52692: An Ataireachd Àrd

An Ataireachd Àrd was originally a poem composed by Donald Maciver; it won first prize in the 1908 Mòd. On being asked to cite his inspiration, Donald mentioned his uncle, Donald Maciver:

An Ataireachd Bhuan, or the everlasting blustering of the sea on the sands of Uig.
Hero, Donald Ban, an uncle on a visit from Canada
Scene, Carnish Bay, which he left in 1851.
This finest pugilist in the Island of Lewis in his day shed tears this Sunday afternoon in Carnish.

The poem was set to music by Oban composer, John McDonald (born 1869). The resulting song has been recorded by many singers, including Ishbel Macaskill, Catherine-Ann Macphee, the Macdonald Sisters and Capercaillie. The text is as follows:

An ataireachd bhuan,
Cluinn fuaim na h-ataireachd àrd,
Tha torann a’ chuain
Mar chualas leam-s’ e nam phàist,
Gun mhùthadh gun truas
A’ sluaisreadh gainneimh na tràghad
An ataireachd bhuan,
Cluinn fuaim na h-ataireachd àrd.

Gach làd le a stuadh,
Cho luaisgeach, faramach, bàn
Na chabhaig gu cruaidh
‘S e gruamach, dosrach, gun sgàth,
Ach strìochdaidh a luaths
Aig bruaich na h-uidhe bh’ aig càch,
Mar chaochail an sluagh
Bha uair sa bhaile-sa tàmh.

Sna coilltean a siar
Chan iarrainn fuireach gu bràth,
Bha m’ inntinn ‘s mo mhiann
A-riamh air lagan a’ bhàigh.
Ach iadsan bha fial
An gnìomh, an caidreamh, ‘s an àgh
Air sgapadh gun dìon,
Mar thriallas ealtainn ro nàmh.

Seileach is luachair,
Cluaran, muran is stàrr
Air tachdadh nam fuaran
‘N d’ fhuair mi iomadh deoch-phàit;
Na tobhtaichean fuar’
Le bualan, ‘s cuiseag gum bàrr,
‘S an deanntagach ruadh
Fàs suas sa chagailt bha blàth.

Ach chunnaic mis’ uair
‘M bu chuannar beathail an t-àit’,
Le òigridh gun ghruaim
Bha uasal modhail nan càil,
Le màthraichean suairc
Làn uaill nan companaich gràidh,
Le caoraich is buar
Air ghluasad moch madainn nan tràth.

Ag amharc mun cuairt,
Cha dual dhomh gun a bhith ‘m pràmh:
Chan fhaic mi an tuath
Dem b’ shuaicheant’ carthannas tlàth –
Nam fògarraich thruagh,
Chaidh ‘m fuadach thairis air sàl,
‘S cha chluinn iad gu buan
Mòr-fhuaim na h-ataireachd àird.

Fir-sgiùrsaidh an t-sluaigh,
Cha bhuan iad bharrachd air càch:
Bu chridheil an uaill
Gar ruagadh mach gun chion fàth,
Ach sannt agus cruas,
An duais tha aca mu thràth –
Mòr-dhiomb’ is droch luaidh
An uaigh le mallachd nan àl.

Ach siùbhlaidh mi uat;
Cha ghluais mi tuilleadh nad dhàil;
Tha m’ aois is mo shnuadh
Toirt luaidh air giorrad mo là,
An àm dhomh bhith suaint’
Am fuachd ‘s an cadal a’ bhàis
Mo leabaidh dèan suas
Ri fuaim na h-ataireachd àrd

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