‘An àm èirigh gu moch
Ann an teaghlach gun sprochd, gun ghruaim,
Chluinnte gleadhraich nan dos,
Is an cèil’ air a cois on t-suain;
An tràth ghabhadh i làn,
’S i chuireadh os àird na fhuair
Le meòir chionalta ghnìomhach
Dhrithleannach dhìonach luath.
‘Bhiodh an rianadair fèin
Cur a dh’fhiachaibh gur h-e bhiodh ann,
E ’g èirigh nam measg,
’S an èighe gu tric na cheann;
Cha bu truagh leinn an glaodh
Nuair a thuairgneadh se i gu teann,
Cur a thagradh an cruas
Le h-aideachadh luath is mall.
‘An tràth chuirte na tàmh i
Le furtachd na fàrdaich fèin,
Dhomhsa b’ fhurast’ a ràdh
Gum bu chuireideach gàir nan teud,
Le h-iomairt dhà làmh
Cur am binneis do chàch an cèill –
Rìgh, bu shiùbhlach rim chluais
An lùthadh le luasgan mheur.
‘Anns an fheasgar na dhèidh,
An àm teasdadh don ghrèin tràth-nòn’,
Fir a’ cnapraich mun chlàr
Is cath air a ghnàth chur leò; |
‘When it was time to rise
there was heard in that house without gloom
the skirl of the drones
with their spouse afoot after sleep;
when she had taken her fill,
she gave out all she had got,
with agile fingers, kind,
sparkling, nimble and fleet.
‘The player himself
asserting that he was there,
rising in their midst,
their calls resounding in his head;
we pitied not their cries
when he tightly squeezed the bag,
setting out his theme
with a response quick then slow.
‘When she was laid to rest,
relieved in her own place,
I could say with ease
how frisky the cry of the strings,
under the play of two hands
drawing out their sweetness for all:
God, rippling in my ears
their variation by fingers swift.
‘In the evening after that
when the afternoon sun would expire,
men shaking dice at the board,
waging battle as was their wont; |
