Gaelic Poems John Campbell book or download

John "Iain" Campbell, The Ledaig Bard, (1823 - 1897) born in Oban, Argyll, raised in Benderloch.

Poet and Songwriter

An enthusiastic Bard of Clan Campbell, he co-founded An Comunn Gaidhealach and the Mod.

A prolific writer of Gaelic poems and songs, the Bard had a typical Celtic spirit with a genial, hospitable personality that won him a countrywide circle of friends. He received many honours, including Fellowships of Celtic, Scientific and Literary Societies.

He spent some time in Glasgow where he developed a profoundly Christian character, before returning to his roots. Opening a small store, running the Post Office and acting as sub-inspector of the poor kept him busy and involved with the community. An Associate of the Botanical Society of Edinburgh, his general love of nature found expression in growing flowers, fruit and vegetables to send to Oban. Campbell Munro, his great grandson still runs the local shop.

Sunday School Teacher

His image endures as the beloved Sunday School teacher and poet with the flowing, white beard who taught the children in a rocky grotto by the seashore. A tree trunk associated with Robert the Bruce's parliament at Ardchattan Priory served as his table. The Campbell Memorial Hall was built in his honour.

The Bard was a man for all people, from the poorest and humblest to the educated and aristocratic, treating them all with a patriarchal, Christian, Celtic equanimity.

On the installation of a new organ in a Taymouth church, Lady Breadalbane sought mottoes from all the leading Gaelic bards. She chose The Ledaig Bard's contribution:

"Thig crioch air an t-saoghal, ach mairidh gaol is ceol"
"The world will come to an end but love and song are eternal".

Gaelic Poems was originally published in 1884. The author's royalties from this edition will go to Mod funds, continuing Iain's life's work of supporting his native language.

Example of John Campbell's verse

AN GAIDHEAL AN TIR CHEIN A' MOLADH TIR A DHUTHCHAIS.

air fonn -" Guidheam slainte do'n ribhinn mhalda ".

Is tric mi cuimhneach air tìr mo dhùthchais,
Air tìr nam beanntan 's nan gleanntan ùrar ;
Air tìr nan sgàrnaichan àrda, ruisgte,
Nan creagan corrach, 's 'nan lochan dùghorm.

Air struthain chaisleach nan caran lùbach,
Ri mire 's gleadhraich feadh bhac a's stùchdan ;
No 'ruith gu sàmhach 'sa' ghleannan chiùin ud,
'S an doire challtuinn gu teann 'g an dùnadh.

An eidheann dhuallach mar sgàil-bhrat uaine,
'S a' gheamhradh 's fuaire fo shnuadh a' fàs,
'S i' dion le 'sgiathan nan àrd-chreag liath ud,
Mar gu 'm b'e h-iarrtus an cumail blàth.

An tonn ri crònan air cladach còmhnard,
Le morbhan bòidheach 'toirt ceòl gu réidh ;
No 'g éirigh suas dhuinn le toirm an uamhais,
'S an cath na chuartaig 'g sguab' do'n speur.

Sud tìr a' chàirdeis 's an d' fhuair mi m' àrach,
'Sa bheil a' Ghàidhlig is àillidh fonn,
'Si thogadh m' inntinn 'nuair bhithinn tursach,
'Sa dh' fhàgadh sunndach mo chridhe trom.

Is tric a thionndaidh mi air mo chul'aobh,
'Nuair chluinnin dlùth i air sraid nan Gall ;
Mo chridhe dh' eireadh mar aiteal gréine,
'Thoirt sùil am dhèigh a dh' fheuch cò "bhiodh ann.

Is ged a shealladh na Goill a' sios oirnn,
'Nuair bhiodhmaid dìreach o thir nam beann ;
Fuidh 'n chairt is suaraiche 's tric a fhuaras,
Am fiodh is luachmhor' am measg nan crann.

'S i sud an dùthaich a thog na fiùrain,
Bha gaisgeil, cliùteach, bha iùlmhor, treun,
A sheasadh laidir a dhion gach càs leinn,
'S gu bràth nach d'fhailnich an là an fheum.

Tha 'n gaisgeadh ainmeil, is tric a dhearbht' e,
Air tìr 's air fairge, an cath 's an strìth ;
B' iad luchd an fhéilidh gu bràth nach géilleadh,
Fhad 's ruitheadh deur de fhuil réidh n' an crìdh'.

'S i'n fhìor fhuil uasal o thir n'an fuar-bheann,
A bhiodh 's a' ghruagaich d'an tugainn spéis ;
Te bhruidhneadh blàth rium 's a' chànain àluinn
Bu ro mhath thàthadh ar gradh r' a cheil'.

'S a chaoidh cha chaochail an tlus tha'm thaobhsa
Do m' thir, 's do m' dhaoine, a b' aobhach leam ;
'S cha leig air dichuimhn' gach comhairl' phrìseil,
Thug teachdair dìleas na firinn dhuinn.

A's ged a ruiginn-sa cùl nan Innsean,
'S gach eilean rìomhach 's na tirean thall ;
Is ann am dhùthaich a ghuidhinn ni' ùir bhi,
'N uair bhiodh mo shùillean ga'n dùnadh teann.

'S mo chead 's an uair so do thir nam buagh ud
'S mo bheannachd buan leis an t-sluagh tha ànn
'S an cliù a fhuair sinn o linn ar sinnsir,
Gu ceann ar crìche nach dealaich ruinn.

Gaelic Poems

Dear land of my fathers, my home in the Highlands,
'Tis oft that I think on thy bonnie green glens,
Thy far-gleaming lochs, and thy sheer-sided corries
Thy dark frowning cliffs and thy glory of Bens !

Thy wild-sweeping torrents, with bound and with bicker
That toss their white manes down the steep rocky brae,
Thy burnies that, babbling o'er beds of the granite,
Through thick copse of hazel are wimpling their way.

Thy close-clinging ivy, with fresh shining leafage,
That blooms through the winter and smiles at the storm,
And spreads its green arms o'er the hoary old castle,
To bind its grey ruin and keep its heart warm.

The sweet-sounding plash of thy light-rippling billows,
As they beat on the sand where the white pebbles lie,
And their thundering war when, with whirling commotion,
They lift their white crests in grim face of the sky.

The land I was born in, the land I was bred in,
Where soft-sounding Gaelic falls sweet on the ear ;
Dear Gaelic, whose accents take sharpness from sorrow,
And fill me despairing, with words of good cheer.

'Twas oft I looked backward, and wistfully turned me,
When my travel-worn foot to the Lowlands was near ;
Like a glimpse of the sun through the dark cloud out-peeping
Was the land of my love which I left with a tear.

What though from the hills, when we first know the Lowlands,
The Lowlander greets us with sneer and with jest ;
Oft times when the bark is the roughest and hardest
The pith is the soundest, the wood is the best !

O this is the country that bore the brave fellows,
High-hearted in purpose, heroic in deed,
Who stood like a rampart from danger to shield us,
Whose help never failed in the hour of our need.

O these were the stout ones whose mettle was tested
On red field of battle and fierce swelling flood
Still forward to strike and still slow to surrender,
Till they shed from their veins the last drop of their blood.

O these are true gentlemen, breed of the mountains,
Whom all bonnie lassies will meet with a smile,
And welcome them home with a voice of endearment,
That sweetens their sorrows, and lightens their toil !

Seasons may roll, but no Time shall divorce me
From the land and the people, the light of mine eyes ;
And memory never shall drop from her quiver
The words I take with me from lips of the wise.

And though I should wander far west to the Indies,
Where the green isles uprise from the clear coral bed,
Be my rest 'neath a sod in the land of the heather,
And a cairn of grey granite be piled on my head !

My blessing be with you, brave land and brave people !
In the bright roll of story is blazoned your name ;
And may the fair fame of our forefathers never
Be blurred with dishonour, or blotted with shame.

CONTENTS of Gaelic Poems.

DO NEOINEAN A BHA A CINNTINN GU DOSRACH URAR FO BHLATH AIR AN RATHAD MHOR AIR MADUINN NA BLIADHNA UIRE, 1868. 79

GAELIC POEMS

JOHN CAMPBELL

Gaelic Poems

ISBN 978-1-4092-9034-6

Poet and Songwriter

Sunday School Teacher

Example of John Campbell's verse

Gaelic Poems

CONTENTS of Gaelic Poems.