There is no joy without the clan Donald,
No battle when they are awanting;
First of the clans in all the earth,
Each man of them is a hundred.
The noblest clan which you can find,
A race as brave as they are peaceful;
The clan whose praise does fill the lands,
Famed for their faith and godliness.
The clan so faithful, bold, and brave,
The clan so swift amidst the fight,
The clan so gentle among men,
And yet in battle none so fierce;
The clan most numerous of all
Whose number has been ever known.
The clan which never vexed the Church,
And ever dreaded its reproach.
Of all that dwell in Albin green,
This is the bravest e’er baptized.
The third of every land is theirs,
Their bravery is like the falcon’s.
The clan most numerous and famous,
Of finest form and fairest mould;
The clan that has the largest hearts,
Most patient and most liberal.
They, sons of kings, deserved no gibe
When asked in trouble to give help.
Noble were they since the time
When there was giving and poor ones.
The clan for wine and shelter best,
The first in prowess and in strength.
’Tis sad how short the length extends
Given by him who spins your thread.
They were not wicked and rough,
Nor were they gentle and weak.
In midst of trial and hardships,
Not harder than them was the rock.
The clan without pride or misdeeds,
When the spoil of battle is theirs.
’Mongst them you’d find gentlemen,
And common people with them.
Pity him who has lost their defence,
Pity him who forsakes their protection.
There is no clan like the clan Donald,
The noble clan of firmest mind.
Who is there can number their gifts?
Who is there can count their nobles?
Without limit, commencement or close,
Of excellencies among their gentry.
First of all with the clan Donald,
There is knowledge which they learn;
Last of all, there is among them
Polish, generosity, and modesty.
’Tis in sorrow and in grief
Understanding and learning are got,
By him who them would have.
No joy without the clan Donald.
Loud was the sound of their thunder,
This race so wise and faithful,
Though now they be reproached,
There is no joy without the clan Donald.
This people so great in fame,
In courtesy, mind, and firmness,
There is no right without them,
There is no joy without the clan Donald.
The son of his virgin mother,
Who hath earned for us freedom from pain,
Though he be faithful and true,
There is no joy without the clan Donald.
There is no joy.
Alas! alas! this is the head[159]
Which belonged to the blue-armed Conull;
The head where understanding was found,
Noble it was and most lovely.
Alas! alas! this is the eye
That dwelt in generous Conull’s head;
Round which the eyelid wound,
Benevolent it was and manful.
Alas! alas! this is the mouth
In which no bard did folly find;
Its lips so thin, like apples red,
Sweet as honey the mouth of Conull.
Alas! alas! this is the hand
That Conull Mac Scanlan owned;
The hand of him so brave in battle,
The hand of Conull my first beloved.
Alas! alas! this is the side
By which our noble side we laid;
It was a hound from Mull that came,
John did lie upon his side.
Alas! alas! this is the foot
Which ne’er before a warrior fled;
The foot of him in fight most brave,
The foot of the shielded son of Scanlan.
Alas! success e’er followed Conull,
Where’er it was he battle fought;
But now that my tale is done,
This place is the dwelling of tears.
Alas!
[158] This bard has been met with already as an imitator of Ossian.
He was in all likelihood an ecclesiastic. Several of the early Lords
of the Isles were liberal benefactors to the Church, and it is not
unlikely that this liberality called forth the praises of our bard.
The word “bochd,” _poor_, associated in one of the lines of this
composition with “brontachd,” _bestowing_, is often by early Gaelic
writers applied to monks and hermits, who lived upon the beneficence of
the wealthy, and became finally enriched by their gifts.
[159] Mr. O’Curry says regarding this Conull Mac Scanlan, “I don’t know
any person in our history whose name would agree with his but Congal
Claen, son of Scanlan, Prince of Ulster, who fought the battle of Magh
Rath in A.D. 634, in which the Four Masters say he was killed. The old
account says he was disabled, and disappeared no one knows where. It
would be curious if your elegy could be traced up to this hero.”