Poetry.

Western Star, Issue 143, 3 June 1876, Page 7

Poetry.

SONG—THE GAELIC TONGUE, Air—Avid Langsy'iie. Should Gaelic speech be e’er forgot, And never brought to min’ For it was spoke in Paradise I* the days o’ langayne. Chorus —The Gaelic tongue is braw my friend. The Gaelic speech is fine, In Eden’s clachan first ’twas spoke In the days o’ langayne. When Eve all fresh in beauty’s charms First met fond Adam’s view, The first words that he spoke to her Were ‘ Ciamar tha thu’n diu F’ •She smiled, while blushes quickly tinged Her cheeks a rosy hue, But spake out frankly, just at onoe, ‘ Och tha gn math'n diu.’ Then wi’ his arms abode her waist. Back tae his bower they cam’, 1 Nighean bhoidheach! you’ll no objection boo To tak’ a right gude dram!’ * Do sblainte,* quo’ she, * Gu’n robheach ngad* she. Syne toqmed their quaichs o’ dew ; * Will you be mine P’ be said. Quo’ she, * I’m yours jOst oven noo J’ And thus a helpmate Adam found. To share his leafy ha’ Quo ho, ‘We’re now ene flesh and bone,’ ■ Och ‘ Schooohan* sae braw. When Adam rose fra o his leafy bower, About the time cocks craw, He always for his morning took A quaioh o’ uisgebeatba. When mid-day cam* the happy pair Would then sit down and dine, Off broohan, haggis, or poontants, And sgadan frae Loch Fyno. And in his flowery fragrant home, : Whene’er the dav did close. The supper .he would always tak’ . A cog o’ Athole brose. As o’er their heads, frae day to day, , The hours wi’ pleasure flew, Digging peats among the moss, And spinning tarry woo’ For when they found the want o’ claes, V; As wiii'ds blew snell and gleg, A tartan web wrapped round their hocha Did mak the philabeg. And when vfri 1 Eve he had a chat, He took his snaoison horn, And on the top ye weel might mark A braw big cairngorih. And music first On earth was heard An Gaelic accents deep, When Jubal ’neafch his oxter squeezed The blether o’ a sheep. Strathspey and reel he played them weel. The march o’ pibroch fine, And Gillie Galium and Huillaichean Was bonnie dance langsyne. When Tubal Cain his bellows blew, To mak’ the gude claymore } Locbabor axe, and targes too, Skean-bleag, and skean-mhor. So there’s my sneeshin’ mull, my frien’, • And gies a hand o’ thine, We’ll tak’ a snoko o’ eueeshin’ yet. For the days o’ langayne. Chorus Finale. Then here’s to broohan, haggis, brogues, Snais, quaichs, and Athelo brose, Buntats and sgadans and sgianduhs, Sporans, philabegs, and hose. For Adam spoke the gaelio well, Aqd'Eve could sing it fine ; So ‘ deochandoruis’ now we’el drink, For the days o’ langsyue.