(a mharbhadh san Fhraing sa bhliadhna 1917)
Thàining naidheachd don dùthaich
Dh’ùraich mulad as ùr dhuinn is bròn,
Nach bu mhaireann am fiùran
A bha measail is cliùiteach na dhòigh;
Learn is duilich ri innseadh,
Thu bhith d’ chàradh gu h-ìosal fon fhòd,
Fad od chàirdean ’s od dhìlsean,
’S fad on dachaidh ’s an tìr thug dhuit Iòn.
Tha do phàrantan lèirte,
’S beag an t-iongnadh an ceum a bhith mall,
On as fìrinn an sgeula
Gun do spìonadh a’ gheug às a bonn:
Thàinig saighead bhon nàmhaid,
Chuir a gaithean gu làr thu, ’s b’ e ’n call;
’S iomadh òganach sàr-mhath
Chaidh an là ud gu bàs anns an Fhraing.
Tha do pheathraichean brònach,
’S tha do bhràithrean fo leòn ’s tu gan dìth;
’S tu gun dèanadh an còmhnadh.
Bha thu tuigseach is eòlach ’s gach gnìomh;
Nuair a ghlaodhte thar chàich riut
Air an raon latha bhlàir ’s anns an strì,
’S tu gun seasadh an làrach,
Eadar sinne ’s an nàmhaid gar dìon.
B’e sin teisteas an t-sluaigh ort gu lèir;
Bha thu faic’llach ad ghluasad,
Agus measarra, stuama da rèir;
Bha thu smearail mar shaighdear,
Agus iriosal, coibhneil am beus:
’S mise dh’fhaodadh a ghràitinn
Gur e fìrinn tha ’m dhàn ’s nach e breug.
’S iomadh cliù ort ri innseadh
Nach bi mise cur sìos ann am dhàn;
On a dh’fhalbh thu ’s nach till thu
Dh’fhàg thu cridheachan ìosal aig pàirt;
Ach cliù don Tì chaidh a cheusadh
’S a choisinn dhuinn rèite le bhàs,
Gun do shaor Ε dha fhèin thu
Le chorp naomh thoirt mar èirig nad àit’.
’S iomadh aon a tha duilich
Bhon a chual iad mu bhuille do bhàis,
Gun do chrìochnaich thu ’n turas
Nuair a thuit thu le tubaist sa bhlàr:
Seo ’n cogadh thug cìs dhinn,
Ged is fheudar bhith strìochdte nar càs;
Tha ar beatha neo-chinnteach,
Air a coimeas san fhìrinn ri sgàil.
1932
(killed in France in the year 1917)
News has reached our shores
and awoken fresh sorrow and grief,
that the sapling has died
whose manner was admired and esteemed;
it pains me to report
that they lowered you into the soil
far from your family and devoted
and your home in the land that sustained you.
Your parents are distressed,
small wonder their step is so slow,
since the story is true
that the branch from its root has been torn:
from the enemy came an arrow
that felled you with its dart – great the loss!
Many splendid young men
met their death that day in France.
Your sisters are sad
and your brothers are wounded without you;
its you would advise them –
you were wise and insightful in all matters;
when called on over others
on the field of war and in action,
it was you’d hold the ground
between us and the enemy, our protection.
You were truly a gentleman,
as the verdict of the people bore witness;
your behaviour was attentive,
and measured and moderate with it;
you were kindly in manner and modest:
I can say with assurance
that my song tells the truth and no falsehood.
There is much of your renown
that I cannot put down in my poem;
it leaves many hearts raw
that you are gone and will not be returning;
but the Crucified be praised
who gained our atonement by His death,
He released you for Himself
His sacred body a ransom in your stead.
Many persons are hurting
since they heard of the blow of your death;
how you ended your journey
as in ill-fated combat you fell:
this war’s tax is grievous
but resigned we must be to our plight –
our lives are uncertain,
and likened in Scripture to a shadow.