Lyr Add: Dòmhnall an Dannsair (Donald the Dancer)

Subject: Lyr Add: Dòmhnall an Dannsair (Donald the Dancer)
From: GUEST,Rory
Date: 27 Feb 21 - 05:33 PM

Dòmhnall an Dannsair
(Donald the Dancer)


Composed by Lachlan Livingstone (Lachann Mac An Lèigh) (Lachann Dubh a' Chrògain) (1819 - 1901)

Printed in:
The Gaelic songster: An t-òranaiche, by Archibald Sinclair, 1879, pp. 109-111.


Lachlan Livingstone, Lachann Dubh a 'Chrògain, was born in Crogan, Mull, in 1819. In his youth he sailed abroad but stopped going to sea and found work for the Macleans, Lairds of Lochbuie. He could neither read nor write but worked for them as a poet, fisherman and piper until he was old.


DONALD THE DANCER

Donald Black (Dòmhnall Mac Ille Dhuibh 1801–1889) from Lismore was known as Donald the Dancer. He was the captain of a Lissach ship which carried all sorts of goods between Lismore and Oban, and between Oban and the Crogan of Mull. As well as being a good skipper he seems to have been particularly good at dancing.

Every time he was in the Crogan he would visit his old friend, the poet, Lachlan Livingstone, who wrote this song about him.

In his book, Sgeul no Dhà as an Lios ( Lismore Historical Society , 2006), an account of the song Dòmhnall an Dannsair is told by the author, Donald Black. After Lachlan composes the song it appears that he sang it to Donald, having met from Oban:

"The hero really liked the song - just one verse! Lachann described a 'rebellion' in which the Dancer was involved when he and his yacht were on a trip to Glasgow, a city in which all evil attracts sailors, alone, from the narrow, fragile road of justice!

Donald's Response: "I really like the song but one verse - a verse you will leave out, old friend, please!"

And his old friend must have done as he was told.

Descendants of Donald the Dancer are still in Lismore and the family are known as Na Dannsairean to this day


"Dòmhnall an Dannsair"

Sèist:
Dòmhnall an Dannsair is srann aige tighinn,
Bidh lùb air a' chrann 's gach ball an ruigheadh;
Nuair gheibh thu 'n taigh Anguis dram no dithis,
Gun gearradh tu figear air cabhsair.

1
Am bàta dubh, daraich a th' agadsa daonnan,
Cosnadh an arain ag aiseag nan daoine;
Chan fhan thu aig baile latha gaillinn no gaoithe,
Gur cò-dheas leat Faoilteach no samhradh.

2
Sgiobair ga stiùradh 's a shùil air an iarmailt,
'S i gearradh muir dhù-ghorm gu dùthaich na riaghailt;
'S e baile nam bùthan tha 'n iùrach ag iarraidh,
Cho luath ris an fhiadh 's e na dheann-ruith.

3
Ri brais an t-sruth lìonaidh gu sìnteagach uallach,
Nuair shèideadh am breeze oirre, shìneadh i gualainn;
Thèid i gu dìreach gu tìr nan daoin'-uaisle,
Ged shèideadh e cruaidh ann an ceann oirre.

4
Nuair thog thu siùil bhàna ri bàrr a croinn chaola,
Leumadh a's chrathadh i, 's ghabhadh i 'n aodainn;
Sgrogadh tu bhoineid dà chromadh air d' aodann
'S tu gearan an t-aodach bhith gann oirr'.

5
'S e MacIlleDhuibh a fhuair urram a' chruadail,
Sgoilteadh e 'm buinne na mheallaibh o cruachainn;
Seall sibh na luingeas air eagal am fuadach,
A' fuireach an Cluaidh fad a' gheamhraidh.

6
Thu tighinn gu seòlta 's tu eòlach sna sgeirean
Tha cliù ort, a Dhòmhnaill, feadh chòrsaichean eile;
Do chombaist an òrdugh ga seòladh san deireadh,
Gad chumail bhar Eilean-nan-Gamhna.

7
Do ghillean cho fileant' gu riofadh a h-aodaich,
Ainmeanan bòidheach air ròpannan caola;
'S mas e 's gun tig ceò ort ga seòladh tron Chaolas
Bidh fear air gach taobh dhi le lanntair.

8
Tha uaislean a' bhaile seo tighinn gu stràiceil,
Lem brataichean geala 's am bathar gud bhàta,
A' phacaid bheag Liosach 's i tighinn gu sàbhailt',
Le ìm agus càis' gu MacLabhrainn.

9
'S e 'm fasan a bh' agad nuair bha thu 'n tùs d' òige,
Air tilleadh do Ghlaschu dhachaigh thar bhòidse,
Dh'òladh tu uile do chuid san tigh-òsta,
Is shuidheadh tu còmhl' ri fear Gallda.

10
Tha balaich a' bhaile so tachairt ort daonnan,
Eagal nam blaigeardan 's bail' Inbhir Aora;
Cha b' ioghnadh leam idir ged shèideadh tu caonnag,
Nuair chì iad thu, laochain, 's an dram ort.



"Donald the Dancer"

Chorus:
Donald the Dancer, it’s with a blast that he comes,
There will be a bend on the mast and everything shaking,
When you get, at Angus’s pub, a dram or two,
Then you will be dancing on the pavement.

1
The black oaken boat that has always been yours,
Earning the bread by ferrying the people;
You would not stay in port on a day of storm or gale,
It makes no difference to you Winter or Summer.

2
A skipper steering with an eye to the sky;
She cuts through the dark green sea to land by the compass;
It is the town of the shops that the boat is seeking,
It is as fast as the deer at full speed.

3
In the receding tide, it quickly fills with load,
When the breeze blew on her, she would stretch her bow;
She would go straight to the land of noble men,
Though it would blow hard on her head.

4
When you raise the white sails to the top of the slim masts,
She leaps and shakes as she takes the heading;
You put on a bonnet-sail with two ties to the fore,
And you grumble that she is still short of sail.

5
It was Black who was honoured for hardship,
He would split a tap to pieces with his hip;
Watch the ships in fear of being evicted,
Staying in the Clyde all Winter.

6
You come skillfully and you know the skerries,
You are famous, Donald, among other cruises.
Your command of the compass navigating to the end,
Keeping you off Eilean nan Gamhna.

7
Your lads so eloquent in reefing the sailcloth,
Beautiful names on slender ropes;
And if you get a fog sailing through the Sound,
There will be a man on each side of it with a lantern.

8
The gentry of the town here come with pride,
With the white banners and goods for your boat,
The little packet boat from Lismore safely comes,
With butter and cheese for MacLaren.

9
It was the fashion you had when you were young,
When you returned home to Glasgow by voyage,
You would all drink your share in the tavern,
And you would sit with a Lowlander.

10
The boys of this town will always meet with you,
The fear of the scoundrels in the town of Inverary;
I would not be surprised at all if you blew up a fight,
When they see you, little hero, with the dram on you.


Blackguard (blaigeardan) - scoundrel, villain.
A man who behaves in a dishonourable or contemptible way.




Lachlan Livingstone (Lachann Dubh a 'Chrògain)

Lachann Livingstone, Lachann Dubh a 'Chrògain, was born in Crogan, Mull, in 1819. In his youth he sailed abroad but stopped going to sea and found work for the Macleans, Lairds of Lochbuie. He could neither read nor write but worked for them as a poet, fisherman and piper until he was old.

Tha m' aitreabh, tha m' àite dìon
Fon chaisteal dhìonach uaignidh;
Tha seun an àigh mu chom 's ri shàil
Chan fhaigh an nàmhaid buaidh air.

My mansion is my
stronghold
Beneath the fortified and secret castle;
The charm of joy is around his waist and heel
The enemy will not defeat him.

In the book Lachann Dubh a 'Chrògain ( The New Iona Press , 2004) Margaret MacDonald Lobban talks about her great-great-grandfather:

"Lachann seems to have composed a great deal of poetry - songs of all kinds. The satirical songs were perhaps his best poems. If inspired, he had a sharp, sarcastic tongue. , so people were careful not to upset him. "

Margaret Lobban also tells a story about Lachann:

"Apparently he was good at preaching. In the Isles they often needed a lay preacher . They once called Lachann to bury him.

At the last prayer he got down on his knees and continued to pray for a long time. The snow was thick on the ground. Eventually, he opened his eyes. There was no one alive in the graveyard but himself! "

In 1885, Donald MacFarlane came to Parliament on behalf of the crofters and Lachlan begged him to help the poor:

Nis on chuir sinn ann an Cùirt thu
Staigh fo chùmhnantan nach gèill,
Thug thu uachdarain gu 'n dùbhlan
Bha gar sgiùrsadh mar na slaves.

Feuch gun cuimhnich thu gu h-àraidh
Air na daoin' aig nach eil sprèidh -
Òr na Banrigh a sgaoileadh
An ceàrn seo den t-saogh'l na fheum.

'S chuir na bochdan ann am dhùthaich
Ùrnaigh dhùrachdach nad dhèidh
Criopalaich is doill gun sùilean
'S daoine 's crùbaiche nan ceum.

Ach ma gheibh mi mo dhùrachd
Is gach cùrsa cur rium rèidh
Gheibh sinn gach nì air bàrr don dùthaich
Is fuireach ann ar dùthaich fhèin.


Now that we have placed you in Court
Under conditions of disobedience,
You have challenged landlords To scourge us like the slaves .

Make sure you remember especially
the people who have no cattle -
Spreading the Queen's Gold
This part of the world is a necessity.

And the poor in the land 
Sentearnest prayer after you
Crippled and blind without eyes
And people with hoofs in their steps.

But if I get my wish
And every course is smooth to me
We will get everything on top of the country
And live in our own country.


Lachann had three grandsons who were poets, John MacDonald who wrote Mull of the Cold Mountains , James MacDonald who wrote An t-Eilean Àlainn and Lachann MacDonald who wrote 'Mo Shoraidh don Eilean'. He was also a cousin of Dugald MacPhail who wrote An t-Eilean Muileach .

Lachann died on May 3, 1901, aged 84, and Margaret Lobban found a report of him in the Oban Times on May 25:

"He was buried in the old churchyard of Killean. The coffin was carried on the shoulders of neighbors and friends to the shore from the village of Crogan and headed by the landlord's piper - Pipe Major MacPhail, formerly of the 93rd Highlanders , singing the sweet notes of ' The Flowers of the Forest ' on the instrument which the late poet loved, and which he himself lacked.

The landlord and much of the tenantry were taken across Loch Scalpay to the far shore by several boats, the poignant tune now changed to ' The Land of the Leal '.

After a Gaelic service was held at the grave, Lachann was laid to rest in the blessed soil in which many generations of the Livingstones lie."

.

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Dòmhnall an Dannsair (Donald the Dancer)
From: GUEST,Rory
Date: 27 Feb 21 - 05:38 PM

Dòmhnall an Dannsair
(Donald the Dancer)


Recordings

Artist: Dàimh
Album: unreleased (2019)

Artist: Roddy Campbell
Album: Tarruinn Anmoch (2000)



Sèist:
Dòmhnall an Dannsair is srann aige tighinn,
Bidh lùb air a' chrann 's gach ball an ruigheadh;
Nuair gheibh thu 'n taigh Anguis dram no dithis,
Gun gearradh tu figear air cabhsair.

Am bàta dubh, daraich a th' agadsa daonnan,
Cosnadh an arain ag aiseag nan daoine;
Chan fhan thu aig baile latha gaillinn no gaoithe,
Gur cò-dheas leat Faoilteach no samhradh.

Sgiobair ga stiùradh 's a shùil air an iarmailt,
'S i gearradh muir dhù-ghorm gu dùthaich na riaghailt;
'S e baile nam bùthan tha 'n iùrach ag iarraidh,
Cho luath ris an fhiadh 's e na dheann-ruith.

'S e MacIlleDhuibh a fhuair urram a' chruadail,
Sgoilteadh e 'm buinne na mheallaibh o cruachainn;
Seall sibh na luingeas air eagal am fuadach,
A' fuireach an Cluaidh fad a' gheamhraidh.

'S e 'm fasan a bh' agad nuair bha thu 'n tùs d' òige,
Air tilleadh do Ghlaschu dhachaigh thar bhòidse,
Dh'òladh tu uile do chuid san tigh-òsta,
Is shuidheadh tu còmhl' ri fear Gallda.


Tha balaich a' bhaile so tachairt ort daonnan,
Eagal nam blaigeardan 's bail' Inbhir Aora;
Cha b' ioghnadh leam idir ged shèideadh tu caonnag,
Nuair chì iad thu, laochain, 's an dram ort.

Tha uaislean a' bhaile seo tighinn gu stràiceil,
Lem brataichean geala 's am bathar gud bhàta,
A' phacaid bheag Liosach 's i tighinn gu sàbhailt',
Le ìm agus càis' gu MacLabhrainn.

(Sèist) x2


"Donald the Dancer"

Chorus:
Donald the Dancer, it’s with a blast that he comes,
There will be a bend on the mast and everything shaking,
When you get, at Angus’s pub, a dram or two,
Then you will be dancing on the pavement.

The black oaken boat that has always been yours,
Earning the bread by ferrying the people;
You would not stay in port on a day of storm or gale,
It makes no difference to you Winter or Summer.

A skipper steering with an eye to the sky;
She cuts through the dark green sea to land by the compass;
It is the town of the shops that the boat is seeking,
It is as fast as the deer at full speed.

It was Black who was honoured for hardship,
He would split a tap to pieces with his hip;
Watch the ships in fear of being evicted,
Staying in the Clyde all Winter.

It was the fashion you had when you were young,
When you returned home to Glasgow by voyage,
You would all drink your share in the tavern,
And you would sit with a Lowlander.

The boys of this town will always meet with you,
The fear of the scoundrels in the town of Inverary;
I would not be surprised at all if you blew up a fight,
When they see you, little hero, with the dram on you.

The gentry of the town here come with pride,
With the white banners and goods for your boat,
The little packet boat from Lismore safely comes,
With butter and cheese for MacLaren.

(Chorus) x2

.

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Dòmhnall an Dannsair (Donald the Dancer)
From: GUEST,#
Date: 28 Feb 21 - 12:06 PM

https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=D5yzG5J4qJY

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Dòmhnall an Dannsair (Donald the Dancer)
From: RunrigFan
Date: 05 Mar 21 - 06:25 PM

Doimnic Mac Giolla Bhride and Griogair Labhruidh - Guaillimh a chéile


Dòmhnall an dannsair srann aige ’tighinn -

Tha lùb air a chrann ’s gach ball a ruigheadh;

Nuair gheibh thu taigh Angais dram no dìthis,

Gun gearradh tu ?gear air cabhsair.



Am bàta dubh daraich a th’ agad-sa daonnan,

Cosnadh an arain ag aiseag nan daoine;

Chan fhan thu aig baile là gaillinn no gaoith -

Gur co-dheas leat faoilteach no samhradh.



’S e Mac ’ille Dhuibh a fhuair urram a’ chruadail

Sgaoilteadh e am buinne na mheallaibh o cruachain

Seall sibh na luingeis air eagal am fuadach

A’ fuireach an Cluaidh fad a’ gheamhraidh



’S e am fasan a bh’ agad nuair bha thu ’n tùs d’òige,

Air tilleadh do Ghlaschu dhachaigh thar bhòidse;

Dh’òladh tu uile do chuid san taigh-òsta

Is shuidheadh tu còmh’ ri tè Ghallta.



Tha balaich a’ bhaile seo ’tachairt ort daonnan,

Eagal nam bleagairtean ’s bail’ Inbhir Aora;

Chan iongnadh leam idir ged shèideadh tu caonnag,

Nuair chì iad thu laochain ’s an dram ort.



Tha uaislean a’ bhaile a’ tighinn le sraic

Lem brataichean geala ’s am bathar gad bhàta,

A’ phacaid bheag Liosach a’ tighinn thar sàil’

Le ìm agus càis gu Mac Labhrainn.

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Dòmhnall an Dannsair (Donald the Dancer)
From: RunrigFan
Date: 05 Mar 21 - 06:26 PM

Donald the dancer, a noise on his approach,

There’s a bend in his mast and running rigging,

When you get a dram or two at Angus’ house

You’d cut a ?ne ?gure on the pavement.



The black oak boat you always have,

Earning your bread ferrying people;

You won’t stay at harbour in a storm or wind,

Caring not whether it is winter or summer.



It was Mac ’ille Dhuibh who got the honour of the challenge,

He would break the current in a spray from her hips;

Look at the boats that are afraid of being put off course

Staying in the Clyde all winter.



It was your style when you were young,

Returning home to Glasgow from a voyage,

To drink your full share in the pub,

And go away with a Lowland woman.



The boys in this village are constantly meeting you;

Afraid of the ruffans and the town of Inverary;

It’s no surprise to me that you would create a stir

When they see you my boy with a dram in you.



The gentry of the village are coming conceitedly

With their white sheets and goods to your boat,

The little packet from Lismore coming over the water

With butter and cheese to MacLabhrainn.