Is beag a shaoil leam thar nan tonn Gu'm feumainn dol a dh'iarraidh m' uaigh'. Mo chéile, m' annsachd, mo bhean ghaoil! Tha nis gu tosdach, balbh san ùir, Bu shona sinn 'n uair bha sinn saor O fhoill, o fhòirneart, a's o thnù. "Ar còignear mhac, mar ghallain ùr, 'S a' ghleann so dh' altrum thu le gràdh, Ach anns an àrfhaich thuit dhiubh triùir, 'S tha dhà air mhaireann treun mar bha. "Tha mic mo rùin gun chliù, gun duais, Ach lotan ruadh nan sleaghan trom; Gidheadh le saothair 's fallus gruaidh Fhuair sinn ar teachd-an tir o'n fhonn. "Neo-thorach, cruaidh ged bha an raon Bha 'màl ro shaor 's ar maighstir grinn; 'N sin fada uainn bha gruaim a' mhaoir, 'S am fàrduich chlùthmhoir chòmhnuich sinn. "Ach, O, mo chreach! ar n-uachd'ran dh'eug, A's mar ris thréig toilinntinn mi; Oir thàinig maighstir cruaidh 'n a dhéigh "Tha 'm mál a tha e 'toirt o 'thuath 'G a struitheadh luath a réir a mhiann; A shògh a's aighear rinn gach uair Ar gàirdean a riasladh gu dian. "A thìr mo ghràidh gach beannachd leatBeannachd mo chridh tha cràiteach, goirt; Daingean gu'n robh thu 'n sìth 's an neart, A's gainne ghaisgeach ni'n robh ort. "'N uair 'bhrùchdas do naimhdean mu'n cuairt Biodh do bhratach a' srannraich 's a' ghaoth, 'S na miltean le'n stàilinnean cruaidh A' còmhrag le neart air an taobh. "Mo chaoirich ionaltraibh-se gun sgàth, 'Ur gineil o'n t-sionnach bidh saor; Luchd mi-rùin stiùraidh sibh gach là Air sgàth am buannachd shaogh'lt'. "For their own sakes, shall pen your straggling flocks "No stream, alas! shall ever, ever flow To heal your master's heart, or soothe his woe. "Farewell! Farewell!"-Awhile his hands he wrung, SPRING.* With the dawning of Spring the song shall arise, The Winter has passed from the climes of the North, The sun is now sending his radiance abroad, The authorship of this Poem has been attributed to Dr. N. M'Leod in consequence of our supposing that the initials, “O. T." were but a mistaken transposition of "T. O." the well-known signature of Dr. M'Leod. We had a communication from Mr John White, Easdale, certifying that "Spring" is the production 'A ghobh'raibh breac o'n tric a fhuair A's leis an d' fhàs mo chlann gun mheang. Slàn le m' bheanntan, slàn le m' ghlinn, 'S o'n aonach a' teàrnadh gu tràigh B' iomadh sùil 'thug an t-àireach air ais. AN T-EARRACH. 'An toiseach an Earraich bidh an t-òran a' fàs Tha 'n Geamhradh air teicheadh o'n Deas chum an Tuath, Tha 'ghrian nis a' sgaoileadh a gàirdean a mach— Le caomh mhais' tha 'breacadh a' mhonaidh 's na glinn. of his brother, the late Mr Robert White. Through the kindness of Mr Peter M'Naughton, Tullipourie, by Dunkeld, a gentleman to whom we are indebted for many other literary favours, we are enabled to give this English translation of "Spring," which we are sure will be very gratifying to the friends of the author. But Spring, though the battles of elements all The strong healthy ploughman is tearing the steep, The bloom-buds of Autumn's fruit swell on the tree, The thistle is stretching its spiky leaves out, The woods in the tempest that leaflessly sighed, In the Awe the fishes that ceaselessly play, The goat is essaying to rise on the steep, While its dam for it seeks by the brinks of the linns. Round the high peaks of Cruachan the birds are in flight,— In my ears the lowing of red-deer is heard, The sun now has set on the bright vernal day, Ach Earraich, ged chaidh uait na baideil air chall, Tha'n t-airean gun euslain a' reubadh nan cnoc, 'S a' tionndadh nan neòinean 'measg ùir anns a' ghlaic; Fear eile gu surdail a' sgapadh an fhrois, Agus each a's cliath-chliata nan deann aig a chois. Tha bàr-gucag an Fhoghair ag at air a' chraoibh, Tha 'm foghnan a' sìneadh a shleaghan a mach, Tha 'choill a bha lomnochd a' feadail 's a' ghaoith 'S an Atha na h-éisg tha ri mire gun chlos, Tha ghobhar a' faochnadh ri aodan a' chnaip, Air àrd uilinn Chruachain tha gluasad nan eun— 'S gu m' chluasaibh tha 'tighinn àrd lagan an fhéidh, Agus ceòlan na h-ainnir 's i 'leigeil na spréidh. Tha ghrian nis air luidhe air Earrach an àigh, 'S e le aoidh 'dol a liubhairt an ǎil suas do'n Mhàgh; Chi mi 'n Samhradh a' tighinn air uilinn nan cărn, 'S gàir ait anns na gleannaibh 's an coille Mhuc-câàrn! |