| Chunnaic Mi Uam a’ Bheinn | I Saw at a Distance the Hill |
 |
|
| Chunnaic Mi Uam a’ Bheinn | I Saw at a Distance the Hill |
| Chunnaic mi uam a’ bheinn ’S mi siubhal air astar speur, ’S an aois a mhallachadh rinn, Oir mhiannaich mi rithist bhith òg, Sa bheinn gun bhonaid, gun bhròg - Miann riamh nach do shealbhaich mac mnaoi, ’S oirnn fear-trusaidh gach linn an tòir. Chunnaic mi uam a’ bheinn Air latha geal grinn is grèin’, ’S mar dhùisgeas an doineann na tuinn Nan suain air aghaidh a’ chuain, ’S amhlaidh a dhùisgeadh mo smuain ’S a dhùisg à dùsal a’ chuimhn’ Air bhith trusadh chaorach is uan; ’S a bhith togail o bhaile nan treud Mu mheadhan bog-bhlàth-mhìos na Màigh. An là ud dan sgoil sinn cha tèid, ’S bidh balaich is coin air an dòigh, ’S nuair ruigear na Beannaibh fa-dheòidh, Sinn suidhidh air tom ’s ithidh grèim - Aran coirc’ no eòrn’ às ar dòirn. Shaoil leam gum faicinn a’ bheinn, Suinn a bhuineadh do linn nach beò, Le lùthag fon ghlùin ’s orra sgoinn A’ dìreadh ’s a’ feannadh an t-slèibh, ’S gun cluinninn am fead is an èigh Ri coin toirt na sprèidhe cruinn, ’S na deimhisean geur’ dol gu feum. |
I saw at a distance the hill And I travelling by air, And old age I cursed; For I desired to be young again, On the hill without cap or shoe, A desire never granted to son of woman And the Gatherer of each generation seeking us. I saw at a distance the hill On a white beautiful day of sun; And as the tempests awaken the waves Slumbering on the face of the ocean, So my thoughts were awakened And there awoke from slumber the memory Of gathering sheep and lambs. Of collecting flocks from the villages About the middle of the soft warm month of May - That day to school we did not go - And boys and dogs were happy, And when the Beannaibh* were reached at last, Of sitting on a hillock and eating Oatcake or barley scone from our fist. It seemed to me that I could see on the hill Champions of a generation not living, With a band beneath their knee and they hurrying, Climbing and descending the slope; And that I could hear the whistle and the shout To dogs to collect the flocks, And the sharp shears at work. |
| *Na Beannaibh: these are a group of four hills – Beinn Bharabhais; Beinn Mholach; Beinn Bheàrnach; Beinn a Sgridhe – to which the village of Melbost, which was Murdo MacFarlane’s home, took their sheep for grazing and later shearing. Murdo wrote this poem after seeing them from the plane coming into Stornoway airport. | |
|
|
||
murchadh
macphàrlain/
Murdo MacFarlane |
||
| Ealaíontóir/Artist: Peannaire/Calligrapher: Aistritheoir/Translator: Ainmníodh ag/Nominator: |
Kate Whiteford Donald Addison Nan S. MacLeod The Editorial Panel |
|