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PREFACE
In submitting the following
lyrics to lovers of the ancient Gaelic language, a few words may be
necessary in the way of a preface. They were written by me now and then,
here and there, during an absence of some twenty years from the Scottish
Highlands. Finding myself in India, getting rusty in Gaelic, and convinced
that there was no better method of retaining a language in memory than by
reading and writing it, I wrote these poems occasionally, and very much at
random, as their name implies. Whether they may help or not, in some small
measure, to inspire Highlanders with a love of the language of their warlike
ancestors, they at any rate profess to have been written in more varied
parts of the world, than perhaps an equal number of poems by one and the
same author, in any language whatever, since the world began; and few songs
have ever been composed more as a labour of love than those contained in
this unpretentious little volume. With the single exception of Victoria
Oirdhearc, the loyal poem to Her Majesty the Queen, which naturally occupies
the pride of place in this book, and which I have just written in London,
all the poems in the volume have been written in distant regions, sometimes
on land and sometimes on sea; and most of them have often and often been
sung by myself, for my own amusement Hence it is that I returned to the
Highlands with a better knowledge of Gaelic than when first I left them.
[Victoria Oirdhearc, mentioned above, as well as its English equivalent,
Victoria Maxima, page 185, were two of the Jubilee poems (the cover being
specially designed and embroidered by Mrs MacGregor) which the Queen has
lately been pleased to accept, as a Highland literary tribute to Her
Majesty’s long and memorable reign.]
Like many similar productions, they were not originally intended for
publication. But they gradually grew to such a number, that they are now
offered to the public at the request of many friends. Before leaving the
Highlands, I was fairly familiar with the dialects of Ross, Inverness, and
Argyll, by residence in these counties, which may be considered as typically
Gaelic-speaking as any other.
Why the Gaelic should decay is a question more easily asked than answered.
One might think it was the language of a craven people of whom their
posterity had reason to be ashamed, instead of being the language of
historically one of the most warlike races that the world ever saw. Whatever
the individual Highlander of the present day may be in himself, he has
certainly no reason to be ashamed of the prowess of his forefathers; and
some way or other, people pride themselves on a warlike ancestry more than
on anything else under the sun. It is true enough that English has cut a
short march, as it were, on Gaelic, as the business language of bread and
butter, which unfortunately we cannot do without. And however devoted to the
Gaelic we may be, we should never undervalue the advantage and even the
necessity for Highlanders to know English, without which they cannot
nowadays make much headway in the world. But if we Highlanders have such
small heads as to be capable of containing only one language, we are not the
kind of people that we claim to be.
Partly on account of the different dialects in various parts of the
Highlands, and partly also on account of the many blemishes in the lyrics
themselves, I do not expect them to be equally appreciated by all kinds of
readers. Words well understood in one part of the Highlands, may not be
known at all in another part, or may have quite a different meaning. We must
not fancy, however, that this kind of difficulty exists only with Gaelic. It
is so marked in English, that a north countryman from Yorkshire has
sometimes a difficulty in understanding at all the language of a man from
the south country of Devon or Cornwall. Besides, I have been very careful in
my choice of both language and dialect, though it is only right to say that
in Gaelic, as in all other languages, bards have always been proverbial for
their poetic licence, if for none other. Gaelic bards, indeed, have been far
from free from this poetic licence. Any one who cares to consult that large
anthology of Gaelic verse, Mackenzie’s Beauties of Gaelic Poetry, cannot
fail to be struck with the numerous surgical operations performed qn words
by the bards to suit the requirements of their verse.
Generally speaking, no language can be called an exact science. The ancient
Highland clans lived in distinct localities, from which it was not always
safe for them to visit their next door neighbours; so that in the progress
of time different districts, and even different clans, acquired different
accents and dialects. The clans, however, are now no longer confined to
their own original territories, but mingle freely with one another. Any clan
differences of dialect have, therefore, disappeared. But the accents and
dialects of districts still live to such an extent that it is possible at
the present day to make out what part of the Highlands a man comes from
whenever he speaks — because his tongue bewrayeth him. Many of our Gaelic
bards, again, sang their wood-notes and war-notes wild, in utter ignorance
of the construction of the language; and hence, in part at any rate, the
very idiomatic character of the Gaelic tongue.
Among the greatest beauties of Gaelic verse are its liquidity and assonance,
the latter meaning the repetition of similar or nearly similar open vowel
sounds in the lines of the text. So long as the open vowel sounds
constituting this assonance agreed or nearly agreed, good and well. But if
not, the open vowel sound of one word was sometimes changed to suit that of
the other. No doubt this fact, combined with territorial influences, gave
rise to such variations as oran or amhran (a song), smaoin or smuain
(thought), aodach or eudach (clothes), deur or diar (a drop), cadal or codal
(sleep), etc., etc. This assonance being considered the great thing in
Gaelic verse, the grace of rhyme has been so little cultivated that it is
supposed to be incompatible with the genius of the language. Rhyme, however,
lends great charm to all kinds of verse, and though confessedly difficult in
Gaelic, yet the reader will find several lyrics in this book to prove that
it is by no means impossible, such as Am Bruadar Innseanach, page 33 ;
Clann-rioghal mo ruin, page 42; “ Cuir failt air mo Ribhinn” page 165 ; and
various others.
Speaking of territorial peculiarities, I could give several instances, but
will only mention one, as it refers to one of the longest poems in this
book. Two or three years ago I made a cross-country journey through the
wilds of Siam to the China Sea. On one of the first nights out, on a journey
that I might not live to finish, I was lying in the open field with nothing
for a roof but the sky. When looking at the stars gently twinkling in the
clear tropical night, I fancied the Gaelic language in the form of a
beautiful woman, fainting on the ground in some Highland glen, on account of
being forsaken by her children. When this idea struck me, I ruminated to
myself the first verses of a Gaelic poem which I finished afterwards, and
which I called “ Fanndaigeadh na Gaidhlig” (The Gaelic in a Trance), which
the reader will find on page 98. And if a father may be supposed to have any
predilection for any particular one of his own children, I may say that this
poem is one of my own favourite ones, both for the novelty of the idea and
its romantic origin. On returning to India, I sent the poem to a well-known
Highland journal. But when it reached me with the poem in it, I was not a
little surprised to find that the heading had been changed from that already
noted, to another heading called “A Ghaidhlig ann am plathadh? On inquiry, I
was told that the word “Fanndaigeadh” would not be understood, and that it
was too much like the English word “Fainting? Now, in Ross-shire at any
rate, this word “Fanndaigeadh” is understood to mean swooning or fainting
outright, as from a wound, in contradistinction from the word “Fannachadh"
which means growing faint as from hunger or fatigue. I only mention this as
an example of local peculiarity, where a word well understood in one part
may not be understood at all in another. And though this book claims to be
written as much as possible from the well of Gaelic undefiled, yet we cannot
help in many instances to have some similarity to English words, such as
lubill Pariamaid, etc., words which are nearly the same in both languages,
and do not properly belong to either.
It must be remembered that a language is made to a great extent, and, like
other things, must march with the times. At this late hour of the day, it is
impossible to know whether Adam and Eve spoke purer Gaelic than the best
Gaelic scholars of the present day. I presume they did. But many changes
have occurred since the confusion of the Tower of Babel, so that Gaelic, as
it were, had to be made again. It is the best speakers and writers in prose
and verse that help most in making and moulding a language—particularly the
bard, for the very meaning of the word poet is a maker or creator. He often
gives rise to new words and phrases, which, by their own merit, helped
perhaps by the fame of their author, are followed by others, and finally
incorporated into the language of everyday life. But though the poet may be
the greater maker, the graphic prose writer has perhaps greater power in
giving permanent form. Some people think that poetry is a spontaneous
excrescence, produced at will and without an effort, by those inclined that
way. This is a mistake; for verse is generally produced with care and toil.
Milton is said to have spent seven long years over Paradise Lost, though an
expert writer could easily copy the poem out in far less than a week. The
prose writer, on the other hand, is less restricted in his task, and he
therefore works with more freedom and produces greater quantity.
But though there is no country in which the spirit of versifying more
generally exists than in the Highlands of Scotland, yet their prose writers
have been comparatively few. They stand in much need of leaders in Gaelic
prose, to lead the way, and so stereotype the best powers of the language,
if only for reference to future generations, even when the language itself
may have become colloquially dead. And it is the duty of every Highlander to
do his best to uphold the language, not only as a true and faithful servant,
but also in order that, if the heroic language of a heroic people be doomed
to die, its last days may be its best; and that it may perish like a gallant
man-o’-war sinking in the ocean, with her flags flying, and fighting to the
last.
I shall now briefly allude to a few points in connection with these poems in
particular. The orthography of the Gaelic language is a great
stumbling-block from the want of uniformity consequent on the absence of
those great prose leaders that others would be willing to follow. Well, the
word “ us” a contraction of “agus” (and), is always spelt here as such, and
without the usual apostrophe in front of it Indeed, Gaelic is so full of
apostrophes, that they have become to me like red rags to a bull. In a
language which so often drops the last syllable of a word when ending in a
vowel, these microbes must always exist to a great extent, so that they
should not be used when not needed. There is no more reason to put an
apostrophe before “ us ” (thus 'us), than there is to put it before the
English word “though” (thus 'though), a contraction of “although” or before
the word “till” (thus 'till), a contraction of the word “untill' In the
Gaelic Bible this word “ us” is generally spelt “ is,” in utter disregard of
its etymology, forgetting that the word “us” is a contraction of “agus” and
that the word “is” in Gaelic is really a verb, with a distinct meaning of
its own.
Again, when pronouns are understood, they are not always represented in this
book by apostrophes, and for the simple reason that they do not always
require them. We must allow a certain amount of common-sense and inference
to the reader, not to be always flaunting these apostrophes before his eyes.
For instance, the phrase: —“An duine 'chunnaic thu” (the man whom you saw)
does not really require an apostrophe before the word “chunnaic” no more
than the pronoun “whom” would require to be replaced by an apostrophe, when
left out of the English phrase just given. The reader will at once see that
the expression “ The man you saw” is just as good as c< The man whom you
saw? and that nobody would dream of using an apostrophe when the word “whom”
is left out It is the same with the majority of pronouns left out in the
Gaelic and replaced by apostrophes. Besides, when apostrophes representing
suppressed pronouns are to be used at all, the type should be so constructed
that in the letterpress the apostrophes should be on the same level as the
body of the text, instead of being popped on the top of the letters like a
weather-cock on the top of a chimney. Again, such words as “ 'nuairy c'aite,
d arson? do not require an apostrophe. The extended forms of these words
are, of course, quite correct; an uairy cia aite, cia air-son. But when they
are contracted, they simply mean when, where, and why* and as such do not
require an apostrophe. Generally speaking, though not always (as witness the
example of “us” given above), the spelling of the Gaelic language is too
etymological. It sacrifices too much the sounds of compound words to the
sounds of the roots from which the compound words are derived; and it is
also too fond of the connecting links of hyphens, and of those nightmares of
mine, the apostrophes.
In conclusion, the few poems in English at the end of the book are
translations by myself. But for the greater part they only represent the
same sentiment, and literal translation is not pretended or even intended in
these cases. Anyone who has tried his hand at such translations knows well
enough that literal translation in verse from one language to another is
well-nigh impossible. A language that has no idiomatic body and soul of its
own, but can be moulded like a piece of potter’s clay into another language,
or vice versa, is not a language at all. The poet Pope once translated the
Iliad of Homer into English verse. Cowper, another poet, was asked his
opinion of the English book. “Well,” said he, “it is very good—but it is not
Homer.” The same complaint, at any rate, cannot be made against my
translations; for however different they may be, both the originals and
translations are all of them—my own.
J. MACGREGOR.
London, June 1897.
Luinneagan Luaineach
(Random Lyrics) by Surgeon Lieut.-Colonel John MacGregor, M.D. (1897) (pdf) |
