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Bha mi ag innse dhuibh mun bhàrd Ailean Dòmhnallach, Ailean an Rids. Bha e à Màbu ann an Ceap Breatainn. Bha e beò eadar seachd ceud deug, naochad ’s a ceithir (1794) agus ochd ceud deug, seasgad ’s a h-ochd (1868). Sgrìobh Oighrig NicFhraing leabhar mu dheidhinn.

ÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌý Bha Ailean na Abrach. Bha e dlùth ri a dhùthchas. Ach cha robh cianalas airson na seann dùthcha a’ tighinn a-steach don bhàrdachd aige. Bha Ailean dhen bheachd gun robh e na b’ fheàrr dheth far an robh e.

ÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌý Chì sinn na beachdan aige anns an dàn Moladh Albainn Nuaidh. Sgrìobh e seo mar fhreagairt do bhàrd eile a bh’ air a bhith a’ moladh Alba.

Ìý

Chuir thu bòilich sìos is bòsd

Air cùisean mòr nad rann,

Searbh a’ ghlòir leam cainnt do bheòil

Oir bha mi eòlach thall:

An Albainn fhuar, ge fada bhuam i

Suarach leam an call,

B’ e fàth an gruaim an càramh cruaidh

Bh’ air truaghain bhochd’ a bh’ ann.

ÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌý

ÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌý Carson a bha e cho trom air Alba? Bha a chionn ’s gun robh na h-uaislean – na h-uachdarain – cho an-iochdmhor.

Ìý

’S i ’n tìr a dh’fhàg thu ’n tìr gun chàirdeas

Tìr gun bhàigh ri Tuath,

Ìý

Ach gu tùrsach iad ga fàgail

’S ànraidh thar a’ chuain:

Daoine bochda, sìol nan coitear

Bha gun stoc gun bhuar,

Ìý

’S mairg a chàin iad tìr an àigh

San d’ fhàs iad nan daoine uaisl’.

Ìý

ÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌý Chì sinn taobh eile dhen bhàrd anns na dàin aige mu dheidhinn deoch làidir. Dh’fhàg Ailean Màbu ann an ochd ceud deug, ceathrad ’s a seachd (1847). Chaidh e a dh’fhuireach ann an Antigonish air tìr-mòr na h-Alba Nuaidhe. Bha an t-àite sin Gàidhealach cuideachd. Ach bha an Eaglais Chaitligeach air a dhol an aghaidh deoch làidir an sin. Agus cha robh Ailean toilichte. Sgrìobh e Ã’ran dhan Deoch. Seo criomag dheth:

Ìý

’S e ’n lagh a rinn am Pàpa

Thug m’ àbhachd gu tùrsa

’S a tharraing mi gu smuairein

Bhon dh’ fhuadaich e ’n drùdhag.

Ìý

I was telling you about the poet Allan MacDonald, Allan the Ridge. He was from Mabou in Cape Breton. He lived between 1794 and 1868. Effie Rankin wrote a book about him.

ÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌý Allan was a Lochaber man. He was close to his dùthchas. But homesickness for the old country didn’t come into his poetry. Allan reckoned he was better off where he was.

ÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌý We see his opinions in the poem In Praise of Nova Scotia. He wrote this as a response to another poet who had been praising Scotland.

ÌýÌý You have boasted loudly

ÌýÌý Of great subjects in your verse,

ÌýÌý Your speech is offensive to me

ÌýÌý For I was well acquainted

ÌýÌý yonder:

ÌýÌý In cold Scotland, though it be

ÌýÌý far from me

ÌýÌý It is no great loss,

ÌýÌý The reason for the gloominess

ÌýÌý is the hardship of its poor

ÌýÌý inhabitants.

ÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌý Why was he so hard on Scotland? Because the gentry – the landlords – were so unmerciful.

The land you left is a land without friendship.

A land without compassion for tenants,

But they are sad to leave it and distressed at the ocean voyage:

Poor people, descendants of cottars who were without stock or cattle,

It’s woeful they criticised the land of joy in which they became gentlemen.

ÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌýÌý We see another side of the bard in his poems about drink. Allan left Mabou in 1847. He went to live in Antigonish on the Nova Scotian mainland. That place was also Gaelic in character. But the Catholic Church had gone against drink there. And Allan wasn’t pleased. He wrote A Song to Drink. Here is a snatch of it:

It’s the law the Pope made

That changed my merriment to sadness

And led me to dejection

Since he banished the drink.