Seann Oran Seilge
(Old Hunting Song)

Can be found in The Gaelic songster. An t-òranaiche, by Archibald Sinclair, 1879

The Gaelic songster 1879


The song was, according to Alexander Macdonald, written by Angus Cameron of Stratherrick.

Here is a longer version on page 22 of Glen of the Bards
Glen of the Bards p. 22


Sèist (Chorus - after each verse):
Ho ro i a bhi o ho
Chall eileadh a ro ho
Horo i a bhi o ho
Chall o ho ro bhi

Ach a Thomais 'ic Uilleim
Bu tu 'n companach munaidh
Anns na coilltichean urrad
Fhuair tu urram na seilg

Gur a bhuidheach mi m' cheile
Thug an gunn' a Dun-Eideann
Dhomh-sa b'aithne do bheusan
'S cha bu leir dhomh do ghiamh

'S toigh leam airidh nam badan
Far am b'eibhinn leam cadal
'S am biodh fasgadh ri gaillionn
Aig aighean 's aig laoigh

Agus frith nan damh donna
'S nan ceannardan troma
Leam bu mhiann dol 'n an coinneamh
'N uair a chromadh a' ghrian

Le m' chuilbhir caol cubhraidh
Ann am achlais 'ga giulan
Luaidh ghlas air a h-urlar
Bheir tuill ur air am bian

Spor thana gheur dhu-ghorm
'N deigh a glasadh 's a dluthadh
'Chuireadh sradag ri fudar
'N uair a lubainn mo mhiar

Mharbhainn drachd agus lacha
Agus tarmachan creachainn
'S earbag riabhach nam badan
'Theid roi 'n mhaduinn 'na fiamh


OLD HUNTING SONG

Ho ro i a bhi o ho
Chall eileadh a ro ho
Horo i a bhi o ho
Chall o ho ro bhi

O Thomas son of William
You were my moorland companion
In the high forests
You wn renown in hunting

I thank my servant
Who brough the gun from Edinburgh
I knew of your excellent quality
And I saw no defect

I like the wooded sheiling
Where I was happy to sleep
Where there would be shelter from storms
For heifers and calves

And the forest of the red stags
Of the heavy antlered heads
How I loved to meet with them
At sunset

With my slender, sweet powdered gun
Carried under my arm
Grey lead on the forest floor
Would produce new holes in their hides

On bending my finger
The thin sharp blue-black gunflint
Having locked and fired
Would enflame the powder

I would kill drake and wild duck
And the ptarmigan of the mountain
And the little roe of the woodland
Will retrace her steps before morning