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A 17th Century Praise Poem
to Clan Gregor?

from the Clan Gregor Society Newsletter, Spring 2000

The following poem comes from the famous MacLagan manuscript collection of Gaelic poetry, collected between 1750 and 1805 by the Reverend James MacLagan, now housed in Glasgow University Library. This poem was printed, in an unedited and untranslated form, in The Transactions of the Gaelic Society of Inverness vol. 22, page 176.

In the manuscript, the poem is ascribed to Ailean mac Ghilleasbuig, the tacksman of Lag na h-Aghaidh of the family of Glencoe. As yet, I have not been able to identify this person, but if records of him could be found, a more exact dating of the poem might be possible.

The poem seems to refer to the two MacGregor noblemen involved in Cath Ghlinne Freòin, known in English as 'The Battle of Glen Fruin', which occured in 1603. From references to these men, Alasdair and John (often written in Gaelic as Iain but here in the variant form Eoin), the poem would seem to be from the early seventeenth century. As the death of neither one is mentioned, the poem may belong to the period before the battle.

The poem contains some wonderfully powerful images of the Gaelic heroic age. The ten miles named in the poem over which the MacGregors routed their enemies is certainly longer than the length of Glen Fruin, if that is indeed the event referred to. It is, perhaps, hyperbole which fits the needs of rhyme in the poem, or perhaps refers to the additional distance back to Dumbarton from whence many of the people who fought them came.

Highlanders were noted for being anxious to be buried amongst their own kin, and the wish of the poet to be buried amongst the MacGregors is meant to be an extremely flattering form of praise. It is not hard to imagine that the author might have been fostered by MacGregors.

In the process of editing this poem, I have corrected and modernized the orthography and forms of Gaelic words.

The linking rhyme in the sixth stanza does not fit in with the ì rhyme in the rest of the poem, casting some doubt over whether or not it has been interpolated here from elsewhere. The interpretation of the third line of the seventh stanza is somewhat uncertain.

Is beag mo mhulad 's mo phràmh On a chunnacas gur slàn 'S gur iad comann mo ghràidh mu 'm prìseil mi.	Little sorrow or grief do I feel As I have seen that they are well They are the people I love and who are precious to me.
Sliochd Eoin ud an àigh Na leomhainn gun sgàth Thug iad mòran de dh'arm is de rìomhaigh dhomh.	The lineage of that prosperous John The fearless lions They have given me many weapons and jewels.
Sìol chonnsmunn nan ceud A b' urranta gleus Ris an do dhealaich mi 'n dè 's na sgrìodanaibh.	The blood-line of the hundreds of warriors Trained to be entirely capable With whom I parted yesterday in the ravines.
B' ann diubh an t-Alasdair ruadh 'S Eoin dubh nan lann cruaidh Leis an do chuireadh an ruaig deich mìl' orra	Of them was Red-haired Alasdair And Black-haired John of the hard blades With which the rout was driven ten miles.
'S am fear buidhe nach fann De bhuidhinn nan lann Lùbadh iubhar nam meall, 's neo-mhìughar e.	The strong and fair-haired [altern.: lucky] man Of the company of blades Who would stretch the yew-bow - not stingy is he.
Luchd lùireach is lann Chuireadh cùl ri bhith gann 'S cha bu shùgradh an àm èirigh dhuibh.	The people of armour and blades Who would never be niggardly It was not love-making that you did upon waking.
Sibh nach seachnadh an t-òl 'S nach taisgeadh an t-òr 'S cha bu ghlais air an t-seòrsa 'n fhìnealtachd	You did not avoid a drink And did not hoard gold Elegance would be no challenge for their kind. (?)
Feadh 's na bha mi 'nur cùirt Nam fàillneadh mo lùth Gur e b' àill leam 'nur n-ùir mo thiodhlacadh.	While I was in your retinue If my strength ever failed me My wish would be to be buried in your soil.
Luchd a thaghadh nan arm 'S na mnai bu laghaiche dealbh 'N àm dhuibh laighe 's e b' àill leibh sìnte riutha.	Folk who would chose the weapons And the women of the most pleasing form At your bed-time, your wish was to lay down next to them.
'S moch 's a' mhadainn air drùchd Cha bu mhagadh bhur cùis 'S ann a-mach ris na stùic a dhìreadh sibh.	Early in the dewy morning Your business was no matter for mockery You went out to climb the peaks.
'S an dèis cnagraich bhur n-òrd Bhiodh fèidh chabrach fo leòn Bhiodh na manntail gun deò 'gan sgrìobadh dhiubh.	After your (gun) hammers had fired Antlered deer would be wounded And the lifeless hides would be torn from them.
Clann Ghriogair nan lann Bhuaileadh creach anns gach camp Gur neo-cheacharr' an dream 's gur rìoghail iad.	Clan Gregor of the blades Who would strike each camp with a raid That people are not sordid, they are royal.