Poetry
Poetry
By the Hebridean Scots of Quebec
By the Hebridean Scots of Quebec
This poem is taken from pages 116-119 of By trench and trail in song and story, by Angus MacKay (Oscar Dhu), (Seattle and Vancouver : MacKay Printing and Publishing, 1918) [OCLC 11491844, film OCLC 29783856]
by Angus McKay (a.k.a. Oscar Dhu)
[section 1]
Is it not our bounden right
To uphold with all our might,
And with tongue and pen to fight
For our native Gaelic?
Guard the language known to Eve,
Ere the Serpent did deceive--
And the last one we believe,
Mellow, matchless Gaelic!
Pity the disloyal clown
Who will dwell awhile in Town,
And returning wear a frown
If he hears the Gaelic.
'Tis amusing to behold
Little misses ten years old,
When they leave the country fold
How they lose the Gaelic.
Some gay natives of the soil,
Cross "the line" a little while
And returning, deem it "style"
To deny the Gaelic.
(By Trench and Trail, p. 116)
[section 2]
Lads and lassies in their teens
Wearing airs of kings and queens--
Just a taste of Boston beans
Makes them lose their Gaelic!
They return with finer clothes,
Speaking "Yankee" through their nose!
That's the way the Gaelic goes ---
Pop! goes the Gaelic.
Tho' the so-called "tony set"
Teach them quickly to forget,
They will all be loyal yet
To their mother Gaelic.
Then abjure such silly pride
Cast the ragged thing aside---
Let your mongrel "English" slide
Rather than the Gaelic.
What a dire calamity
And how lonesome we would be
If our honored Seannachie,
Failed to charm in Gaelic!
(By Trench and Trail, p. 117)
[section 3]
Better far the "mother tongue"---
Language in which mother sung
Long ago, when we were young
Ever tender Gaelic!
Findlay's ever ready muse,
Stricken dumb, would soon refuse
People further to enthuse,
If he lost his Gaelic!
And Buchanan, how could he
Sell his soda or his tea
On this side of "Talamh a righ,"
If he lost his Gaelic?
Also Merchant Edward Mac
Would not sell so much tomac
If his stock was found to lack
Lusty Lewis Gaelic!
And Pennoyer, what would you
At the Gould post office do
When you'd hear from not a few
"Ca mar u ha u fean a diubh,"
If you lost your Gaelic?
(By Trench and Trail, p. 118)
[section 4]
Little Donald with the plaid
O'er his buirdly shoulder laid,
Would go dancing in the shade,
And his glory soon would fade
If he lost his Gaelic.
From O'Groat's to lands' end, too,
What would brother Scotsmen do ---
All the loyal clansmen who
But a single language know,
If they lost their Gaelic?
What would then become of those
Poems grand, in rhyme or prose,
Which in stately measure flows
From "Beinn Oran's" spotless snows!
"Chaibar Faidth" --- the best that grows ---
"Fhir a baitha" --- how he rows!
What, I ask, would happen those
If we lost the Gaelic?
Then uphold the magic tongue
Which through mystic Eden rung
When Creation still was young ---
Language in which Adam sung
To his Eve, Earth's first love song;
When the morning stars were flung
Into space, where since they've clung ---
Ancient, Glorious Gaelic!
(By Trench and Trail, p. 119)
This poem is from pages 152-153 in Memoirs of Dell, by John Austin MacLeod, 1971.
[by John Austin MacLeod]
The name of this place was called Hampden, somehow got changed to Dell,
'Twas before the time of the cyclone, which some remember well.
It consisted of hills, of swamps and of social mirth,
Where powerful Gaelic prayers seemed to have pushed the ledge thru the earth.
The original settlers from Scotland had came,
Who spoke only Gaelic, but, were not without fame.
Presbyterians they were, the staunchest of men,
Who had never learned the tongue of the Englishmen.
These people were true and trusted in God,
Still the hills put forth point-brush, rattle-weed and golden-rod.
Twice a year there was "Ordain" when several days would be spent
Just praising God, and not trying to earn one cent.
As for religion at home, not enough can be said,
Gaelic Bible and prayers after breakfast, again before bed.
At each meal 'fore and aft grace they'd proclaim:
Asking God to shield them from sin and profane.
These settlers and neighbours hold dear to their heart
That sacred feeling for each other, that shall never depart.
Now, God has blessed each one, with blessings untold,
That can never be bought, nor paid for in gold.
If to a party they would go, Gaelic songs' were sure to be sung,
Just everyone went, whether on font, horse and buggy, sleigh or pung.
How, what music is there sweeter then horse-bells in the night,
Whether it be cold and stormy, or, in the pale moonlight?
Among these people were weather prophets untold,
Who forecasted the weather of winters of old,
Though some of them swore by Dr. Chase's almanac,
Yet, others, the spleen of the pig, butchered out back.
Evening visiting among neighbours were pleasures untold,
When discussions of the Bible and yarns would unfold.
With their pipes and tobacco and coal-oil lanterns they'd go
Through the pastures and darkness whether rain or snow.
The most rugged of clothing these settlers did wear,
Woollen moccasins on feet and "coor-ag" in the hair.
Their "priggish" and dresses were patched when torn,
The men, when half dressed up, clean denims were worn.
---continued
- 252 -
Tho' Bell will never be forgotten, but stands forlorn and neglected,
Its memory still lingers and is still highly respected.
Where did the people of this happy place go?
Some went to the States and some went to Ontario.
Some of them moved not too far away,
Some of them went to Canterbury and to Farnham to stay.
But, all of our mothers and fathers have gone
To their eternal reward reserved for each one.
Still, some of them stayed, the salt of the earth,
And sometimes still speak Gaelic mingled with mirth.
If it wasn't for them the returning natives would despair,
And for them we are thankful and offer a prayer.
Some things, one remembers from infancy on,
Like the watering-trough, "marag" and the barley scone.
To some people this place seems a little behind,
But, it has the world's greatest treasure, which is peace of mind.
Will now bring these lines and verse to a close
By trusting that God will grant these friends a happy repose.
So long, old neighbour, here's wishing you well,
From one of those natives who was born in Dell.
- 253 -
Compiled and edited by T.A. McKay, Grand-nephew to Oscar Dhu
Over 400 pages, with poetry, biographies of the poets, maps, photos, and index of names
Blurb from the sales flyer:
"Oscar Dhu, that is Angus B. MacKay (1864-1923), and his friend Finlay McRitchie (1841-1923) were the two best-known poets of the Scottish community of Lingwick in the Eastern Townships of Quebec. they celebrated the lives, the events, the marriages, the deaths, and the politics of their fellow Scotsmen in their Compton County communities. These two bards also elevated the local pranks by treating them with humor and by celebrating them in rhyme. They lifted up the farming folk by giving them stature in their verses. Our Scottish past and our Scottish culture is a treasure worth passing on to our children and grandchildren. Oscar left Lingwick in late 1898 and spent the following years in Seattle. And this book is meant as a memorial to the Lingwick sojourn of our Scots ancestors."
Contains:
- 20 poems of Oscar Dhu -- as yet unprinted in book form
- 7 Poems of Finlay McRitchie, including one in Gaelic with translation
- Photos of Oscar and of Finlay -- Numerous other photos and prints
- Map of the Compton County Scots country
- Identification of numerous early Scots who are mentioned
- Countless footnotes and annotations, and map.
- Index of names
- Chapters on the life and writings of Oscar Dhu, drawing on much of his prose
- Chapter on Finlay MacRitchie
- Some poetry of early kin to Oscar Dhu.
- Reflections on the role of poetry in the community
- Poetry & chapter on the community of later Lingwick."
Privately published by the author: Limited copies printed.
Donald Morrison, the Canadian Outlaw: a Tale of Scottish Pioneers, by Oscar Dhu (Angus B. MacKay), The Enhanced Centennial Edition, a reprint of the above, edited by T.A. McKay, 1993, 137 pp. (Original publication in Sherbrooke, 1892), 135 p.
Privately published.
The Register of McKays, Descendants of Norman McKay from Mealista on the Isle of Lewis, compiled by T.A. McKay, 1993, 193 pp.
Privately published.