Bless, O Trinity, thy household,
King of heaven, place of jewels;
Black thy family was not formed,
All by thyself in wisdom made.
By thee ’twas Adam’s race was shaped
The cheek like berries richly red;
Thou who blessest place and people
Curse them that ’gainst thee fierce contend.
There is a pack of cruel hounds,
Who the king’s children sorely grieve;
I hear the baying of these dogs,
Every glen is full of it.
Such as war on Adam’s race,
Since that they cannot silence keep,
Joined together in their evil,
Powers of the king of light them smite;
Such as war on Adam’s race,
Of crafty Lucifer the slaves,
Give them no rest, to them give none,
King of lights do thou them burn.
Mounted on two ugly steeds,
When vicious packs abound the most,
They furiously commence the hunt,
Belching out death on every side.
Curse thou their hunt and devastation,
Their two steeds so black in hue;
Lay them, their backs stretched on the turf,
Scatter the heads of this black band.
There is a band of cruel hounds
Harbouring at Inch Ald Art,
They’re horrid brutes, Thou God forsake them,
Let bags out of their skins be made.
Though many be the skins of wolves,
Covering our harps, both small and great,
The cold and empty skulls are many,
Given us by these fierce hounds.
Father of Christ, with speed them strike
From Lochaber to Raon Fraoich,
Soon let the plague their bodies waste;
’Tis sad that thus I have to speak.
Though no reparation for a true hound,
For Robert’s son[157] of clustering locks.
From Loch Venachar of rich glens,
Many’s the ugly head laid low.
Though from Ben Gulbin’s sunny side,
Many the dogs to Tummel’s stream,
Who know to hunt along its side,
The eye of Christ is on them all.
’Twas told me when at Inverness,
That greyhounds were scattering the pack.
Pity the man who’s seized with fear,
’Tis like the falling sickness, sore.
Pleasing to witness hounds pursue,
Them who would slay the fine grey steeds.
May God’s Son with His holy power,
Destroy all surly cruel hounds.
Smoke every den in Schiehallion,
John Stewart of the bounding steeds,
Ere I must call a sweet-voiced pack
This litter of ugly, snarling curs.
By Garry of John Stewart of the white steed,
No antlers are seen without the head,
While ’mongst the rocky rugged woods,
Are seen the grey-skinned pack of hounds.
Bless.
[156] There are several pieces by this poet in the Dean’s MS., but we
know nothing of his history. He was probably an ecclesiastic.
[157] The piece is extremely obscure, but the reference to Mac Robert
and the Athole Stewarts would seem to indicate that the subjects of the
poem were the murderers of King James the First. The infamous persons
whom the poet denounces are said to have done evil to the race of
kings.