Sgrìobh an sàr-bhàrd Donnchadh Bàn Mac an t-Saoir mu a ghràdh do nàdar. ’S dòcha gu bheil a bhàrdachd fhèin a cheart cho airidh air moladh ’s a tha òran nan cearcan monaidh …

The master wordsmith Duncan Bàn MacIntyre wrote lovingly of wild nature. Perhaps his own majestic poetry deserves to be as much praised as the song of the mountain grouse …

‘An Ceòl a bu Bhinne Chualas’

Taobh a-muigh saoghal na Gàidhlig, ma dh’fhaodte gu bheil e fìor ri ràdh nach eil mòran Albannach a’ tomhas Donnchadh Bàn Mac an t-Saoir am measg nan sgrìobhadairean as fheàrr a th’ againn mu nàdar. Ge-tà, bu chòir dhuinn an oideachadh, oir cò a b’ fheàrr a chuir gràdh nan daoine do mhonaidhean is àrainneachd na Gàidhealtachd an cèill, seach Donnchadh? Eadhon an-diugh, tha na tuairisgeulan aige de ‘sealgaireachd nam bealaichean, dol mach a dhìreadh garbhlaich’ a’ bruidhinn rinn mar gun robh iad air an cur ri chèile an t-seachdain sa chaidh, seach còrr is dà cheud bliadhna air ais. Tha cuid de rudan bunaiteach agus seasmhach ann an cultar, agus tha gràdh do na beanntan am measg na tha bunaiteach dhuinn mar Ghàidheil.

Tha carragh-cuimhne Dhonnchaidh Bhàin ann an àite brèagha faisg air Dail Mhàilidh. Chithear Cruachan Bheann agus Loch Obha bhuaithe. / The view from Duncan’s Memorial near Dalmally takes in Ben Cruachan and the other peaks nearby, as well as Loch Awe and its scattering of islands. The Duncan Ban MacIntyre Memorial (C)John C

Tha gu leòr dhen bheachd gu bheil an laoidh-gràidh aige do na beanntan – Cead Deireannach nam Beann – cho math ri rud sam bith a sgrìobh e (ged a chuireadh an t-ùghdar seo Beinn Dòbhrain agus Coire a’ Cheathaich air thoiseach air mar obraichean-ealain). Dh’èirich an dàn às an turas mu dheireadh a rinn am bàrd do bheanntan òige, gu seachd àraidh Beinn Dòbhrain, air 19 Sultain 1802 nuair a bha e seachdad ʼs a h-ochd bliadhna a dh’aois. Ghabh Donnchadh tlachd à fiadh-bheatha nam beann – ‘na laoigh bhallach … na maoislichean ʼs na ruadh-bhuic, na coilich dhubha ʼs ruadha’. Bha e a’ cuimhneachadh làithean sona an t-seilg nuair a bhathar an tòir air na fèidh, seach na làithean ùra, agus Beinn Dòbhrain ‘fo chaoraibh’.

Bha Donnchadh air a’ bheinn aig toiseach na dàmhair (le seann chiall an fhacail) nuair a bhios na daimh a’ langanaich, agus tha a’ chiad rann a’ togail dealbh dhen bhodach na ghlòraidh, mar a chanamaid an-diugh:

Bha mi ʼn-de ʼm Beinn Dòbhrain,

ʼS na còir cha robh mi aineolach;

Chunna mi na gleanntan

ʼS na beanntaichean a b’ aithne dhomh.

B’ e sin an sealladh èibhinn

Bhith imeachd air na slèibhtean

Nuair bhiodh a’ ghrian ag èirigh,

’S a bhiodh na fèidh a’ langanaich.

Beinn Dòbhrain faisg air Drochaid Urchaidh, dhan tug Donnchadh cliù air leth na bhàrdachd. A rèir beul-aithris, sgrìobh e ‘Cead Deireannach nam Beann’ ri taobh Allt Chonoghlais le taic a bhràthar, Calum. /
Beinn Dòbhrain (the specific is sometimes spelled Dòrain as the ‘bh’ is silent) near Bridge of Orchy – Duncan’s beloved mountain. He reprised his role as ‘mountaineer’ in 1802 at the age of 78. Reproduced with the permission of the National Library of Scotland.

Ged a bha Donnchadh agus a bhean, Màiri Bhàn Òg (mar a tha cuimhne againn oirre, ged nach robh i òg tuilleadh), air a bhith a’ fuireach ann an Dùn Èideann bho 1767 a-mach, cha deach e dhachaigh mus do chuir e a smuaintean an cèill mun turas mu dheireadh aige do na beanntan, co-dhiù a rèir beul-aithris. Theàrnaich e far na beinne air a cliathaich dheis agus rinn e suidh air creag faisg air an abhainn ann an Gleann Achadh Innis Chailein, faisg air far a bheil an drochaid rathaid-iarainn an-diugh. Ge-tà, bha e air a chur troimhe-chèile leis na faireachdainnean làidir aige agus bha e do-dhèante dha crìoch a chur air a dhàn. Fhuair e taic airson sin bho a bhràthair, Calum. Ged a bha comas aige le briathran, cha robh Calum airson a bhith ri bàrdachd, a rèir choltais. Chaidh ceist a chur air mu dheidhinn sin, agus fhreagair e, ‘Cha bhi e air a ràdh gun do rug mo mhàthair dà bhàrd.’

Chan eil Cead Deireannach nam Beann gu tur às aonais bròn, oir cha tig an aois leatha fhèin; cha robh comas aig Donnchadh tuilleadh a bhith ‘treubhach’, agus bha a ‘dheudach is [a] lèirsinn’ air fulang le aois. Agus, ann an seantans a dh’aithnicheas luchd-coiseachd nam beann a ruigeas aois mhòr, sgrìobh e ‘cha dèan mi ceum ro-chabhagach’. Bha mòran de a sheann charaidean a-nis air falbh agus ʼs ann na chuimhne a-mhàin a bha e a’ faireachdainn ‘coibhneas blàth nan caileagan’ air an àirigh.

Cruinneachadh de na h-òrain aig Donnchadh Bàn a bh’ air fhoillseachadh 36 bliadhna an dèidh bàs a’ bhàird. B’ e seo an còigeamh eagran dhen leabhar. / A collection of Duncan’s songs (fifth edition), published 36 years after his death.

Ge-tà, tha an rann mu dheireadh dhen dàn mar bhrosnachadh air a’ phìob-mhòir dhuinn. Cò nar measg nach leanadh Donnchadh?!

Mo shoraidh leis na frìthean, O ’s mìorbhaileach na beannan iad,

Le biolair uaine ’s fìor-uisg’, Deoch uasal rìomhach cheanalta;

Na blàran a tha prìseil, Na fàsaichean tha lìonmhor,

O ’s ait a leig mi dhìom iad, Gu bràth mo mhìle beannachd leo’.

Anns an dàrna rann, tha am bàrd a’ foillseachadh mar a tha gràdh aige don ‘cheòl a bu bhinne chualas’ – gairm nan coileach-dubha is nan coileach-ruadha sa chamhanaich anns a’ mhonadh. An d’ rachadh duine againn às àicheadh sin?! Ach ʼs dòcha gun cuireamaid ris a’ cheòl sin na h-òrain aig Donnchadh fhèin, oir bidh iad air an seinn fhathast, an dà chuid ann an Alba agus Canada, agus tha iad mar dhearbhadh air cho bunaiteach ʼs a tha gràdh nàdair do mhac is nighean an duine. Ma dh’fhaoidte, an ath thuras a bhios cunntas-bheachd air na sgrìobhadairean nàdair as fheàrr ann an Alba, gun riochdaich cuideigin Donnchadh Bàn na Bàrdachd ʼs nam Beann, oir tha a dhìleab a’ cur solas brèagha togarrach air ar monaidhean is ar fiadh-bheatha eadhon chun an latha an-diugh fhèin.

Clach-uaighe Dhonnchaidh ann an Cladh nam Manach Liath, Dùn Èideann. Ged a bha e a’ fuireach an dàrna leth de a bheatha ann am ‘baile na smùide’, bha a chridhe riamh ann am beanntan òige. / Duncan Ban MacIntyre’s grave in Greyfriar’s Kirkyard, Edinburgh. Although he spent the second half of his life in ‘Auld Reekie’, his heart remained in the mountains of his youth.

‘The Sweetest Music Ever Heard’

Outside the Gaelic language community, it is probably true to say that few Scots, when asked to name their favourite writer on the subject of nature, would think of Duncan Ban MacIntyre, yet his lyrical descriptions of the scenery, wildlife and botanical heritage of the hills of the Gàidhealtachd are perhaps unsurpassed in any Scottish language, and give an abiding voice to the enduring attraction of dol a-mach a dhìreadh gharbhlaich ‘going out to climb the rough heights’. Duncan died in 1812, and one of his most memorable works is no overture to something finer, but an elegy for a life well spent, the first half of which was in the hill country in the borderlands of Argyll and Perthshire, before he and his wife moved to Edinburgh in 1767. [She, by the way, despite reaching a good age, is still affectionately known to Gaels by her husband’s poetic moniker for her – Màiri Bhàn Òg ‘fair young Mary’ –as if, ageless and ever-beautiful, she belonged to Tìr nan Òg itself!] Cead Deireannach nam Beann, Duncan’s ‘final farewell to the mountains’ was composed (orally, for he could not read or write), following the bard’s final visit to his beloved mountains on 19 September 1802 at the age of seventy-eight.

A’ chlach-bhuinn air carragh-cuimhne Dhonnchaidh. / The foundation stone of Duncan’s Memorial.

Some of Duncan’s greatest works are paeans for the hills and corries he knew intimately as gamekeeper, forester and hunter – most notably Beinn Dòbhrain (whose name probably means ‘mountain of [the] stream’), arguably the subject of his greatest and most complex composition, and Coire a’ Cheathaich ‘the corrie of the mist’ in which his skilful use of imagery and language enables us to picture the place in the days before it was heavily grazed by sheep (one of his poems Òran nam Balgairean ‘song to the foxes’ praises the predators for chasing the sheep that Duncan disliked).

But it is his final love-poem to the mountains, written following a nostalgic journey to Beinn Dòbhrain, that is perhaps of greatest inspiration to today’s hillwalkers of a certain age, for it speaks, not of the sadness of an old man whose life is approaching a sedentary demise but of the joys of the memories of mountain days, and of once more experiencing the thrill of being there:

… B’ e sin an sealladh èibhinn, bhith ’imeachd air na slèibhtean,

Nuair bhiodh a’ ghrian ag èirigh, ’s a bhiodh na fèidh a’ langanaich.

‘that was a sight most splendid, to be walking on the hillsides,

When the sun was rising and the deer were bellowing.

Coire a’ Cheathaich, beagan mhìltean sear air Beinn Dòbhrain – àite eile a mhol Donnchadh na bhàrdachd. Tha a thuairisgeul de bhòidhchead ‘rìomhach…na Creige Mòire’ fhathast a’ toirt spionnadh do Ghàidheil a tha measail air nàdar. / Another of Duncan’s poetic subjects is Coire a’ Cheathaich, a few miles east of Beinn Dòbhrain, which the poet-gamekeeper-forester-hunter-climber knew intimately and lovingly. His description of the biodiverse alpine garden of the Creag Mhòr still inspires people today.
Reproduced with the permission of the National Library of Scotland.

This is no bardic recall, but the poet-climber experiencing once more the dàmhair, the start of the iconic deer rut in the Highlands (the word has been temporally shifted in recent times and now means the month of October). According to tradition, Duncan made his composition while seated on a stone under the mountain’s south-eastern slopes in Auch Glen, a short distance upstream from the modern railway viaduct. He was so moved by his experience of once more being in his beloved hills that he found it impossible to finish the poem, and was assisted in its completion by his brother, Malcolm.

In his younger days, Duncan would go stalking happily on the mountain passes (sealgaireachd nam bealaichean), venturing out to climb the rough heights and getting home late, but it was these activities and the ‘the fresh rain and air’ on the summits of the high mountains that gave him slàint’ is fallaineachd ‘good health and wellbeing’. And, of course, the elderly gentleman is permitted his nostalgic recall of the sociable days of the shieling (the removal of people and livestock to summer pastures in the mountains) and of flirting with the girls there.

Tha cunntasan pearsanta dhen àirigh a’ dearbhadh mar a bha daoine a’ faireachdainn saorsa agus fallaineachd de sheòrsa nach biodh aca nam beatha àbhaisteach. / Personal accounts of the shieling reveal a sense of being ‘on holiday’, of gaining a sense of wellbeing and renewal, and of a freedom otherwise unknown among the constraints of normal everyday life. Photos via The Shieling Project.

The poem is not without its sadness, for nothing can halt the ageing process, Duncan is no longer able to be adventurous, and his eyesight is not as sharp as it was in his young hunting days. Many of his friends are gone and the world has cheated him because Beinn Dòbhrain is now, sadly, fo chaoraibh ‘under sheep’.

We might think, however, of the final verse and its expression of joy, as Duncan’s anthem for the mountains and for his life (the English translation is naturally pedestrian in comparison to the energetic and complex rhythm and rhyme of the Gaelic):

Mo shoraidh leis na frìthean, O ’s mìorbhaileach na beannan iad,

Le biolair uaine ’s fìor-uisg’, Deoch uasal rìomhach cheanalta;

Na blàran a tha prìseil, Na fàsaichean tha lìonmhor,

O ’s ait a leig mi dhìom iad, Gu bràth mo mhìle beannachd leo’.

I bid farewell to the deer-forests, Oh! how wonderful are the mountains,

With green water-cress and spring water, a noble, elegant, gentle drink;

The moors which are so precious, the pastures which are so plentiful,

Oh, joyfully I took my leave of them, forever my thousand blessings on them.

In the second verse of Cead Deireannach nam Beann, the bard proclaims his enduring love for ‘the sweetest music ever heard’ – the sound of the blackcocks and red grouse cocks at dawn. Who among us, who have camped out in the mountains, would dare argue with that?! But perhaps we could add to that assessment the rhythm and melody of Duncan’s own poems/songs – which are still widely sung in both Scotland and Canada – for they help us to appreciate and celebrate the love of people for nature that has remained fundamental and steadfast to the human condition through the ages. Perhaps, the next time there is an opinion poll on the finest Scottish nature-writers, somebody will champion fair-haired Duncan of the songs and bens, whose legacy informs and inspires to this day.

An ceòl a bu bhinne chualas. / The sweetest music ever heard

The Author

Bha am blog seo air a sgrìobhadh le Ruairidh MacIlleathain, a tha na sgrìobhadair, craoladair, eòlaiche-nàdair is sgeulaiche, stèidhichte ann an Inbhir Nis.

This blog was written by Inverness-based writer, broadcaster and storyteller Roddy (Ruairidh) Maclean, whose work highlights the connections between the Gaelic language and Scotland’s environment.