EWEN MACLACHLAN.
Ewen MacLachlan, a poet of real culture, sweetness, and light, was born in 1775, in Torracaltin, Coiruanan, where his ancestors, who originally came from Morven, were for several generations. His great-grandfather was a bard of note. He was educated first in the parish school of Fort-William, and afterwards in King’s College, Aberdeen. While carrying on his studies he was tutor successively in the family of Cameron of Camishy, in that of Cameron of Clunes, and in that of Macmillan of Glenpean. He distinguished himself highly at school and at the University, especially in classics. He intended to enter the Church, but on the eve of taking license some friends dissuaded him from taking the step, recommending him to wait, and aim at a professorial chair. Among these was the gentle author of “The Minstrel,” Professor Beattie, who thought much of MacLachlan, and became his fast friend. In 1798 MacLachlan published some of his own productions in Allan Dall’s volume, which he himself committed to writing for the Blind Bard. These were the “Songs of the Seasons,” etc., and several books of Homer’s Iliad translated into Gaelic heroic verse. In 1818 he published his “Metrical Effusions,” where Greek, Latin, English, and Gaelic poems appear. He was engaged by the Highland Society of Scotland to compile a Gaelic dictionary. For this work he was eminently qualified, being intimately acquainted with old Gaelic, as well as with Eastern and classical languages. He died before the work was finished, in 1822, in the 47th year of his age. When he died he was head master of the Grammar School of Old Aberdeen, a post for which his classical attainments peculiarly fitted him. A love-song by MacLachlan—Gur gile mo Leannan—is still among the most popular in the language. He himself has furnished us with an English equivalent, which will give a fair idea of the more tender qualities of his genius. These simple and pretty verses, usually sung to a plaintive air, come to us laden with the purity and freshness of the mountain breeze:—
Not the swan on the lake, or the foam on the shore,
Can compare with the charms of the maid I adore;
Not so white is the new milk that flows o’er the pail,
Or the snow that is show’r’d from the boughs of the vale.
As the cloud’s yellow wreath on the mountain’s high brow,
The locks of my fair one redundantly flow;
Her cheeks have the tint that the roses display.
When they glitter with dew on the morning of May.
As the planet of Venus that gleams o’er the grove,
Her blue rolling eyes are the symbols of love;
Her pearl-circled bosom diffuses bright rays,
Like the moon, when the stars are bedimm’d with her blaze.
The mavis and lark, when they welcome the dawn,
Make a chorus of joy to resound through the lawn;
But the mavis is tuneless—the lark strives in vain,
When my beautiful charmer renews her sweet strain.
When summer bespangles the landscape with flow’rs,
While the thrush and the cuckoo sing soft from the bowr’s,
Through the wood-shaded windings with Bella I’ll rove,
And feast unrestrain’d on the smiles of my love.
MacLachlan counted a number of distinguished men among his friends—among others, Alexander, Duke of Gordon; the late Glengarry, Sir John Sinclair, Dr Gregory, and Lord Bannatyne Macleod. His funeral was attended by the Professors of the University and Magistrates of the city to show their respect. His remains were removed to his native Lochaber for burial. On the way to the burial place at Killievaodain in Ardgour the hearse was met and accompanied to the last resting-place by Glengarry and a number of his clansmen dressed in their native garb. Few of MacLachlan’s talents and culture in modern times have devoted their energies to the cultivation of Gaelic literature. There is a reason: the practical spirit of the nineteenth century has, perhaps desirably, cooled even the enthusiasm of bardic natures.