthaich.
Cha robh roimhe riamh 'nar dùthaich
Achaodaichean ùra rìomhach,
'S chaoidh cha b'éiginn am mùthadh,
Gus na chaill sinn cliù na rìoghachd;
Chaill sinn ris ar cuid de'n t-saoghal,
Chaill sinn ar daoine us ar nì ris,
Chaill sinn ar n-aighear us ar n-éibhneas,
'S goirt an sgeul duinn bhith 'ga innse.
'S goirt an sgeul a bhith 'ga innse
Na chaidh dhith oirnn de na daoine,
Na thuit dhiubh latha Chùil-lodair,
'S a fhuair andochann anns a' chaonnaig;
Thàinigan trup orr' o'n cùlaibh,
Triùir mu'n aon duin' air an aodainn,
'S nam faigheadh iad cothrom cùise,
Rinn iad diùbhail mu'n do sgaoil iad.
Cha robh meas air Clanna Ghàidheil
O'n dh'fhalbh Teàrlach uainn air fógradh,
Dh'fhàg e sinn mar uain gun mhàthair,
Gun adhbhar ghàire,gun sólas;
Sinn a' géilleadh do Shasunn,
'S ag éirigh am feachd Rìgh Deórsa;
Cuid de'r n-iarrtas us de'r n-athchuing
E dhol dachaidh do Hanóbhar!
Bidh sinn fathast ann an dóchas
Gun tig Teàrlach ógdo'n rìoghachd,
'S nan tigeadh e oirnn a chlisgeadh,
Dh'éireadh ar misneach us ar n-inntinn;
Dh'éireadh leat a h-uile duine,
'S bhiomaid uile dhuit cho dìleas,
An adhbhar blàir no 'n làthair cumaisg
Cha bhiodh cunnart oirnn gun dìobradh.
Chaoidh, cha dìobramaid gu bràth thù,
'S é 'n achanaich a b'fhearr leinn fhaotainn,
Gun tigeadh iad oirnn na Frangaich
'S Teàrlach bhith air ceann nan daoine;
Dh'éireadh Camshronaich o Lóchaidh,
Domhnullaich us Clann-an-t-saoir leat,
'S cha robh 'n leithid anns na crìochan
O'n a chrìochnaich Clanna Baoisge.
Gun éireadh leat Clann-an-Aba
Làidir, neartmhor, feachdail, rìoghail,
Gu targaideach, armailteach, tart'rach,
Luchd nam bratach us nan cuilbheir;
Ri h-am rùsgadh nan lann glasa,
Nam faobhar sgaiteach, us nam pìcean,
Builleach, guineach, beumach, buidhneach,
'S bu chliùiteach an am dol sìos iad.
Griogairich gun fhàillinn cruadail,
Bha iad riamh gu h-uasal rìoghail
An am cogaidh, troid, no tuasaid,
C'àit' an cualas bonn d'am mì-chliù?
Dol an aghaidh teine 's luaidhe,
An am na ruaige cha b'iad a strìochdadh;
'S fhad 's a leanas sibh r'ur dualchas
Cha tuit sibh le fuath luchd mì-rùin.
Eiridh gach fine o thuath leat
Eadar uaislean agus ìslean,
Le toil an cridhe us an dùrachd,
O'n a chuir thu t'ùidh 'san fhìrinn;
Bidh sinn uile 'san aon rùn duit
O'n is ionann cùis mu'm bì sinn,
Ann ad adhbhar, Theàrlaich Stiùbhairt,
O'n 's é do chrùnadh a bheir sìth dhuinn.
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