Note 107 — THE BOOK OF THE DEAN OF LISMORE.
Thomas Maclauchlan translation
It may be interesting to many readers to have here a specimen of this poem, as taken down from the oral recitation of a Christina Sutherland, an old woman in the county of Caithness, in the year 1856. It commences thus:
Is trom an nochd mo chumha fein, Guilgeantach mo rian, Smuaineachadh a chath chruaidh, Chuir mise ’us Cairbar claon ruadh, Am macsa Chormaic O Chuinn, Is mairg sinn a thàradh fo ’laimh; Laoch gun ghràin cha do chuir, Annsa dh’ a laimh iuthaidh, etc.
Translation:—
My mourning is grievous this night, Weeping is my condition, As I think of the fierce fight, Fought with red, squint-eyed Cairbre, That son of Cormac O Chuinn; Woe to them fell into his hands, Hero who knew no coward fear, Whose hand took delight in the arrow, etc.
The composition is very much the same with that of the Dean, but in many portions contains lines which the latter wants, and in others is comparatively defective. Although frequently superior in force, it is not, upon the whole, so smooth and regular as the Dean’s edition. It will be given at greater length in the Appendix to this volume.