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The literature of the Highlanders

Chapter 50: DR JOHN MACGREGOR.
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About This Book

A comprehensive historical survey traces Gaelic literary production from its ecclesiastical and oral origins through medieval composition to nineteenth-century developments. It examines Latin hymns and the work of early saints, ancient ballads, prose romances, and the activity of medieval and Jacobite bards. The study treats the debates around Macpherson’s Ossian, the rise of Anglo-Gaelic authorship, collections of popular song, and sacred poetry of the eighteenth and nineteenth centuries. Chapters combine biographical sketches, manuscript and oral-tradition evidence, and commentary on the Celtic renaissance and contemporary Gaelic revival.

Tidings of awe came to my ear—
An ominous threat that war was near;
I sought out Albin’s central height,
To view the distant scene of fight.
I saw beneath one standard there—
The figure of the Northern Bear.
There thousands in their armèd might
Panted for battle’s fierce delight.
O’er Alma’s heights the Russians rolled,
Defiant, warlike, keen, and bold;
In war-array the hostile force
Stood there in ranks of foot and horse;
Then came the order for the Gael
Those scarpy brows of death to scale.
Down from that hoary rocky crest
Poured showers of fire into their breast;
Forward the fearless heroes leapt;
Mid clouds of slaughter on they swept;
“For Victory” the Lion roared;
The Finian clans unsheathed the sword,
Like rapid swollen floods in Clyde;
Grand, swift as Es-linn’s silver tide;
So rushed the heroes in their might
Of ardour to the field of fight,
Beneath that proud, unconquered shred
Of ancient fame the Gaels were led;—
With those broad brands ye did unsheathe
Ye left destruction, groans, and death;—
Ye from the land of hill and flood
Heroic thus the foe withstood;
And from those rocky heights of woe,
Ye swept disgraced that host of snow.
They trembled as they saw with dread
The lion, rousing, raging, red,
To scatter with resistless force
And ire their columns, man and horse;
Deeds sure to kindle our emotion
While earth remaineth wed to ocean.

Balaclava.

’Mid thund’ring guns and clash of arms
I saw amass the Russian swarms
On Balaclava’s dusky plain;
There waved the eagle fierce and fell
To widen more its ravenous reign,
Like a foul bird of restless hell.
Thousands responding bent on prey,
And gorging blood her power obey;
The hoarse-voiced horn began to bray;
The steeds of war began to neigh, &c.

Notwithstanding his exceeding patriotism it cannot be said that Livingston was either very generous or magnanimous. While haunted with painful suspicions he allowed the canker of vindictiveness to mar the finer elements of his nature. His envy also rendered him almost intolerable to all his Highland literary friends in Glasgow. But these, as one of them once remarked, could afford to prize all that was good in the bard and overlook his shortcomings. When this friend was dying William came to ask his forgiveness, which he was assured he had, with the remark, “William, my ghost will not trouble you.” This gentleman knew the bard’s selfish motive in asking pardon, and the superstitious reason for his so doing. Notwithstanding all this, the man was not many days in his grave when the bard began to attack him in a scurrilous letter in the newspapers, which, however, was not inserted. He might be described as a Celtic brother of Walter Savage Landor, whom he resembled in several respects. But the sphere of life in which Livingston was born, and his want of early education, ought to make us charitable in our judgments of the savage element of his character. It must be acknowledged, at the same time, that beneath the barbarian patriotism of his nature there lay a depth of tenderness and warmth of a grateful heart, which we discern in several of his pieces on individual persons. There can be no doubt, also, that many of his eccentricities arose from finding himself out of joint in the social world, where mere patriotism or poetic talent cannot frequently obtain the means or influence which self-conscious spirits so hopelessly look for.

Blar Shunadail, a piece of considerable length and merit, was published in The Gael after his death. The only other piece of importance is Driod-fhoitan Imhir an Racain, a poem of five or six hundred lines long.

It ought to be mentioned that two gentlemen, one belonging to Kintyre and the other to Cowal, were constant friends to Livingston—the late Mr Gilchrist, printer, Glasgow, and also Mr Duncan Whyte, of the same city. Livingston was intensely Celtic in all his ideas and habits. He has written a good deal of prose in English; but in that language he is like a lion in chains. He published “A Vindication of the Celtic Character,” a goodly volume of strong Celtic feeling and prejudice, such as we would now expect from an Irish Celt; also, several parts of a history of Scotland, which he did not finish, he and the publishers having disagreed on account of the strong anti-English feeling displayed by the writer. He swallowed the old Scottish chroniclers, especially their anti-English prejudices, and accepted as pure truth all that they have recorded. The Scotsman of the days of Bruce and Wallace scarcely cherished so much of the spirit of nationality and animosity against England as Livingston did. At the same time there was an element of hollowness in his assumed patriotism into which, however, he sought to thoroughly work himself, like some others of his countrymen of the present day. It can scarcely be denied that an element of unhealthiness prevailed in the moral basis of his nature; but unlike many others of the Highland poets, the smallest trace cannot be found in his works. A few years ago a monument was erected to his memory in Janefield Cemetery, Glasgow. Well has he described his own spirit in the following quatrain of Scotch:—

We see the buckles glancin’
On his fraochan shoon,
He’ll mak’ the Lawlands Hielan’
Ere he’ll lea’ the toun.

NEIL MACLEOD.

This author, the son of the well known Bard Sgiathanach, Donald Macleod, is undoubtedly chief among the living singers of the Gael. Several of his songs have become very popular, such as An Gleann ’san robh mi Og. All his productions are characterised by purity of style and idiom, freshness of conception and gentleness of spirit, and liquid sweetness of versification. His “Clarsach an Doire” contains as much variety of good popular songs as any volume of a single author in the language. The Gaelic Society of Inverness has just appointed him to the position of Bard to the Society in succession to Mary Mackellar. May he long live to wear his laurels, and continue to delight his countrymen with new songs of his native land and people.

REV. DONALD MACCALLUM.

The Rev. Donald Maccallum, a native of central Argyleshire, now a parish minister in Lewis, is the author of a small volume of songs and poems entitled Sop as gach Seid. His works evince a genuine poetic spirit,—a quiet meditative mood and thoughtful observation that so many parts of the Highlands are so well fitted to produce and nurse. Mr Maccallum has perfect command over the language and the “mechanic exercise” of verse; but he will probably be more remembered in Highland history as almost the only minister of the State Church in Scotland who had the moral courage to stand up for the people in the struggle of the crofter agitation in the years 1883-86.

DR JOHN MACGREGOR.

This writer, Surgeon-Major Macgregor, M.D., of the Bombay Army, a native of Lewis, has kept alive the Gaelic muse for many years in the far-off fields of Hindostan. In that land of many languages and many races Dr Macgregor composed many excellent lyrics in his native tongue of the Gael, and got them printed there as well. In the midst of his honourable and successful career, the poet’s fancies continually turn to home scenes and dear ones left in the old country. Memories of Mairi na h-Airidh, “Mary of the Shieling,” or some others, find pleasant embalmment in smooth-flowing verse. In 1890 appeared a long English poem from his pen, The Girdle of the Globe, which has been very well received by many who are well-entitled to judge, some of the lyrics scattered throughout the cantos showing the spirit and power of utterance of the true poet. We look for much more some of these days from his pen, especially when, as he may do before long, he retires from the honourable service of his country to cultivate the favours of the muse at home.

MARY MACPHERSON.

Mrs Macpherson (née Macdonald), a native of Skye, had some bitter experiences of life some twenty years ago or more, when she was about fifty years of age, and then her latent powers of verse-making began to assert themselves. In recent years she has composed largely on themes of local interest,—on the land question, her favourites among those by whom this question has been kept alive, and on her own personal grievances. Like Rob Donn she has been very fortunate in having some patroni who have patriotically espoused the cause of her muse and borne the expense of publishing in excellent style her compositions. The highly competent pens of Mr John Whyte and Mr Alexander MacBain have helped in the production of the volume (Inverness, 1891). The one took down the poems in correct writing from the composer’s dictation, while the other has supplied an introductory biographical sketch. The portraits of the poetess in various attitudes representative of Highland home industry are a good feature of the volume.

If we follow the Highlander across the ocean we find him there as fond of poetry and song as he was in his original home. The Rev. D. B. Blair, of Canada, has contributed a good deal to Gaelic literature. He is the author of many original poems of much merit, one on the Falls of Niagara being particularly excellent. He has translated parts of Virgil’s Æneid from the Latin. It was said some time ago that he had ready for the press a Gaelic grammar and a new Gaelic version of the Psalms.

The Rev. A. M. Sinclair, of Nova Scotia, is also a worshipper of the muse. He, indeed, belongs to a family of bards. The Gaels on this side are particularly indebted to Maclean Sinclair for his valuable contributions to their literature, his last two volumes (1890) being a handsome addition to the catalogue of good Highland books

But it is not in America alone that we find the cultivation of the Gaelic muse. If we go to New Zealand we find there Farquhar Macdonnell, once of Plockton, a composer of considerable genius, and one of whose songs has become a popular favourite.

It is not only in Canada and New Zealand but also in Australia that the Gaelic muse is kept alive. Here are verses of a pretty poem in Gaelic and English by the Rev. A. Cameron, a native of Lochaber, from that broad continent in the Antipodes. The author holds communion with the Ree waterfall, Nether-Lochaber, in a dream:—

I gaze on thee thou wondrous fall!
As I had done long years ago;
I travelled far on duty’s call
Since last I saw thy currents flow.
In days gone by, when joy was young,
’Twas my delight to sit me here;
When thy grave voice, so full and strong,
A pleasant song was to mine ear.
Methinks I hear thy waters say,
In greeting accents bathed in tears,
“Where did thy wandering footsteps stray
These many long and weary years?
“I missed thee on the rocky brink,
Thy youthful shadow on the pool,
When thou would’st say as thou would’st think
Thy daily lesson for the school:
“When none but I was to thee near
Save He who guides our weary ways,
To whom creation all is dear,
As joining in His glory’s praise.”

We have thus seen that throughout India, America, and Australasia we can find singers and composers of Gaelic songs, representing leal-hearted sons of the Highlands, who have nobly served their country, their people, and their God.