Glenfinnan – Songs of the 45

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  1. Oran Do Loch Iall
  2. Oran Air Bhreith a Phrionnsa Tearlaich
  3. Oran Eile Don Phrionnsa
  4. An Fhideag Airgid
  5. Alasdair’s Tune – No lyrics
  6. Clo Mhic Ille Mhicheil
  7. Mo Run Gael Og
  8. Smuladh Mi’s Mi Air Maineol
  9. Gaelic Psalm Theme – No lyrics available

 

Oran Do Loch Iall

0 deoch-slainte mo ghaisgich,
‘S coir a faicinn ‘ga lionadh,
Us a cumail an cleachdadh
Mar fasan da rireadh;
H-uile fear leis nach ait i
F’agam esan an iotadh;
Bhith ‘ga h-ol gur h-e b’annsa
Ma’s branndaidh no fion i
gur e b’annsa, gur e b’annsa.

‘S a Dhomhnuill oig Abraich,
Do shlainte gum faic mi mun’n cuairt i;
An t-og firinneach smachdail
Nach robh tais an am cruadail;
‘S beag iongnadh an t-ardan
Bhith gu h-ard ann ad ghruaidhean,
‘S a liuthad fuil rioghail
Tha sioladh mu d’ghuillibh.
‘s a liuthad fuil, ‘s a liuthad fuil

,p>’S dearbhadh air sin Sliabh a’ Chlamhain
Gun d’fhuair sibh barrachd an cruadal,
Thug thu an duthchas o d’sheanair,
B’ard-cheannard air sluagh e;
Tha mo dhuil anns an Trianaid,
Ma’s ni thig gu buaidh e,
Gum faic mi thu ad Dhiuca
An deidh an crun ud a bhuannachd.
‘is ‘nad Dhiuc’, ‘is ‘nad Dhiuc’

Cha b’e siubhal na slainte
Bh’aig a’ ghraisg us a’teicheadh,
‘S iomadh cota ruadh maduir
Bh’anns an araich gun leithcheann,
Agus slinnein o’n ghualainn
Agus cnuac chaidh a leagail
Le luths nam fear laidir
Ghabh an t-ardan gun eagal.
le luths nam fear, le luths nam fear
le luths nam fear, le luths nam fear

A Song to Locheill

Here’s health to my hero
Tis right full to fill it
And to keep it in practice
As truly a fashion;
Every man who dislikes it
I shall leave him a-thirsting
To drink it were pleasant
In wine or in brandy
So pleasant, so pleasant.

Young Donald from Lochaber
Thy health may I see drunk around me,
The youth faithful, commanding
And in danger unflinching;
Little wonder that pride shines
So high in thy visage
While so much blood royal
Does run by thy shoulders
So much blood, so much blood.

It was shown at Gladsmuir
Thou excelledst in valour
Thy spirit tookst from thy grandsire
Who of hosts was commander;
And my hope’s in the Trinity
If this thing came to triumph
I’ll see thee win a Dukedom
When that crown has been gained
As a duke, as a duke.

Nor did that coward rabble
Take to fleeing in safety
For many a red-coat
Lay on the field headless
And arms from their shoulders
And crowns off were stricken
By the keen, mighty heroes
Haughty, and fearless
By the strength of men,
By the strength of men.

Oran air Bhreith Phrionnsa Tearlach

On the last day of December 1720, a son, Charles Edward Stuart, was born in Rome to the exiled James, the 6th. The news soon reached the Highlands, and the poet John McLachlan made a song on his birth.. “No more are we going to be under subjection to George,” he says. “The earth will yield crops without stint, The sea’s fruit will fill every net.”

‘N naigheachd a fhuair sinn an drasd’
A thainig oirnn nuadh do’n tir,
Chuir m’airtneal air chairtealan uam,
Dh’fhag aigeantach, uallach mi;
Cha bhi sinn tuilleadh na’s mo
Aig Deorsa fada fo chis,
Thig sonas ri linn a’ Phrionns’oig,
‘S gheibh fir tha air fogradh sith.

Rugadh Phoenix thall anns an Roimh
Sgeul aigeantach mor ri ‘linn;
Gum bi neart agus ceart mar ri treoir
Do’n fhear sheasas coir an Righ;
Theid a’ chuibhle fhathast mu’n cuairt,
‘S am fear a tha shuas, bidh e sios,
Bidh am fear a tha streapadh, gu h-ard,
‘S fear eile gu lar tuitidh sios.

Tha Neptun a’ mionnachadh dha
Gum bheil muir dha co reidh us tir,
Tha Aeolus a’feitheamh a ghnath,
‘S a’gleidheadh dha baidh a ghaoith,
Tha Mars us a chlaidheamh ‘na laimh
Le buaidh-chath’ ‘s gach aite am bi,
Tha plannta nan duilleagan tlath
Toirt urraim ‘nan aiteachan fin.

Thig muthadh air fonn as droch-ghne,
Cha bhi dris ann an lar nach crion,
Bidh gach tulach ‘na iomairibh reidh
‘S fasaidh ‘n cuithneachd air aodainn shliabh;
Cha dean sinn tuilleadh cion-fath
O’n a theirig an fhreumh nach cinn,
Sin an gartlann a ghlanadh o’n charr
Bha bacadh dhuinn fas ar siol.

Sgeul eile cha cheil mi an drasd’,
Cuiridh coille trom-bhlath os ar cinn,
Cuiridh ‘n talamh gun airceas de bharr,
Tacar mara cur lain’s gach lion,
Bidh bainn’ aig an eallaich’s gach ait’,
Mil air bharraibh nan srabh’s gach tir,
Gun ghainne, gun airceas, gu brath
Gun ghaillionn ach blaths ‘s gach sian.

A song upon the birth of Prince Charles

The tidings we have now received
Which are freshly come to the land
Have chased all my sorrow away
And left me both joyful and proud
No more are we going to be
Under subjection to George
Joy will come in the young Prince’s time
Peace will be to the exiles restored.

A Pheonix is born o’er in Rome
A tale of great joy in its time
May he who the King’s right maintains
Have strength and justice and aid
Fortune’s wheel will yet turn again
And the man who’s aloft will fall low
The man who is climbing will rise
And the other to earth will fall down.

Neptune does promise for him
A sea as smooth as the land
And Aeolus is ready always
For him keeping his favouring winds
Mars with his sword in his hand
Will give victory wherever he be
The herbs with their delicate leaves
Give honour in their own abodes.

A change will come o’er barren lands
No thorn on the ground but will fade
Every hill will be laid in smooth rigs
And wheat will grow on the hillsides
Contention no more shall we own
Since the root that won’t grow is consumed
There’s the corn-field now cleansed of its weeds
Which did hinder the growth of our crop.

Another tale that I’ll not hide
The woods will put leaves o’er our heads
The earth will yield crops without stint
The sea’s fruit will fill every net
Herds will give milk everywhere
And honey on straw-tops be found
Without want, unstinted, fore’er
Without storms, but every wind warm.

Oran Eile Do’n Phrionnsa

One of our greatest Gaelic poets Alexander MacDonald – Alasdair MacMhaighstir – composed propaganda songs which may have inspired the Prince to come. Here he conveys his excitement at the Prince’s landing.

Thug ho-o, laithill ho-o,
Thug o-ho-ro an aill libh,
Thug ho-o, laithill ho-o,
Seinn o-ho-ro an aill libh.

Och ‘sa mhaduinn’s mi dusgadh,
‘S mor mo shunnd’s mo cheol-gaire,
O’n a chuala mi ‘m Prionnsa
Thighinn do dhuthaich Chlann Ra’ill;

O’n a chuala mi ‘m Prionnsa
Thighinn do dhuthaich Chlann Ra’ill;
Grainne mullaich gach righ thu,
Slan gum pill thusa, Thearlaich.

Grainne mullaich gach righ thu,
Slan gum pill thusa, Thearlaich;
‘S ann th ‘n fhior-fhuil gun truailleadh,
Anns a ghruadh is mor-naire

‘S ann th ‘n fhior-fhuil gun truailleadh,
Anns a ghruadh is mor-naire
Mar ri barrachd na h-uaisle
‘G eirigh suas le deagh-nadur

Mar ri barrachd na h-uaisle
‘G eirigh suas le deagh-nadur,
Us nan tigeadh tu rithist
Bhiodh gach tighearn’ ‘n aite

Thug ho-o, laithill ho-o,
Thug o-ho-ro an aill libh,
Thug ho-o, laithill ho-o,
Seinn o-ho-ro an aill libh.

Another Song to the Prince

Early as I awaken
Great my joy, loud my laughter,
Since I heard that the Prince comes
To the land of Clanranald

Since I heard that the Prince comes
To the land of Clanranald
Thou’rt the choicest of all rulers,
here’s a health to thy returning.

Thou’rt the choicest of all rulers,
Here’s a health to thy returning,
His the royal blood unmingled,
Great the modesty in his visage.

His the royal blood unmingled,
Great the modesty in his visage
With nobility overflowing,
And endowed with all good nature.

With nobility overflowing,
And endowed with all good nature.
And shouldst thou return ever
At his post would be each laird.

An fhideag airigid

Co a sheinneas an fhideag airgid
Ho ro hu a hu il o, Hi ri ri liu il o, Hi ri ri liu il o
Mac mo righ air tighinn a dh’Alba
Ho ro hu a hu il o, Hi ri ri liu il o, Hi ri ri liu il o
Air long mhor nan tri chrann airgid
Ho ro hu a hu il o, Hi ri ri liu il o, Hi ri ri liu il o
Air long riobhach nam ball airgid
Ho ro hu a hu il o, Hi ri ri liu il o, Hi ri ri liu il o
Tearlach og nan gorm shuil meallach
Ho ro hu a hu il o, Hi ri ri liu il o, Hi ri ri liu il o
Failte, failte mian is clui dhuit
Ho ro hu a hu il o, Hi ri ri liu il o, Hi ri ri liu il o
Fidhleireachd is ragha ciuil dhuit
Ho ro hu a hu il o, Hi ri ri liu il o, Hi ri ri liu il o
Co a sheinneadh? Nach seinninn fhin i?
Ho ro hu a hu il o, Hi ri ri liu il o, Hi ri ri liu il o
Co a sheinneas an fhideag airgid
Ho ro hu a hu il o, Hi ri ri liu il o, Hi ri ri liu il o

‘Who will play the silver reed (for pipe chanter), when the Son of my King is coming home’ asks the bard in this song which was evidently composed before the rising of l745. While the ship in which Prince Charles had crossed from Eriskay lay in Loch nan Uamh, Moidart, it was the sound of the bagpipe from the men of Donald Cameron of Locheil – ‘the Gentle Lochiel’ – that encouraged the young prince to proceed with his adventure and other clans to join the Stewart cause.

It is a matter of historical record that hundreds of volunteers were found who were willing to play the silver reed for the homecoming of the Son of their King, and that thousands more made the supreme sacrifice for his dommed cause. This is surely testimony to the intensity of the affection the Jacobites had for the house of Stewart in general and for Prince Charles Edward Stewart in particular.

The Silver Whistle

Who will play the silver whistle?
(Since) the son of my King has come to Scotland
On a great ship with three masts of silver
On the handsome vessel with the silver rigging
Young Charles with the blue bewitching eyes
Welcome, Welcome, may you be desired and famous
May there be fiddling and the choicest music before you
Who would play it? Who’d say that I’d not play it myself?
Who will play the silver whistle?

Clo Mhic ‘ille Mhicheil

There was a process in the Highlands, where the women waulked or beat tweed on a board to make it shrink. They sang as they worked, and in this song, the coded message is that the Prince needs cloth – that is, support, and he’ll get it from the waulkers – the clans.

Refrain

Hug air clo Mhic’ille Mhicheil,
O hugaibh, hug a ri hug,
Hug air clo Mhic’ille Mhicheil,

Oganaich uir a’ chuil teudaich,
‘S oil liom eudach a bhith dhith ort.

Chuir Roinn Eorpa clo am beart dhuit
‘S gu tig e as cha bhith sith ann

Ach, bith bithidh I fighte, cumte, luaidhte
Mus tig buain na Feill Mhicheil

Gun tig gruagaichean Chlann Raghnaill
Comhlain dhaicheil nach dean diobradh

Gun tig nionagan o’n Cheapaich
A bheir caithris air mun sgithich.

Is gheibh sinn sgioba eile a Eirinn
0 lari’Antram nan steud riomhach.

Mar sin is Niallaich thar saile,
Far shruthain laidir an lionaldh.

Na b’ionann seo ‘s an luadhadh dosgach
Bha’n Cuil-lodair nuair a phill sinn

Cuireamaid ‘na eideadh Tearlach
Stracamaid an aird ar dichioll

Dh’fhaodadh e bhith’n drasda umad
‘n a thrusgan urramach rioghail.

The Cloth of MacGhille Mhicheil

O noble youth with long black hair
I hate it that you are wanting clothing

Europe has put cloth in the loom for you, and
Until it comes out, there will be no peace

But it will be woven, shaped and waulked
Before the harvest of Michaelmas comes

The ‘maidens’ of Clanranald will come
Handsome bands which will not desert you.

‘Girls’ will come from Kepoch
who will keep a night-watch on it ere they tire

And you will get another crew from Ireland
From the Earl of Antrim with his handsome horses

Likewise MacNeils from across the sea
Over the strong currents of the flowing tide

Let this not be like the disastrous waulking
There was at Culloden, when we retreated

Let us dress Prince Charlie in his equipment
Let us aim at the height of our endeavour

You could have been wearing (the cloth) now
as an honoured royal vestment.

Mo Run Geal Og

Most of the songs of the Forty Five are about men. But what about the women and children who suffered?

William Chisholm fell at Culloden, and his distraught widow made a bitter song. “Young Charles Stuart, it was your cause that destroyed me/ You took away from me all that I had”.

Och a Thearlaich og Stiubhart
‘Se do chuis rinn mo leireadh
Thug thu ‘uam gach ni bh’agam
Ann an cogadh ‘nad aobhar;
Cha chrodh is cha chaoraich
The mi ‘caoidh ach mo cheile
O’n la dh’fhag e mi ‘m aonar
Gun sion san t-saoghal ach leine
Mo run geal og

Bu tu fear mor bu mhath cumadh
0 do mhullach gu d’ bhrogan
Tha do shlios mar an eala
‘S bias na meala air do phogan;
D’fhalt dualach donn lurach,
Mu do mhuineal an ordugh
‘Se gu camalubach cuimir
Gach aon toit urram d’a bhoidhchead
Mo run geal og.

0 gur mise th’air mo sgaradh
‘S ged do chanam cha bhreug e
‘S iomadh te bha ‘m banntrach
Nach tug ??? dhut fheine
Fear do cheile ‘s do thuigse
Cha robh furasd ri fheudainn
‘S cha do sheas an Cul-lodair
Fear do choltais bu treine
Mo run geal og.

0ch nan och, gur mi bochdag
‘S mi lan osnaich an comhnaidh
chaill mi duil ri thu thighinn
thuit mo chridhe gu dortadh
cha tog fidheall no clarsach
piob no taileasg no ceol e
nis o chuir iad thu’n tasgadh
cha duisg caidreabh duin’ oig mi
Mo run geal og.

Bha mi greis ann am barail
Gun bu mhaireann mo cheile
Is gun tigeadh tu dhachaidh
Le aithghearr ‘s le aoibhneis
Ach tha’n t-am dhol thairis
‘Is chan fhaic mi fear d’eugais
Gus an teid mi dhan annart
Cha dealaich do speis rium
Mo run geal og

My Fair Love

Alas, young Charles Stewart,
it is your cause that has left me desolate.
You took from me everything
that I had in a war in your cause.
It is not cattle or friends
that have pained me, but my spouse
since the day that you left me alone
with nothing in the world but my shift
My fair young love.

You were the tall man, and handsome
from the crown of your head to your shoes;
your side was like the swan,
your kisses tasted of honey.
Your curled, brown, beautiful hair
was arranged round your neck,
ringleted and elegant,
so that all paid tribute to its beauty
My fair young love.

How distraught I am,
and though I say it, it is no lie.
There is many a widow
who did not get the equal of my spouse.
A man of your good sense and understanding
was not easy to find,
and there stood not on Culloden’s field
a more valiant man of your mien -
My fair young love.

Alas and alack!
What a wretch I am, ceaselessly sighing.
I lost hope of your return,
my heart burst with sorrow.
Neither fiddle or harp will raise it, nor pipe nor gaming nor music; now that they have laid you to rest, young men’s company does not arouse me My fair young love.

For a while
I imagined my spouse was alive,
and that you would come home
with joy and happiness,
but the time has gone by,
and I shall not see one like you.
Until I go under the ground,
my love for you will not leave me -
My fair young love.

Smuladh mi’s mi air maineol

Smuladh mi’s mi air maineol
Hi ri ri ri a bho
‘S eisleanach mi’s a chluain rainich
Ho ro ho ao ri ho huri bhi iu ho ro ho
‘S eisleanach mi’s a chluain rainich
Hi ri ri ri a bho
Coimhead bhuam air cuan na Hearadh
Ho ro ho ao ri ho huri bhi iu ho ro ho
Coimhead bhuam air cuan na Hearadh
Hi ri ri ri a bho
‘S nach fhaic mi tighinn mo leannan
Ho ro ho ao ri ho huri bhi iu ho ro ho
‘S nach fhaic mi tighinn mo leannan
Hi ri ri ri a bho
Geugaire fionn foghaintidh fearail
Ho ro ho ao ri ho huri bhi iu ho ro ho
Geugaire fionn foghaintidh fearail
Hi ri ri ri a bho
Suil ghorm ‘s an aodann nach greannach
Ho ro ho ao ri ho huri bhi iu ho ro ho
Suil ghorm ‘s an aodann nach greannach
Hi ri ri ri a bho
Mala chaol gun chaochladh seallaidh
Ho ro ho ao ri ho huri bhi iu ho ro ho
Mala chaol gun chaochladh seallaidh
Hi ri ri ri a bho
Fiacail bhan is beul dearg tana
Ho ro ho ao ri ho huri bhi iu ho ro ho

 

I am sad in exile
Distressed standing on the bracken plain
Distressed standing on the bracken plain
Looking across the Sound of Harris
Looking across the Sound of Harris
I do not see my sweetheart
I do not see my sweetheart
A fair, brave, handsome stripling
A fair, brave, handsome stripling
Blue eyes in a pleasant face
Blue eyes in a pleasant face
A smooth forehead that is never furrowed
A smooth forehead that is never furrowed
And white teeth in a thin red mouth.