Alexander Bain, who is a crofter, thatcher, and dyker at Lonmor, was born about 1849. He has composed a number of excellent poems and songs in his native tongue. He is a much-respected and very worthy man, and is a sergeant in the Gairloch volunteers. He is of middle height and good physique.
Alexander Bain has composed the following elegy on the late well-known Dr Kennedy of Dingwall, who died in 1884, and who might be termed the bishop of the Free Church in the north-west Highlands. The doctor's fervid eloquence was often to be heard during sacramental services in the Leabaidh na Bàine at Gairloch. Appended is an English rendering of the elegy, mainly contributed by Mr Good:—
Marbh-rann.
Thainig sgeul gu crich,
Tha na bhochdainn do'n tir muthuath;
Fad's a mhaireas an linn's,
Bithidh luchd-aidmheil fo sgios le gruaim.
Thainig smal air an or,
Ged tha'n Soisgeul air doigh mur bha,
Bho'n chuir iad fo'n fhoid,
Doctear Iain bu bhoidhche cail.
Thainig freasdail mu 'n cuairt,
'S thug e rionnag nam buadh gu lar;
Bithidh a Ghaidhealtachd truagh,
'S cha dean gearan dhoibh suas am bearn.
Sguir an sruthan bu bhoidhche,
Bha toir misneach do dhoige nan gras;
'S bithidh an cridheachan leoint',
Gus an ruig iad air gloir 's aird'.
'S ann tha lot anns a Chleir
As an-d-imich a reult a baild',
Bha na cobhair do 'n treud,
G'an tabhair thairis gu freumh na slaint'.
Bha do bhuaidhean gu leir,
Air an unga le seula graidh,
'S cha n-fhaic sinne as do dheigh,
Fear a sheasas cho treun na d-ait'.
Thainig dubhar, 'us neul,
Air an Eaglais, nach clear dhi 'n drasd;
Thuit a geata fo priomh
Ged tha a bunnait cho fial 's a bha.
Am measg a cedair thu dluth,
'S thusa a meangan bu chubhraidh dhasan;
Bha thu taitneach fad d'uin'
Gu bhith labhairt air run fear daimh.
Bha do phearsa gun ghiomh
An's gach rathad an iarrte fas;
Ann an tuigse, 's an ciall,
Thug thu barrachd air ciad do chach.
Bha do sholus mur a ghriann
Cuir gach onair air Criosd amhain,
'S be sin toiseach do mhiann
Dol troimh ghleanneanaibh ciar a bhais.
Elegy on Dr Kennedy.
Sorrow overwhelms the Highlands;
Saintly Kennedy is dead!
Christian souls in woe bewail him
Sleeping in his narrow bed.
Though the truth shines 'midst the darkness,
Dimly burns the golden flame
Since beneath the sod they laid him,
Lovely in his life and aim.