Lyr Req: Glencoe Elegy by the Muck Bard

Subject: Lyr Req: Glencoe Elegy by the Muck Bard
From: Lorne's wife
Date: 07 Nov 07 - 10:10 AM

Does anyone have, or know where I can get the text of Elegy on the Massacre of Glencoe by The Muck Bard (Bhard Mhucanach or possibly Bhard Mhathanach)?

Any other Glencoe poems would be worth a mention too as I am researching this particular period of Scottish history and I'd like to know what the people of the time were saying about events happening to them and around them.

Subject: Lyr Add: THE GLENCOE MASSACRE
From: Jim Dixon
Date: 08 Nov 07 - 09:50 PM

I searched for '"Muck bard" and Glencoe' with Google Book Search and found this in "A Treatise on the Language, Poetry and Music of the Highland Clans" by Donald Campbell, 1862:

* * *

I regret that I cannot quote a few more verses of the original of this very spirited yet exceedingly clannish and feeling poem, as the imitation does not take it connectedly even verse for verse; but as Ronald of the Shield, then an old man, was one of the victims of the Massacre of Glencoe,* I think the reader may feel more interested in the following imitation of the Isle of Muck bard's lament on that subject? It is a true imitation, and corroborates what has elsewhere been stated as to the absence of a vindictive or revengeful spirit from all poetry that does anything like justice to the deep feeling, but calm dignity of the ancient Gael, in his hours of sorrow and indignation. We have here no flaming roofs or eagles screaming over the hearts of the atrocious perpetrators of the Massacre even of Glencoe. But the very noblest and most generous feudalist could not even imagine anything so magnanimous as the Highland clans when most deeply suffering under the treachery and cruelty of their enemies. The original will be found in every collection of Gaelic poetry.

THE MASSACRE OF GLENCOE.

God, whose gospel revealeth,
As thy children may daily behold,
Truth, benevolence, mercy,
In lessons affectingly told;
In their strait, be Thou aiding
To the good and the brave of the glen,
Brought to grief and despairing,
By a treachery rare among men.

On their orphans look kindly,
Who have ever been kindly and true,
Who could not, in baseness,
E'en traitors and rebels pursue:
Though unyielding and deadly,
When their country demanded their steel,
To humanity faithful,
For the foes they had slain they could feel.

Had they known, when the stranger
They welcomed, and hailed as a friend,
That their homes were in danger—
That among them he came to this end;
Had they armed and been watchful,
Fierce and stern as the conflict might be,
Their defeat I would question,
Though their foesmen were twenty to three.

'Twas not by genius and valour
The band of my heart have been slain,
But by boors, in aught mental
More than matched by the team in their wain;
But to bloodshed apprenticed,
And to treach'ry and cruelty trained,
They stole on their victims
When by sleep all their senses were chained.

From the chosen apartments,
Assigned for their nightly repose
By their hosts, in their kindness,
In the silence of night they arose
And stole on the sleepers,
Who dreamed not of treachery or strife,
And delivered, in safety,
The volley that robbed them of life.

How beauteous and shapely
The forms that have thus been laid low,
Or left, wounded and bleeding,
Inhuming themselves in the snow;
Men whose joy 'twas to listen
At eve to the harp and the lay,
Singing praises of heroes
Who were courteous, and kindly, and gay.

Woe, woe to the country
Whose government cruel and blind,
To her best and bravest
A sentence like this has assigned,
And calls to her service,
And makes her support and her stay
Of the countryless soldier,
Whose soul has no thought but his pay!

While by these, next to Heaven,
Their country and king were adored;
For their freedom and glory
They would lay down their lives at a word.
Now Albyn, dear Albyn,
Thy freedom, thy glory are gone,
Foreign armies coerce thee—
A foreigner sits on thy throne.

Woe, woe to the pastors,
Whatever their object may be,
Whose preachings and treasons
Have produced the dark changes we see.
Now men who loved mercy,
In murder God's glory behold,
And rejoice at the horrors
War over their country has rolled.

My heart sinks and sickens
To see, as they hang on their walls,
Their trophies and weapons,
Whose dear presence I miss from their halls—
Whose voices were music,
Attuned to their mind's varied tone;
Who in mirth and broad humour,
And in repartee pleasingly shone.

The dirge** of their greyhounds
Is solemnly heard through the glen,
The deer browse and wander,
The gaunt wolves rejoice in their den;
Their fishing gear rusteth,
While, rivers and lakelets between,
The salmon are sporting
With joy in their radient sheen.

Not vain or conceited
Were the men who repose in the isle,
Shunning danger, and boasting
Their valiant achievements the while.
No. Modest as daring,
Their deeds spoke their greatness of mind;
So they served their dear country,
All, all to their worth might be blind!

Now our clansmen are gathered
In the Dun, to consult and devise;
But, alas! he is absent who was
Eloquent, daring, and wise.
The main plume in our pinion,
In our birlin the helm and the oar,
In Saint Mun's Isle is sleeping,
And will shine in our council no more.

By the gifts of the hero,
And gentleman early endowed,
He, for wisdom and eloquence,
Shone 'mong his race like a god;
Caustic wit he thought paltry,
Common sense was his forte and his plea,
And with that for his country
He enlisted the brave and the free.

He was tall, and unequalled
For fulness and beauty of form,
And when battle closed round him,
Seemed growing in height midst its storm.
There his great soul exulted—
There his arm extended the ring,
Proudly deeming his broad swords
Could right all the wrongs of his king.

On homeward returning,
The doors were thrown open and wide;
In that mansion of plenty
'Twas his joy o'er the feast to preside;
There the stranger found welcome,
There the soul-stirring minstrels were prized;
There the uaislain*** would gather;
There none but the base were despised.

On the chess-board and tailisg,
Mimic warfare they playfully tried,
The chieftains kind hearted,
Who in dexterous movements took pride;
Not with views of aggression,
To subjugate, rule, and enthral,
But to fit them for action
When their king and their country should call.

God, who reignest and rulest
From Thy throne of pure wisdom above.
Deign to look on our people
In the spirit of mercy and love,
To compose their dire factions,
And grant that our children may see
Their sovereign restored,
And his government native and free.

* Among the singular escapes from the massacre, was that of the two little boys of Ronald of the Shield, Donald and Alexander, who had stolen away a few days previously, after a servant from Glenlochy, to visit their aunt, who was married to Campbell of Achahach. Donald, on his return, found his father murdered, and his home burned down and desolate. The succeeding pages will show that he was both spirited and poetic; yet where did he leave behind a line or verse breathing hatred or revenge against the English, or even against the perpetrators of this treacherous and inhuman massacre? But such will be found by the reader of Gaelic poetry to have been the uniformly dignified and forbearing character of the ancient Gael.

** The old Highland greyhound was equally remarkable for his sagacity and the strength of his attachment to his master. His howl is the most solemn and melancholy imaginable. Hence, perhaps, the reason why it has long been regarded as ominous and predictive of death or some other calamity in the Highlands. He laments his master's death by wandering over his old haunts, stopping at regular intervals, and setting up his dirge-like howl, than which it is difficult to conceive anything more touching.

*** Descent from the founder of the clan was the only mark of aristocracy among the Highlanders. All clansmen, whose pedigree was genuine, were called "uaislain," or gentlemen, and when off duty, associated with their chiefs and chieftains on equal terms. The distance between them now is of artificial feudal descent, the patriarchal being the natural and God-approving system of government.

Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Glencoe Elegy by the Muck Bard
From: Lorne's wife
Date: 09 Nov 07 - 06:51 AM

Thanks so much Jim. How come you found this when I could not? Obviously you knew where to look! Really appreciate it.

If anyone else out there knows something more about Glencoe, especially poetry/songs, please let me know.

Subject: Lyr Add: ON THE MASSACRE OF GLENCOE (Walter Scott)
From: Jim Dixon
Date: 10 Nov 07 - 12:04 PM

From The Works of Walter Scott, Esq, Volume 8, 1813.

ON THE MASSACRE OF GLENCOE.

"O TELL me, Harper, wherefore flow
Thy wayward notes of wail and woe
Far down the desert of Glencoe,
Where none may list their melody?
Say, harp'st thou to the mists that fly,
Or to the dun deer glancing by,
Or to the eagle that from high
Screams chorus to thy minstrelsy."

"No, not to these, for they have rest,—
The mist-wreath has the mountain-crest,
The stag his lair, the erne her nest,
Abode of lone security.
But those for whom I pour the lay,
Not wild-wood deep, nor mountain grey,
Not this deep dell that shrouds from day,
Could screen from treach'rous cruelty.

"Their flag was furl'd, and mute their drum,
The very household dogs were dumb,
Unwont to bay at guests that come
In guise of hospitality.
His blithest notes the piper plied,
Her gayest snood the maiden tied,
The dame her distaff flung aside,
To tend her kindly housewifery.

"The hand that mingled in the meal,
At midnight drew the felon steel,
And gave the host's kind breast to feel
Meed for his hospitality!
The friendly hearth which warm'd that hand,
At midnight arm'd it with the brand
That bade destruction's flames expand
Their red and fearful blazonry.

"Then woman's shriek was heard in vain,
Nor infancy's unpitied plain,
More than the warrior's groan, could gain
Respite from ruthless butchery!
The winter wind that whistled shrill,
The snows that night that cloked the hill,
Though wild and pitiless, had still
Far more than southron clemency.

"Long have my harp's best notes been gone,
Few are its strings, and faint their tone,
They can but sound in desert lone
Their grey-hair'd master's misery.
Were each grey hair a minstrel string,
Each chord should imprecations fling,
Till startled Scotland loud should ring,
" 'Revenge for blood and treachery.' "

Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Glencoe Elegy by the Muck Bard
From: GUEST,Lorne's wife
Date: 11 Nov 07 - 04:30 AM

Thanks again Jim!

Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Glencoe Elegy by the Muck Bard
From: Jim Dixon
Date: 12 Nov 07 - 11:48 PM

I found this quote in an article called "Gaelic Historical Songs" in "The Scottish Review," 1891.

The massacre of Glencoe is the subject of an
elegy§ of unusual merit by the bard of the murdered chief.*

§ 'Mile marbhphaisg ort, a shaoghail,' MacDonald, p. 241. The version in Sinclair's Gaelic Bards, p. 138, begins 'Lamh Dhe leinn, etc.'

* Hence called Bard Mhic-'ic-Iain (the family title of the Glencoe MacDonalds being Mac-'ic-Iain). After the massacre he lived in the island of [Muck?], and is hence also called 'am bard Mucanach.'

Here's another quote from Papers By Gaelic Society of Glasgow, 1908:

This "fairplay of the Fiann" has become proverbial in the phrase "cothrom na Féinne," which is used in the poem on the "Massacre of Glencoe" by the Bard Mucanach:— "Had there been the fairplay of the Fiann between yourselves and the Lowlanders, the shaggy birds of the hill would be croaking foully over the bodies of the others."

Na'm b'e cothrom na Féinne
A bhiodh eadar sibh féin 's clanna Gall;
Bhiodh eòin mholaich an t-sléibhe
'Gairsinn salach air chreubhagan chàich.

That's the only quote from the actual poem that I've been able to find. Of course someone who could actually read Scots Gaelic might do better than I!

Subject: RE: Lyr Req: Glencoe Elegy by the Muck Bard
From: GUEST,Lorne's wife
Date: 13 Nov 07 - 05:27 AM

Jim, you're a star!