THE SONGS AND MELODIES OF THE GAEL.
The Gael, their language, their songs, and their melodies, will live or die together. If the one sinks they shall all sink. If the one rises they shall all rise. If the one dies they shall die together, and shall all be buried in the same grave. Is it possible that a people, with such a language, such songs, and such delicious melodies, shall vanish and disappear from the earth, and their place become occupied by others? It cannot happen, and I candidly assert for myself that, were the whole of the Breadalbane Estate mine, I would willingly part with it for the sake of being able to master the songs and the melodies of my Highland countrymen. I have reason to be thankful for the circumstances in which I was placed in the days of my youth. I had eight brothers and a sister. My father had a fine ear for music, and an excellent voice, and frequently gratified our young ears, during the long winter evenings, by playing on the Jew's harp and singing the words connected with the different Highland airs. There was also a man in our immediate neighbourhood who was frequently in the house, who played on the violin, and who was one of the best players of our native airs I ever listened to. The consequence was that as I grew up I was very fond of singing, and to this moment of my life I do not think that it had any bad effect upon me; and certainly my fondness for Gaelic songs was the first thing that led me to read the Gaelic language. From fifteen to the age of twenty I herded my father's sheep among the Grampians. The following is a true description of my state then:—
| 'Nuair bha e 'na bhalach Gu sunndach, 's lan aighear, 'S mac-talla 'ga aithris A cantuinn nan oran, Toirt air na cruaidh chreagan, Le 'n teangannan sgeigeil, Gu fileant 'ga fhreagradh, Gu ceileireach ceolmhor. | A laddie so merry 'Mong green grass and heather, The voice of the echo Rehearsing his story: The mountains so rocky To mimic and mock him, Becoming all vocal Like songsters so joyful. |
About the age of twenty a change came over me, when I forsook the songs, but not their melodies, and had recourse to Buchanan's, M'Gregor's, and Grant's hymns as a source of gratification. I was, in a measure, prepared to enjoy them, as I found several of the melodies I used to sing, in the hymns. M'Gregor was my great favourite. He was every inch a man, a Gael, a scholar, a poet, a Christian, and a great divine. I regret that his hymns are not more extensively known. Forty-two years ago I composed several hymns—six or seven years afterwards a few more—but during the last ten years, I suppose, nearly fifty. I have done as much as I could to regenerate the songs of my country. My predecessors carefully avoided cheerful and lively airs, especially those with a chorus, but I find these generally, when the subject is applicable to them, the most powerful and the most appropriate for use in connection with the preaching of the gospel. Last summer I sang one of them in a Free Church, on a Sabbath evening, to the Gaelic part of the congregation. As I was descending from the pulpit, the Gaelic precentor, and a deacon, whispered in my ears, "Tha i sin fad air thoiseach air laoidhean Shanci." (That is far before Sankey's hymns.)
So far as I know, singing Gaelic songs has had no evil effect upon our countrymen. Indeed, singing is one of the prettiest, and one of the most harmless things connected with human nature, even in its degenerate state. A man who can sing a Gaelic song well is properly considered a favourite. It is felt that he spreads kindness, and infuses joy and happiness in the social circle—the language and the sweet melody of the piece will banish all melancholy and bitter feelings from the mind. A man influenced by a wicked malicious disposition is certainly not disposed to sing. The practice they have of fulling or shrinking cloth in the West Highlands has had a great tendency to keep up the native melodies. Five, six, or seven females are seated in a circle facing one another. The cloth having been steeped, is folded in a circle. Each holds it in both hands, while they raise it as high as the breast, and then bring it down with a thump on the board. In this way it goes gradually round from the one to the other. A person standing outside would only hear one thump. The chosen leader commences the song, all unite, and by raising and lowering their hands they beat time to the tune. This generally attracts a crowd of listeners. I have seldom listened to finer singing.
Lachlan M'Lean, the author of "Adam and Eve," and one of the greatest enthusiasts for the language, the songs, and the music of the Gael, that ever lived, was one day on board a steamer going from Tobermory to Oban. A number of Skye females were on board. He placed them seated in a circle on deck, and they commenced singing, with their handkerchiefs in their hands, to the great delight of all on board, with the exception of an elderly austere professor of religion, who frowned upon them and silenced them. If such be the effect of real religion, I have yet to learn it. I have no doubt the same man, if he could, would prevent the larks from singing; and as well attempt to do the one as the other. I am certain that he would rather have his ears stuffed with cotton than listen to Piobaireachd Dho'il Duibh played on the bagpipes.
Robert Burns has been greatly vilified by a certain class of preachers. He and his songs have been held forth as a great curse to his countrymen; but when these Rev. Divines and their hot, but mistaken, zeal is forgotten, Robert Burns will shine forth, and in the long run will be found to be a greater blessing to his country than his accusers. For certainly no man ever did more to keep up the native language and the melodies of the Lowland Scotch than he has done. The same is equally true respecting our Highland bards. Taing dhuit a Dhonnachaidh Bhain, agus do d' chomh-Bhaird airson nan oranan gasda, agus nam fuinn bhinn a dh'fhag sibh againn. I am certain that the Scotch must return to the melodies in their native language. Sankey's melodies may do for a short time, but will never find a lasting lodgment in the Scottish heart like their own delicious melodies. There is as inseparable a connection between their melodies and their native language, as there is between our Highland melodies and our native Gaelic. The Gaelic may easily take up their melodies, but the English never.
Those tunes that are used in public worship have no melody to my soul like our native airs, and it is utterly impossible for me to feel otherwise. This assertion will find a testimony in the bosoms of men, although their prejudices may be opposed to it. Where is the man that would compose a song in praise of his fellow-creature, that would attempt to sing it to a psalm tune? Should he do so, all men would look upon him as a blockhead. And what is the great difference between praising a fellow-creature and praising the Redeemer? I can conceive none, except that the latter deserves a sweeter, and, if possible, a more delicious melody. I think it was Rowland Hill who wisely said that "he could not see why the devil should have all the finest tunes," and I quite agree with him.
It is also a fact, although I understand English as well as Gaelic, that it has not the same effect upon me in singing it. Although the English were sung with the greatest art, and in the best possible style, it would neither warm our hearts nor melt our souls like singing in Gaelic. I feel that the great "mistress of art" has a tendency to puff me up, whereas I have no such feelings in my Gaelic. Perhaps one-third of the songs of the Gael are love songs, and the delicacy of feeling which is manifest in most of them is extraordinary. They will not offend the most refined ear; so that we have reason to be proud of our race in that respect. Our songs may be divided into two classes—the cheerful and plaintive. In the former we have M'Lachlan's "Air fatll-ir-inn, ill-ir-inn, uill-er-inn o." M'Intyre's song to his spouse, "Mhairi bhan og," and "Ho mo Mhairi Laghach"—translated by Professor Blackie in the first number of the Celtic. These are instances of lyric poetry as beautiful as ever saw the light, and melodies as sweet as can be listened to. In the other may be placed "Fhir a bhata 's na ho ro eile," which was lately sung in Inveraray Castle in the presence of Her Majesty. Another is:—
A Mhalaidh bhoidheach,
A Mhalaidh ghaolach,
A Mhalaidh bhoidheach,
Gur mor mo ghaol duit,
A Mhalaidh bhoidheach,
'S tu leon 's a chlaoidh mi,
'S a dh'fhag mi bronach
Gun doigh air d'fhaotainn.
What a delicious piece! how full of sweet melody! Can the English language produce its equal? Poor fellow, he was sincere. The deer would be seen on wings in the air, fish on tops of mountains high, and black snow resting on the tree branches, before his love to her would undergo any change.
Perhaps one-fourth of our songs are Elegies to the departed; and the melodies to which these are sung are as plaintive and melting as can be listened to. I place at the head of this class the "Massacre of Glencoe," and Maclachlan's Elegy, to the same air, in memory of Professor Beattie of Aberdeen. I said in my "Address to Highlanders" that the Fort-William people might, on the top of Ben Nevis, defy the English and broad Scotch to produce its equal:—
Ghaoil, a ghaoil, de na fearaibh,
'S fuar an nochd air an darach do chrè,
'S fuar an nochd air a bhord thu,
Fhiuran uasail bu stold ann a'd bheus,
'N cridhe firinneach soilleir,
D'am bu spideal duais foille na sannt,
Nochd gun phlosg air an deile
Sin mo dhosguinn nach breugach mo rann.
It is utterly impossible to give a proper expression of that piece in any other language.
Lachlan M'Lean, already referred to, composed an elegy, to a daughter of the Laird of Coll, who died in London and was buried there, to the same air:—
Och! nach deach do thoirt dachaidh
O mhearg nigheana Shassuinn 's an uair,
Is do charadh le mōrachd.
Ann an cois na Traigh mhor mar bu dual;
Fo dhidean bhallachan arda
Far am bheil do chaomh mhathair 'na suain,
'S far am feudadh do chairdean,
Dol gach feasgair chuir failte air t'uaigh.
I entered his shop soon after this appeared in the Teachdaire Gaelach, and sung him some verses of it. He could scarcely believe that it was his own composition. He seemed in a reverie, his eyes speaking inexpressibles.
"Gaoir nam Ban Muileach"—(The wail of the Mull women)—is another extraordinary piece. I am sorry that I could not get hold of it. M'Gregor also has three hymns suited to this beautiful air. There is a good deal of monotony in singing the few first lines, but it reaches a grand climax of expression at the sixth. The last line is repeated twice. When two or three sing it together, and the whole join in chorus at the sixth line, I have seldom heard singing like it.
Dr M'Donald composed an elegy, to the Rev. Mr Robertson, with a very plaintive air—the air of a song occasioned by the great loss at Caig—
Ochan nan och, is och mo leon,
Tha fear mo ruin an diugh fo'n fhoid,
Tha fear mo ruin an diugh fo'n fhoid,
'S cha teid air ceol no aighear leam.
Many of the songs of the Gael might be called patriotic songs, and they make us feel proud that we are Gaels. Their daring feats in the field of strife against the enemies of our country, as at Bannockburn, Waterloo, Alma, &c., are celebrated in song. Their quarrels, amongst themselves, is the only thing that makes us feel ashamed of them. Several of their songs raise us in our own estimation, with good cause, above our neighbours the Lowlanders, the English, and the French. The songs of the Gael embrace every variety—their language, mountains, corries, straths, glens, rivers, streams, horses, dogs, cows, deer, sheep, goats, guns, field labour, herding, boats, sailing, fishing, hunting, weddings—some of them as funny as they can be, and some the most sarcastic that was ever written. There is always something sweet and pretty about them. The artless simplicity of the language, with its extraordinary power of expression, gives them an agreeable access to the mind, which no other language can ever give.
The power these melodies have over the Gael is really extraordinary. I was told by a piper, who was at the Battle of Alma, that when on the eve of closing with the Russians, he, contrary to orders, played "Sud mar chaidh 'n cal a' dholaidh, aig na Bodaich Ghallda," which had a most powerful effect upon the men, on which account alone he was pardoned. I saw a man who heard a piper playing "Tulloch gorm" in the East Indies, and it made him weep like a child. About two years ago a young man, a native of Oban, was out far in the country, in Australia, and having entered a hotel, he saw a man who had the appearance of being a Highlander, in the sitting-room. He (of Oban) was in a room on the opposite side of the passage, and thought to himself "If he is a Gael I'll soon find out," and leaving the door partially open, that he might see him without being seen, he commenced playing, on the flute, the most plaintive Highland airs. No sooner did he begin than the other began to move his body backward and forward. At last he bent down his body, covering both his eyes with the palms of his hands, and began to sob out "Och! och mise; och! och mise." He (my informant) then played some marching airs, and instantly the other raised his head and began to beat time with both feet. At last he played some dancing airs, when one foot only was engaged in beating time. He then raised a hearty laugh and closed the door with a bang. The man rushed forward, but finding the door closed he settled down a little. The door was opened, and what a meeting of friends! what union of hearts! what kindness of feeling! what joy! What was the cause of all these? What but the melodies of the Gael.
Now, I am certain that were I to listen to the native melodies of my country in distant parts of the world, I would also weep. But there is nothing that ever I listened to that would affect me so much as: "Crodh Chailean." Many a cow has been milked to that air, and many a fond mother soothed her child to rest with it, and I am sure it would be a greater accomplishment for young ladies to be able to sing it properly than any German or Italian air they could play on the piano:
Bha crodh aig Mac Chailean,
Bheireadh bainne dhomh fhein,
Eadar Bealtuinn is Samhainn,
Gun ghamhuinn, gun laogh,
Crodh ciar, crodh ballach,
Crodh Alastair Mhaoil,
Crodh lionadh nan gogan,
'S crodh thogail nan laogh.
Shaw composed several hymns to this air.
I suppose there is not a class of people on the face of the earth that have finer imaginations than the Gael. This has arisen partly, no doubt, from their language, so adapted for lyric poetry and composition, and verses calculated to give scope to the imaginative faculty. It has arisen likewise from the place of their birth. The roaring Atlantic, the grandeur of the resounding flood in their rocky glens. Waterfalls, down dashing torrents, fast flowing rivers. The scream of the curlew, the lapwing, the plover, and the shrill whistle of the eagle. The shadows of the clouds seen moving majestically along in the distance—all these have a great tendency to move and to give wing to the imagination. But I believe that the ditties they have been accustomed to hear sung in their youth have had a far greater effect upon them. Could these be all collected they would form a rare collection. How often has "Gille Callum" been sung—
Gheibh thu bean air da pheghinn,
Rogh is tagh air bonn-a-se,
Rug an luchag uan boirionn,
'S thug i dhachaidh cual chonnaidh.
When one begins to tell what is not true, it is better to tell falsehoods which no one can believe. Now I am certain that children at the age of four would not believe "Gille Callum's" lies, and would understand at once that they were all for fun, and still it would have the effect of setting them a-thinking, perhaps more than had it been sober truth.
The following I have frequently heard:—
H'uid, uid eachan,
C'ait am bi sinn nochdan,
Ann am baile Pheairtean,
Ciod a gheibh sinn ann,
Aran agus leann,
'S crap an cul a chinn,
'S chead dachaidh.
Huid, uid is used in Perthshire for making horses run. The boy is set astride on a man's knee, which is kept in motion like a trotting horse. Stretching both his hands, the boy, in imagination, is trotting to Perth, where he expects bread and ale; and as a finish to the whole, a knock on the back of the head, and leave to go home. Many a hearty laugh have I seen boys enjoy when they got the knock on the head. Another is—seizing a child's hand, and beginning at the thumb giving the following names—"Ordag, colgag, meur fad, Mac Nab, rag mhearlach nan caorach 's nan gobhar, cuir gad ris, cuir gad ris." Reaching the small finger, the thief is seized and severely scourged with the rod, and a roar of laughter is raised by the youngsters. Placing a child between the knees and slowly placing the one foot before another with the following words, is another—
Cia mar theid na coin do n' mhuileann
Mar sud, 's mar so,
'S bheir iad ullag as a phoc so,
'S ullag as a phoc sin,
And then moving them quicker—
'S thig iad dachaidh air an trot,
Trit, trot, dhachaidh.
Ullag means the quantity of meal raised by the three fingers. What a glee of hilarity is raised when the quick motion commences?
The following is a very imaginative piece, descriptive of a flighty individual who proposes to do more than he can accomplish:—
| Cheann a'n Tobermhuire 'S a chollainn 's a Chrianan, Cas a'm Boad hoi-e, 'S a chas eil a'n Grianaig | Head in Tobermory, Body in Crianan, Foot in Boad (Bute) hoi-e, Other foot in Grianaig (Greenock). |
It is a most melancholy fact, that at present there is a combined and a determined effort put forth to banish the native language, and the native melodies of the Gael entirely from the country, and to bring the whole population under the sway of the artificial language taught in our schools, and of its artificial melodies. The foreigner represents our language as low and vulgar, quite destitute of the sterling qualities peculiar to his own; and consequently not deserving either to be held fast, or to be worthy of attentive study. And in order that he may be the more successful in his effort, he pretends to be our greatest, our only friend; heartily disposed to make us learned, wealthy and honourable, yes, and, of course, pious too. I say to him at once, without any ceremony, keep back, sir, give over your fallacious, your blustering bombast, we know the hollowness of your pretensions. The Gael has a language and melodies already, superior to any that you can give him, and would you attempt to rob him of his birthright and inheritance, which is dear to him as his heart's blood? Every true friend of the Gael would certainly give him a good English education; but instead of doing away with his own language and melodies, it would be such an English education as would ground him more than ever in a knowledge of his own. Is it not an acknowledged fact that, there is nothing that grounds students more thoroughly in a knowledge of a language than to translate it from his own. This mode of teaching is perhaps more troublesome to schoolmasters at first, but when once fairly tried and put in practice, it will, without doubt, be the most agreeable and the most successful part of their work, and would not have such a deadening effect, either upon their own minds, or upon those of their scholars.
ARCHD. FARQUHARSON.
Island of Tiree.