Bha an Gille Dubh MacUaraig ann an Lèanachan
a’ tighinn dachaigh às a’ cheàrdaich le soc a’ chroinn. Agus bha e a’ marcachd
air ainmhidh. ’N uair a bha e a’ tighinn seachad air a’ bheul-àtha aig an
abhainn, dè chunnaic e ach coltas boireannach air thoiseach air. Is thuirt i
ris:
“Am faigh mi an t-aiseadh?”
“Gheibh.”
“Co-dhiù is fheàrr leat cùlag na
beulag?” thuirt ise.
“O! thig air mo bheulaibh,” thuirt esan.
Chum e greim oirre, dar a fhuair e thar an
abhainn i:
“Leig às mi.”
“Cha leig,” thuirt e. “Tha bruidhinn air gum
bheil iad gad fhaicinn an seo o chionn iomadh bliadhna. Agus bheir mi am
follais an t-sluaigh thu a’ dearbhadh gum bheil thu an seo.”
“Leig às mi,” thuirt i, “bheir mi dhut air
Srath Lèanachan buaile do chrodh maol, odhar.”
“Cha ghabh mi e.”
“Ma-tà, an gabh thu,” thuirt ise, “sabhal na
seachd suidheachan a bhith air an togail agus a bhith deas sa mhadainn dhut?”
“Gabhaidh.”
“Agus crathadh dhith d’ làimh dar a bhios mi
a’ falbh is beannachd leat,” thurt i, “dar a bhios an obair deas.”
Bha e a’ tighinn beul an anmoich agus chaidh
an duine dhachaidh. Agus dar a chaidh, dh’fhairich e an aon fhuaim is iad a’
togail. Sìdhchean laghach – am bheil thu a’ faicinn: ‘dà chlach air muin clach
agus clach eadar dà clach’. Agus bha a’ chlachaireachd a’ dol air adhart. Dar a
fhuair iad a’ clachaireachd air dòigh, ghlaoidh i an uair sin:
“Bior
fòid, fair sgolb
Is mairg fhaigheadh mar a chuireadh,
Is nach cuireadh mar a gheibheadh.”
¾ is i a’ cuir nan
cabair suas air an taigh. Agus bha an sabhal deas sa mhadainn. Agus bha esan a’ dèanamh deas air a son. Dè
chuir e san teine ach coltar a’ chroinn.
Thàinig i seachad air an uinneig is i a’ dol a dh’fhalbh dhachaigh agus:
“Thoir dhomh a-nise do làmh gus am bidh
crathadh làmh againn san dealachadh.”
Dè chuir e a-mach air an uinneig ach coltar a’
chroinn. Agus ruig i air sin agus thug i
trì sgreuchan aiste. Agus ghuidh i air. Agus bha e fìor an guidhe a bh’ ann:
“Fàs
mar an luachair,
Crionadh mar an raineach,
’S liathadh nan leanaban,
’S caochladh an treun an neart.”
Agus dhearbh e sin. Cha d’fhuair mòran do
Chloinn ’icUaraig is bha gràinne dhiubh ann, cha d’fhuair iad an còrr na dà fhichead
bliadhna a dh’ aois.
And
the translation goes something like this:
The Black Kennedy Lad from Lianachain was
coming home from the smithy carrying a ploughshare. He was on horseback. As he
was passing a ford at a river what did he see but the appearance of a woman in
front of him. She said to him:
“Can I get a lift?”
“Yes.”
“Which would you prefer: back or
front?” she asked.
“Oh, the front,” he replied.
He kept a firm grip of her and when he
crossed the river:
“Let me go.”
“No,” he said. “There’s talk that they’ve
seen you here for many a year. And I’ll show you to the folk to prove that
you’re still here.”
“Let me go,” she implored, “and I’ll offer
you a cattle-fold in Strath Lianachain full of hornless dun-coloured cattle.”
“I don’t want that.”
“Well, then, do you want,” she asked, “a barn
with seven couples to be built for you by the morning?”
“Yes, I want that.”
“And you shall shake my hand when I go and
good day to you,” she said, “when the work has been completed.”
Twilight was falling and so the man went
home. And if he did, he heard but one noise and that was of them building: the
fine fairy-folk – don’t you see: ‘two stones on the top of one stone and a
stone between two stones’. And so the masonry work kept on. When they had
completed all the masonry, she hollered:
Fetch stake, clod, thatching pin
Alas for him, who reaps not as he sows,
And sows not as he reaps!
– as she placed up the cabers in the house. And the barn was ready in the morning. He was preparing to meet her. What did he place in the fire but the coulter. She came by the window as she was on her way home and: “Give me your hand so that we can have a handshake in the parting.”
What did he put out of the window but the
coulter. She grabbed hold of it and she screamed three times. She cursed him.
And that curse came to be true:
Grow like the rushes
Wither like the
bracken
Turn grey in
childhood
And change [i.e. die]
in the prime of manhood.
And he was proof of that. Not many Kennedys,
and there were many of them, lived longer than forty years of age.
The same
story is given at length by the Rev. John Gregorson Campbell (1834–1891) which
has recently been edited with extensive notes by Ronald Black:
A strong man by the name of
Kennedy of MacCuaric, residing 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 around her (ghlas e làmhun), 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 fuller and slightly different version of the legend (see
volume of Gaelic poems called An Duanaire, p. 123)…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
crossing the Curr at the ford of Croisg. (Oidhche dh’an robh an Gille
Dubh mór MacCuaraig a’ dol dachaigh às a’ cheàrdaich, tachrar a’ Ghlaistig air
mar a bha e ’dol thar Cùrr aig Bial Àth’ Chroisg.)
“Fàilt’ ort,
’Ille Dhuibh mhóir,” os ise,
“Am b’ fheàirrd’ thu cùlag?”
“Am b’ fheàirrd’ thu cùlag?”
“B’eadh agus
bialag,” os esan,
’S thug e togail bheag mhór oirre
Far lom a’ chladaich
’S cheangail e i air a bhialaibh
Gu tiarainte daingeann
Air muin an eich sniamhaich
Le sian-chrios Fhaolain,
’S bhóidich is bhriathaich e
Gu dian ’s gu h-ascaoin
Nach leigeadh e slàn á ’ghlaic i
Gus an nochdadh e ’n làthair dhaoin’ I.
’S thug e togail bheag mhór oirre
Far lom a’ chladaich
’S cheangail e i air a bhialaibh
Gu tiarainte daingeann
Air muin an eich sniamhaich
Le sian-chrios Fhaolain,
’S bhóidich is bhriathaich e
Gu dian ’s gu h-ascaoin
Nach leigeadh e slàn á ’ghlaic i
Gus an nochdadh e ’n làthair dhaoin’ I.
“Leig ás
mi,” os ise, “’s gheibh thu uam
Mar chumhlaid ’s mar dhochair
Làn buaile de crodh breac,
Bailgionn, dubh, cean-fhionn,
Buaidh cnuic agus còmhalach
Ort fhéin ’s air do seòrs’ ad’ dheaghaidh.”
Mar chumhlaid ’s mar dhochair
Làn buaile de crodh breac,
Bailgionn, dubh, cean-fhionn,
Buaidh cnuic agus còmhalach
Ort fhéin ’s air do seòrs’ ad’ dheaghaidh.”
“’S leam sin
ad’ ainneoin,” os esan,
“’S chan fhoghainn gu d’ fhuasgladh.”
“’S chan fhoghainn gu d’ fhuasgladh.”
“Leig ás mi,
’s fàgaidh mi d’ fhonn
’San robh mi san tom a thàmh
Agus togaidh mi dhut a-nochd
Air an Fhoich ud thall
Taigh mór daingeann dìge—
Taigh air nach drùidh teine,
Uisge, no saighead, no iarann,
’S a ghléidheas tu gu tioram seasgair
Gun fhiamh gun eagal, ’s bidh sian ort
O nimh, o cheathairn ’s o shìth’chean.”
’San robh mi san tom a thàmh
Agus togaidh mi dhut a-nochd
Air an Fhoich ud thall
Taigh mór daingeann dìge—
Taigh air nach drùidh teine,
Uisge, no saighead, no iarann,
’S a ghléidheas tu gu tioram seasgair
Gun fhiamh gun eagal, ’s bidh sian ort
O nimh, o cheathairn ’s o shìth’chean.”
“Coimhlion
do briathran,” os esan,
“Is gheibh thu chead uam.”
“Is gheibh thu chead uam.”
Leig ise
sgal aiste le tùrsa
A chluinnt’ thar sheachd beannan!
Shaoilte gum b’e Còrn na Fiùbh
A bh’ aig Fionn a thug fead ás;
’S cha robh sìthean no stùc
Nach do dhùisg ’s nach d’ath-fhreagair,
’S chruinnich iad taobh thall an Lòin
’S iad ri h-òrdugh a’ feitheamh.
A chluinnt’ thar sheachd beannan!
Shaoilte gum b’e Còrn na Fiùbh
A bh’ aig Fionn a thug fead ás;
’S cha robh sìthean no stùc
Nach do dhùisg ’s nach d’ath-fhreagair,
’S chruinnich iad taobh thall an Lòin
’S iad ri h-òrdugh a’ feitheamh.
Chuir i ’n
greim iad le cabhaig,
Gu farasta, rianail,
’S thug iad leacan is clachan
Á cladach Steall Chlianaig,
Gan sìneadh o làimh gu làimh.
’N Tom Innis a' Chladaich
Ghearradh cabair is taobhain
Agus suidheachan fada
Réidh reamhar sa Chaor’naich’
’S ise gun aon tàmh an ràdh,
Gu farasta, rianail,
’S thug iad leacan is clachan
Á cladach Steall Chlianaig,
Gan sìneadh o làimh gu làimh.
’N Tom Innis a' Chladaich
Ghearradh cabair is taobhain
Agus suidheachan fada
Réidh reamhar sa Chaor’naich’
’S ise gun aon tàmh an ràdh,
“Aon clach
air muin dà chloich
’S dà chloich air muin aon chloich;
Bior, fòid, fair sgolb,
Gach fiodh ca choill
Ach fiodhagach;
’S mairg nach faigheadh marr a chuireadh
’S nach cuireadh mar a gheibheadh!”
’S dà chloich air muin aon chloich;
Bior, fòid, fair sgolb,
Gach fiodh ca choill
Ach fiodhagach;
’S mairg nach faigheadh marr a chuireadh
’S nach cuireadh mar a gheibheadh!”
’S an
glasadh an latha
Bha fòid thar a dhruim
Agus smùid deth!
Bha fòid thar a dhruim
Agus smùid deth!
Chum’ an
coltar a’s teine
G’a ghléidheadh o mhìostath
On a b’ eòl da mu chleasan
’S mu gheasan nan sìth’chean.
G’a ghléidheadh o mhìostath
On a b’ eòl da mu chleasan
’S mu gheasan nan sìth’chean.
Nuair bha ’n
taigh a-nis ullamh
’S a dhìol i gach cumhlaid
Gun d’fhuasgail e ’n t-suire
’S cha d’fhuilig e dìobhail.
’S a dhìol i gach cumhlaid
Gun d’fhuasgail e ’n t-suire
’S cha d’fhuilig e dìobhail.
Seach an
uinneag mu ’chomhair
Gun do shìn i dha ’crodhan
A ghabhail leis soiridh,—
Ach gu ’thoirt don t-sìthean.
Ach shìn es’ an coltar
’S lean craiceann a bois’ ris,
Is leum i air cloich ghlais
Na Foich’ a thoirt binn air.
Gun do shìn i dha ’crodhan
A ghabhail leis soiridh,—
Ach gu ’thoirt don t-sìthean.
Ach shìn es’ an coltar
’S lean craiceann a bois’ ris,
Is leum i air cloich ghlais
Na Foich’ a thoirt binn air.
Thus i
mollachd an t-sluaigh air
Is mollachd nan uamhlach,
’S ma chreidear na chualas
Gun d’fhuair i a h-impidh.
Is mollachd nan uamhlach,
’S ma chreidear na chualas
Gun d’fhuair i a h-impidh.
“Fàs mar an
luachair,
Crìonadh mar rainich,
Liathadh ’nur leanbain,
Caochladh an treun ur neart;
Cha ghuidh mi gun mhac ’nur n-àite.
’S mis’ a’ ghlaistig bhròin
Bha ’m Fearann an Lòin a thàmh,
Thog mi taigh mór air an Fhoich;
Cuiridh mi fuil mo chridhe ’mach
Air Sgùrr Finisgeig gu h-àrd,
Air trì tomanan luachrach
’S bidh iad ruadh gu Là ’Bhràth.”
Crìonadh mar rainich,
Liathadh ’nur leanbain,
Caochladh an treun ur neart;
Cha ghuidh mi gun mhac ’nur n-àite.
’S mis’ a’ ghlaistig bhròin
Bha ’m Fearann an Lòin a thàmh,
Thog mi taigh mór air an Fhoich;
Cuiridh mi fuil mo chridhe ’mach
Air Sgùrr Finisgeig gu h-àrd,
Air trì tomanan luachrach
’S bidh iad ruadh gu Là ’Bhràth.”
’S leum i ’na
lasair uaine
Thar gualainn na Sgurra.
Thar gualainn na Sgurra.
“Hail to
thee, Big Black Lad,” said she,
Would you be the better of a rider behind?”
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.
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.”
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.”
“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 tonight,
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.”
Where in the knoll I stayed;
And I will build thee tonight,
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.”
“Fulfill
your words,” said he,
“And from me get your leave.”
“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.
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 from them 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,
Calmly, orderly,
And they brought flags and stones
From the shore of Clianaig Waterfall,
Reaching from them 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 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 a divot on the roof,
And smoke from it!
There was a 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.
To keep him from mischance,
Since he knew the pranks
And enchantments of the Fairies.
When the
house was now finished
And he made up each loss,
He loosened the maid
And suffered no harm.
And he 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 (truely) to take him to the shï-en.
The skin of her palm stuck to it (the colter);
She sprang then on a grey stone
Of the Field to pronounce his doom.
She stretched him her crooked palm
To bid him farewell,—
But (truely) to take him to the shï-en.
The skin of her palm stuck to it (the colter);
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.
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 your my heart’s blood,
High on the peak of Finisgeig,
Which will be red evermore.~”
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 your my heart’s blood,
High on the peak of Finisgeig,
Which will be red evermore.~”
And she
leapt in a green flame,
Over the shoulder of the peak.
Over the shoulder of the peak.
Perhaps the real reason why
Donald Campbell MacPherson (1838–1880), a native of Glenroy, did not give the
informant’s name was because the poem was composed by himself. Be that as it
may, the poem is clearly based upon the story which MacPherson would have known
from hearing it in Glenroy and it obviously complements the version as told by
John MacDonald nearly a century afterwards.
References:
Rev.
John Gregorson Campbell, The Gaelic
Otherworld, ed. by Ronald Black (Edinburgh: Birlinn, 2005)
Eachann
MacDhùghaill, ‘Tigh Lianachain, Loch-Abar’, Celtic
Annual (1912) p. 33
Somerled
MacMillan, Bygone Lochaber: Historical
and Traditional (Glasgow: Privately printed, 1971), pp. 159–62
Donald
C. MacPherson, An Duanaire: A New Collection of Gaelic Songs and
Poems (Edinburgh: MacLachlan & Stewart, 1868)
SSS
NB 1, pp. 58–60
Henry
Whyte [Fionn], ‘A Lochaber Hag: The Glaistig of Lianachan’, The Celtic Monthly Vol. IX, No. 10 (July
1901), p. 189
Image:
Lianachain
/ Leanachan looking over to Ben Nevis, Lochaber
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