Elegy to Hugh of Baleshare
Woe is me for the breach on the Seed of Conn, alas for your distress and bereavement, a sorry tale that is great in hurt, 'tis a sharp sting to suffer.
A sharp sting is the sting of death, it buried its wound in our side when the heroes were driven from us, a tale that is hard to tell this day.
When our precious chief was taken from us, it was a sore misfortune that the rest were sinking as swiftly as the stone falls down the glen:
Before a full half-year was out we lost the Goodman of Vallay and his son, our excellent captain the Goodman of Ord, Archibald, without expectation of his return.
There are men in the chapel at rest, John and the Factor first of all: a good warranty were they for a land to defend it in peace and honour.
Is not that a great breach on us along with our breach this day, such a number of great leaders? From the vanguard of Clan Donald were the men.
Those were the men greatly esteemed in the place where their foot had never stood, of whom a good report was heard in a country where the people knew them not.
A company with many awanting — they may be met on one hill; sorrowful this night is the feast — the grandson of the Earl of Duntulm under a pall.
The true warrior about whom many a person is grieved going under a slab, an excellent hero who would check pursuit and whom threat would not repel,
Who, if trouble came our way, would stand manfully at our head, without defect to be found in him in heart or arm or blade.
The man who was a man in every situation, approachable and friendly without adulation, captain of a host with no appearance of being timid, a strong shoulder in the strife.
A man active, bold, and skilful, a man rich in every attribute, who would speak the truth with understanding, and (his) was not the tongue with me and with thee.
Tis I saw the time when noble was thy bloom and hue, a manly man of princely face, glance of the eyes that was not flinching.
Handsome calf and spirited thigh, well-formed body of great strength; in looks and valour and deeds thy son were match for an earl.
A countryside's leader in stiff adventure, leader of the people in rising of a host, a chieftain who would not suffer contempt, and who could put an end to strife.
A manly man who grew up hardy, in whom there was hardihood and authority, a man in whom there was pity and compassion to relieve a man in want;
A man in whom there was marrow and spirit, a man in whose mind there was no deceit, who would not strike the blow from behind, and who would not nurse ill-will for anyone.
In one thousand and seven hundred three score years and nine did beloved Hugh take his leave of us; three score and three was his age.
Wounded now are we, the great race of many virtues; if ye were ever a cause of envy, at this time (ye are) an object of pity.
A tree stripped on every side are we, a tree that has not borne its fruit; our men of years do not remain alive, and our young men do not attain maturity.
Let us look now unto God; a sure end for us is death; let us run our course evenly, and let us ask God's Son as guard.
A sharp sting is the sting of death, it buried its wound in our side when the heroes were driven from us, a tale that is hard to tell this day.
When our precious chief was taken from us, it was a sore misfortune that the rest were sinking as swiftly as the stone falls down the glen:
Before a full half-year was out we lost the Goodman of Vallay and his son, our excellent captain the Goodman of Ord, Archibald, without expectation of his return.
There are men in the chapel at rest, John and the Factor first of all: a good warranty were they for a land to defend it in peace and honour.
Is not that a great breach on us along with our breach this day, such a number of great leaders? From the vanguard of Clan Donald were the men.
Those were the men greatly esteemed in the place where their foot had never stood, of whom a good report was heard in a country where the people knew them not.
A company with many awanting — they may be met on one hill; sorrowful this night is the feast — the grandson of the Earl of Duntulm under a pall.
The true warrior about whom many a person is grieved going under a slab, an excellent hero who would check pursuit and whom threat would not repel,
Who, if trouble came our way, would stand manfully at our head, without defect to be found in him in heart or arm or blade.
The man who was a man in every situation, approachable and friendly without adulation, captain of a host with no appearance of being timid, a strong shoulder in the strife.
A man active, bold, and skilful, a man rich in every attribute, who would speak the truth with understanding, and (his) was not the tongue with me and with thee.
Tis I saw the time when noble was thy bloom and hue, a manly man of princely face, glance of the eyes that was not flinching.
Handsome calf and spirited thigh, well-formed body of great strength; in looks and valour and deeds thy son were match for an earl.
A countryside's leader in stiff adventure, leader of the people in rising of a host, a chieftain who would not suffer contempt, and who could put an end to strife.
A manly man who grew up hardy, in whom there was hardihood and authority, a man in whom there was pity and compassion to relieve a man in want;
A man in whom there was marrow and spirit, a man in whose mind there was no deceit, who would not strike the blow from behind, and who would not nurse ill-will for anyone.
In one thousand and seven hundred three score years and nine did beloved Hugh take his leave of us; three score and three was his age.
Wounded now are we, the great race of many virtues; if ye were ever a cause of envy, at this time (ye are) an object of pity.
A tree stripped on every side are we, a tree that has not borne its fruit; our men of years do not remain alive, and our young men do not attain maturity.
Let us look now unto God; a sure end for us is death; let us run our course evenly, and let us ask God's Son as guard.
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