ON A PET DOVE KILLED BY A DOG.
Reading edition
A GAELIC ELEGY.
The following touching verses (as nearly as possible a literal translation from the Gaelic) appeared in the Scotsman of May 17, and were accompanied by a note, which we have abridged, from the translator Mr Alexander Stewart of Nether Lochaber. He says: 'I beg to send you a translation of a Gaelic Elegy by Alastair MacDonald the celebrated Ardnamurchan bard, on a pet dove of his that was killed by a terrier dog. It is, in my judgment, a composition of singular tenderness, pathos, and beauty. Its quaint conceits and abrupt transitions, which the reader cannot fail to notice, though they may seem odd and out of place at first sight, form, in my estimation, no small part of its merit. My translation is about as literal as I could well make it, and I have endeavoured to imitate, with what success let others judge, the manner and measure, the rhyme and rhythm of the original. The pet dove was a female, and at the time of her death had under her care, as the poet fails not to notice with an exquisite touch of tenderness in the fourth line, the dove's usual brood of downy twins. The reference in the poem to the bird's habitat in a wild state shews that it was of the species known as the blue or rock pigeon, thousands of which inhabit the vast caves and precipitous crags of Ardnamurchan and Moidart.'
Mournful my tale to tell, Though others heed not my sigh; My gentle, my beautiful pet dove dead— Must the callow twins too die? Alas, for the death of the gentlest dove That ever in woodland coo'd, Killed by a dog whose properer foe Were the otter that fights, and dies so slow In his cairny solitude. Of all the birds that cleave the air, Buoyant on rapid wing, I mourn thee most, my pet dove fair, Dear, darling thing! Noah loved thee, dove, full well, When a guilty world was drowned; With thy message of peace thou cam'st to tell Of solid ground; He knew thy truth as the waters fell Slowly around. The raven and dove good Noah sent Far over the heaving flood; The raven wist not the way he went, Nor back returned, for his strength was spent In the watery solitude; But cleaving the air with rapid wing, The dove returned, and back did bring His tale of the flood subdued. At first she found no spot whereon To rest her from weary flight; And onward she flew, and on, and on, Till now at length she gazed upon The mountain tops in sight; And the dove returned with her letter—a leaf (Of mickle meaning, I trow, though brief), Which Noah read with delight. Not easy to rob thy nest, thou dove, By cunning or strength of men; On a shelf of the beetling crag above Was thy castle of strength, thy home of love, Who dare come near thee then? Harmless and gentle ever wert thou, Dear, darling dove! In the ear of thy mate with a coo and a bow Still whispering love! Not in silver or gold didst thou delight, Nor of luxuries ever didst dream; Pulse and corn was thy sober bite— Thy drink was the purling stream! Never, dear dove, didst need to buy Linen or silk attire; Nor braided cloth, nor raiment fine Didst thou require. Thy coat, dressed neat with thy own sweet bill, Was of feathers bright green and blue, And closely fitting, impervious still To rain or dew! No creed or paternoster thou Didst sing or say; And yet thy soul is in bliss, I trow, Be 't where it may! That now withouten coffin or shroud In thy little grave thou dost lie, Makes me not sad; but oh, I am wae At the sad death thou didst die.
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Transcriber's Note—the following changes have been made to this text:
Page 418: subsistance to subsistence.