I. The Young King of Easaidh Ruadh, pp.1-11.

As told by James Wilson, Blind Fiddler, June 9th, 1859, to Hector MacLean in Islay, Argyll.

 

THE young king of Easaidh Ruadh, after he got the heirship to himself, was at much merry making, looking out what would suit him, and what would come into his humour. There was a GRUAGACH near his dwelling, who was called Gruagach carsalach sonn – (The brown curly long-haired one.)

He thought to himself that he would go to play a game with him. He went to the Seanagal (soothsayer) and he said to him –

I am made up that I will go to game with the Gruagach carsalach donn.

(Tha mi air a dheanadh suas gun d’théid mi dh’ iomairt cluiche ris a’ ghruagach charsalach dhonn.)

Aha!”

said the Seanagal,

“Art thou such a man? Art thou so insolent that thou art going to play a game against the Gruagach carsalach donn? ‘Twere my advice to thee to change thy nature and not go there.”

(Aha! An duine mar so thu? Am bheil thu cho uaibhreach ‘s gu bheil thu a’ dol a dh’ iomairt cluiche ris a a’ ghruagach charsalach dhonn? B’e mo chomhairle dhuit do nadur atharrachadh ‘s gun dol ann.)

“I won’t do that,”

(Cha dean mi sin.)

said he.

‘Twere my advice to thee, if thou shouldst win of the Gruagach carsalach donn, to get the cropped rough-skinned maid that is behind the door for the worth of thy gaming, and many a turn will he put off before thou gettest her.”

(B’e mo chomhairle dhuit bhùidhneas thu air a’ ghruagach charsalach dhonn, an nighean mhaol charrach a tha cùl an doruis fhaotainn air son brìgh do cluiche, ‘s cuiridh e ioma car dheth mu’m faigh thu i.)

He lay down that night, and if it was early that the day came, ’twas earlier than that that the king arose to hold gaming against the Gruagach. He reached the Gruagach, he blessed the Gruagach, and the Gruagach blessed him. Said the Gruagach to him,

“Oh young king of Easaidh Ruadh, what brought thee to me today? Wilt thou game with me?”

(A righ òg Easaidh Ruagh, dè thug a’ m’ionnsuidh an diugh thu? An iomair thu cluiche rium?)

They began and they played the game. The king won.

Lift the stake of thy gaming so that I may get (leave) to be moving.

(Tog brìgh do cluiche ‘s gu’m faighinn a bhi ‘g imeachd.)

The stake of my gaming is to give me the cropped rough-skinned girl thou hast behind the door.

(‘S e brìgh mo chluiche thu thoirt domh na nighin maoil carraich a th’ agad air cùl an doruis.) 

Many a fair woman have I within besides her.

(‘S iomad boireannach maiseach a th’agamsa stigh a bharrachd urra.)

said the Gruagach.

I will take none but that one.

(Cha ghabh mi gin ach i sìod.)

“Blessing to thee and cursing to thy teacher of learning.”

(Beannach dhuitse ‘s mollachd do d’ oid-ionnsachaidh.)

They went to the house of the Gruagach, and the Gruagach set in order twenty young girls.

Lift now thy choice from amongst these.

(Tog a nis do roghainn asda sin.)

One was coming out after another, and every one that would come out she would say,

I am she; art thou not silly that art not taking me with thee?

(Is mis’ I; ‘s amaideach thu nach ‘eil ‘g am thobhairtse leat.)

But the Seanagal had asked him to take none but the last one that would come out. When the last one came out, he said,

“This is mine.”

(Seo mo thè-sa.)

He went with her, and when they were a bit from the house, her form altered, and she is the loveliest woman that was on earth. The king was going home full of joy at getting such a charming woman.

He reached the house, and he went to rest. If it was early that the day arose, it was earlier than that that the king arose to go to game against the Gruagach.

“I must absolutely go to game with the Gruagach today,”

(Is èigin domh dol a dh’iomairt cluiche ris a ghruagaich an diugh.)

said he to his wife.

“Oh!”

said she,

That’s my father, and if thou goest to game with him, take nothing for the stake of thy play but the dun shaggy filly that has the stick saddle on her.

(Oh! Sin m’athair ‘s may thèid thu dh’iomairt cluiche ris, na gabh ni sam bith airson brìgh do chluiche ach an loth pheallagach odhar a tha ‘n diollaid mhaid urra.)

The king went to encounter the Gruagach, and surely the blessing of the two to each other was not beyond what it was before.

“Yes!”

said the Gruagach,

“How did thy young bride please thee yesterday?”

(Seadh! Demur a chòrd do bhean òg riut an dé?)

“She pleased fully.”

(Chord gu h-iomlan.)

“Hast thou come to game with me today?

(An d’ thàinig thu dh’iomairt cluiche rium an diugh?)

“I came.”

(Thàinig.)

They began at the gaming, and the king won from the Gruagach on that day.

Lift the stake of thy gaming, and be sharp about it.

(Tog brìgh do chluiche ‘s bi ealamh leis.)

“The stake of my gaming is the dun shaggy filly on which is the stick saddle.”

(‘S e brìgh mo chluiche gum faigh mi an loth pheallagach odhar air a’ bheil an dìollaid mhaide.)

They went away together. They reached the dun shaggy filly. He took her out from the stable, and the king put his leg over her and she was the swift heroine! He went home. His wife had her hands spread before him, and they were cheery together that night.

I would rather myself,”

said his wife,

“that thou shouldest not go to game with the Gruagach any more, for if he wins he will put trouble on thy head.

(B’ fhearr leam fèin, nach rachadh thu ‘dh’iomairt cluiche ris a’ ghruagach tuillidh, chionn ma bhuidhneas e cuiridh e dragh ann ad cheann.)

I won’t do that,”

said he,

“I will go to play with him today.

(Cha dean mi sin. Thèid mi dh’iomairt cluiche ris an diugh.)

He went to play with the Gruagach. When he arrived, he thought the Gruagach was seized with joy.

Hast thou come?

(An d’ thàinig thu?)

he said.

“I came.”

(Thàinig.)

They played the game, and, as a cursed victory for the king, the Gruagach won that day.

“Lift the stake of thy game,”

said the young king of Easaidh Ruadh,

“and be not heavy on me, for I cannot stand to it.”

(Tog brìgh do chluiche, ‘s na bi trom orm, chionn cha-n urrainn mi seasamh ris.)

The stake of my play is,”

said he,

“that I lay it as crosses and as spells on thee, and as the defect of the year, that the cropped rough-skinned creature, more uncouth and unworthy than thou thyself, should take thy head, and thy neck, and thy life’s look off, if thou dost not get for me the GLAIVE of LIGHT of the king of the oak windows.”

(S’ e brìgh mo chluiche-sa gu bheil mi ‘cur mar chroisean, ‘us mar gheasan ort, ‘us mar sheisean na bliadhna, am beathach maol, carrach is mithreubhaiche ‘s is mi-threònaiche na thu féin, a thoirt do chinn ‘s do mhuineil ‘s do choimhead-beatha dhiot, mar am faigh thu dhomhsa CLAIDHEAMH SOLUIS rìgh nan uinneagan daraich.)

The king went home, heavily, poorly, gloomily. The young queen came meeting him, and she said to him,

Mohrooai! my pity! there is nothing with thee tonight.”

(Mo thruaighe! Cha ‘n eil ni ‘sam bith leat a nochd.)

Her face and her splendour gave some pleasure to the king when he looked on her brow, but when he sat on a chair to draw her towards him, his heart was so heavy that the chair broke under him.

“What ails thee, or what should ail thee, that thou mightest not tell it to me?”

(Dè th’ ort, na bhiodh ort, nach fhaodadh thu innseadh dhomhsa?)

said the queen. The king told how it happened.

“Ha!”

said she,

what should’st thou mind, and that thou hast the best wife in Erin, and the second best horse in Erin. If thou takest my advice, thou wilt come (well) out of all these things yet.

(Ud! De amhail a chuireas thu air, ‘s gur ann agad a tha ‘bhean is fheàrr ‘an Eirinn, ‘s an darra each is fheàrr ‘an Eirinn. Ma ghabhas thu mo chomhairle-sa thig thu as gach ni dhiubh sin fhathasd.)

If it was early that the day came, it was earlier than that that the queen arose, and she set order in everything, for the king was about to go on his journey. She set in order the dun shaggy filly, on which was the stick saddle, and though he saw it as wood, it was full of sparklings with gold and silver. He got on it; the queen kissed him, and she wished him victory of battlefields.

I need not be telling thee anything. Take thou the advice of thine own she comrade, the filly, and she will tell thee what thou shouldest do.

(Cha ruig mise leas a bhi ‘g innseadh ni sam bith dhuit, gabh thusa comhairle do bhana-chompanaich féin, an loth, ‘s innsidh i duit dé ‘s còir dhuit a dheanamh.)

He set out on his journey, and it was not dreary to be on the dun steed.

She would catch the swift March wind that would be before, and the swift March wind would not catch her. They came at the mouth of dusk and lateness, to the court and castle of the king of the oak windows.

Said the dun shaggy filly to him,

We are at the end of the journey, and we have not to go any further; take my advice, and I will take thee where the sword of light of the king of the oak windows is, and if it comes with thee without scrape or creak, it is a good mark on our journey. The king is now at his dinner, and the sword of light is in his own chamber. There is a knob on its end, and when thou catchest the sword, draw it softly out of the window ‘case.’

(Tha sinn aig ar turuis, ‘s cha-n’ eil againn ri dol na ‘s fhaide, gabh thusa mo chomhairle-sa ‘s bheir mi thu far am bheil claidheamh soluis rìgh nan uinneagan daraich, ‘s ma thig e leat gun sgread gun sgrioch, ‘s comharradh maith air ar turus e. Tha ‘n rìgh nis aig a dhinneir, ‘s tha ‘n claidheamh soluis ‘n a sheòmbar fèin. Tha cnap air a cheann, ‘s nur a bheireas thu air a claidheamh tarruinn gu réidh mach a ‘case’ na h-uinneig e.)

He came to the window where the sword was. He caught the sword and it came with him softly till it was at its point, and then it gave a sort of a “sgread.”

We will now be going,”

said the filly.

“It is no stopping time for us. I know the king has felt us taking the sword out.

(Bithidh sinn a nis aig imeachd. Cna-n àm stad duinn e, tha fios agam gun do mhothaich an rìgh dhuinn a toirt a chlaidheamh a mach.)

He kept his sword in his hand, and they went away, and when they were a bit forward, the filly said,

We will stop now, and look thou whom thou seest behind thee.”

(Stadaidh sinn a nis ‘s amhaircidh thu co ‘chi thu ‘d dheigh.)

“I see,”

said he,

a swarm of brown horses coming madly.”

(Chi mi, sgaoth dh’ eachaibh donna ‘tighinn air bhàinidh.)

We are swifter ourselves than these yet.

(‘S luaithe sinn féin na iad sin fathasd.)

said the filly. They went, and when they were a good distance forward,

“Look now,”

said she;

“whom seest thou coming?”

(Amhairc a nis co ‘chi thu teachd.)

I see a swarm of black horses, and one white-faced black horse, and he is coming and coming in madness, and a man on him.

(Chi mi sgaoth dh’ eacha dubha, agus aon each blàr dubh, ‘s e a tighinn air a chuthach, ‘s duin’ air a mhuin.)

That is the best horse in Erin; it is my brother, and he got three months more nursing than I, and he will come past me with a whirr, and try if thou wilt be so ready, that when he comes past me, thou wilt take the head off the man who is on him; for in the time of passing he will look at thee, and there is no sword in his court will take off his head but the very sword  that is in thy hand.

(‘S e sin an t-each is fheàrr an Eirinn, ‘s e mo bhràthair a th’ ann, ‘s fhuair e ràidhe banaltrachd a bharrachd ormsa, agus thig e seachad ormsa le sreann, ‘s feuch am bi thu cho tapaidh ‘s ‘nur a thig e seachad ormsa an d’ thoir thu ‘n ceann de ‘n fhear a th’ air a mhuin; chionn an àm dol seachad amhaircidh e ortsa, ‘s cha-n ‘eil claidheamh ‘n a chùirt a bheir an ceann deth, ach a ‘cheart chlaidheamh a tha’d laimh.)

When this man was going past, he gave his head a turn to look at him, he drew the sword and he took his head off, and the shaggy dun filly caught it in her mouth.

This was the king of the oak windows.

Leap on the black horse”

said she,

“and leave the carcass there, and be going home as fast as he will take thee home, and I will be coming as best I may after thee.

(Leum air muin an eich dhiubh ‘s fag a chlosach an sìod, ‘s bi ‘dol dachaidh cho luath ‘s a bheir e dachaidh thu, ‘s bithidh mise ‘tighinn mar is fheàrr a dh’ fhaodas mi ‘n ‘ur déigh.)

He leaped on the black horse, and, “Moirë!he was the swift hero, and they reached the house long before day. The queen was without rest till he arrived. They raised music, and thay laid down woe. On the morrow, he said,

“I am obliged to go to see the Gruagach today, to try if my spells will be loose.”

(‘S éigin dòmhsa dol a dh’amharc na Gruagach an diugh, feuch am bi mo gheasan ma sgaoil.)

Mind that it is not as usual the Gruagach will meet thee. He will meet thee furiously, wildly, and he will say to thee, “Did thou get the sword?” And say thou that thou hast got it; he will say, “How didst thou get it?” And thou shalt say, “If it were not the knob that was on its end I had not got it.” He will ask thee again, “How didst thou get the sword?” And thou wilt say, “If it were not the knob that was on its end, I had not got it.” Then he will give himself a lift to look what knob is on the sword, and thou wilt see a mole on the right side of his neck, and stab the point of the sword in the mole; and if thou dost not hit the mole, thou and I are done. His brother was the king of the oak windows, and he knows that till the other had lost his life, he would not part with the sword. The death of the two is in the sword, but there is no other sword that will touch them but it.”

(Cuimhnich nach ann mar a b-àbhaist a dh’ amaiseas a Gruagach ort. Coinnichidh e thu gu feargach fiadhaich ‘s their e riut, “An d’fhuair thu ‘n claidheamh?” ‘S abair thusa gun d’fhuair. Their e riut, “ciod e mar a fhuair thu e?” us their thusa, “Mar b’e an cnap a bh’air a cheann cha d’fhuair mi e.” Foigh-nichidh e rithisd diot, “Demur a fhuair thu ‘n claidheamh,” ‘s their thusa, “Mar b’e an cnap a bh’air a cheann cha d’fhuair mi e.” Bheir e ‘n so togail air a dh’ amharc ciod e ‘n cnap a th’ air a chlaidheamh ‘s chì thu ball-dorain taobh deas a mhuneil, agus stob bàrr a chlaidheamh anns a bhall-dorain ‘s mar amais thu air a bhall-dorain, tha thuso ‘s mise réidh. B’ e ‘bhràthair rìgh nan uinneagan daraich e, ‘s tha fhios aige an cailleadh am fear eile ‘bheatha nach dealaicheadh e ris a chlaidheamh. Tha bàs an dithis ‘s a chlaidheamh; ach cha-n ‘eil claidheamh eile dhear-gas orr’ ach e.)

The queen kissed him, and she called on victory of battlefields (to be) with him, and he went away.

The Gruagach met him in the very same place where he was before.

Didst thou get the sword?

(An d’ fhuair tha ‘n claidheamh?)

I got the sword.

(Fhuair mi ‘n claidheamh.)

How didst thou get the sword?”

(Démur a fhuair thu ‘n claidheamh?)

“If it were not the knob that was on its end I had not got it,”

(Mur b’e an cnap a bh’ air a cheann cha n’ faighinn e,)

said he.

Let me see the sword.

(Leig fhaicinn domh an claidheamh.)

“It was not laid on me to let thee see it.”

(Cha robh e mar fhiachaibh orm a leigeil fhaicinn duit.)

“How didst thou get the sword?”

(Demur a fhuair thu ‘n claidheamh?)

“If it were not the knob that was on its end, I got it not.”

(Mur b’e an cnap a bh’ air a cheonn cha d’ fhuair mi e.)

The Gruagach gave his head a lift to look at the sword; he saw the mole; he was sharp and quick, and he thrust the sword into the mole, and the Gruagach fell down dead.

He returned home, and when he returned home, he found his set of keepers and watchers tied back to back, without wife, or horse, or sweetheart of his, but was taken away.

When he loosed them, they said to him,

A great giant came and he took away thy wife and thy two horses.

(Thàinig famhair mòr agus thug e air folbh do bhean agus do dhà each.)

Sleep will not come on mine eyes nor rest on mine head till I get my wife and my two horses back.

(Cha d’ théid cadal air mo shùil no fois air mo cheum, gus am faigh mi mo bhean agus mo dhà each air an ais.)

In saying this, he went on his journey. He took the side that the track of the horses was, and he followed them diligently. The dusk and lateness were coming on him, and no stop did he make until he reached the side of the green wood. He saw where there was the forming of the site of a fire, and he thought that he would put fire upon it, and thus he would put the night past there.

He was not long here at the fire, when “CU SEANG” of the green wood came on him.

He blessed the dog, and the dog blessed him.

“Oov! oov!”

said the dog,

Bad was the plight of thy wife and thy two horses here last night with the big giant.

(Ubh! Ùbh! B’ olc diol do mhnatha ‘s do dhà each an so an raoir aig an fhamhair mhòr.)

It is that which has set me so pained and pitiful on their track tonight; but there is no help for it.

(‘S e sin a chuir mise cho peanasach truagh air an tòir a nochd, ach cha-n’ ‘eii arach’ air.)

Oh! King,”

said the dog,

“thou must not be without meat.

(A! Rìgh, cha-n’ fhaod thu bhi gun bhiadh.)

The dog went into the wood. He brought out creatures, and they made them meat contentedly.

“I rather think myself”

said the king,

“that I may turn home; that I cannot go near that giant.”

(Tha dùil agam féin gum faod mi tilleadh dachaidh, nach urrainn mi dol a chòir an fhamhair sin.)

Don’t do that,”

said the dog,

“There’s no fear of thee, king. Thy matter will grow with thee. Thou must not be here without sleeping.”

(Na dean sin. Cha-n’ eagal duit a rìgh, cinn’idh do ghnothuch leat. Cha-n ‘fhaod thu bhi so gun chadal.)

“Fear will not let me sleep without a warranty.”

(Cha leig an t-eagal domh cadal ‘s gun bharantas orm.)

Sleep thou,”

said the dog,

“and I will warrant thee.

(Caidil thus’, ‘s barantachaidh mis’ thu.)

The king let himself down, stretched out at the side of the fire, and he slept. When the watch broke, the dog said to him,

Rise up, king, till thou gettest a morsel of meat that will strengthen thee, till thou wilt be going on thy journey. Now,”

said the dog,

“if hardship or difficulty comes on thee, ask my aid, and I will be with thee in an instant.

(Eirich, a rìgh, ‘us gun gabhadh thu greim bìdh a neartaicheas thu, ‘s bitheadh thu dol air do thurus. Nis, ma thig cruadhchas no càs ort, iarr mo chuideachadh, ‘s bithidh mi agad a thiotadh.)

They left a blessing with each other, and he went away. In the time of dusk and lateness, he came to a great precipice of rock, and there was the forming of the site of a fire.

He thought he would gather dry fuel, and that he would set on fire. He began to warm himself, and he was not long thus when the hoary hawk of the grey rock came on him.

“Oov! oov!”

said she,

Bad was the plight of thy wife and thy two horses last night with the big giant.

(Ubh! Ùbh! B’ olc diol do mhnatha ‘s do dhà each an rair aig an fhamhair mhòr.)

There is no help for it,”

said he.

“I have got much of their trouble and little of their benefit myself.

(Cha-n’ ‘eil arach’ air. Fhuair mi féin mòran d’ an dragh is beagan d’ an àbhachd.)

Catch courage,”

said she.

“Thou wilt get something of their benefit yet. Thou must not be without meat here,

(Glac misneach, Gheobh thu rudeigin d’ an àbhachd fhathasd. Cha n’ fhaod thu bhi gun bhiadh an so,)

said she.

“There is no contrivance for getting meat,”

(Cha-n’ ‘eil seòl air biadh fhaotainn ars’ esan,)

said he.

We will not be long getting meat,

(Cha-n fhada bhitheas sinn a faotainn bìdh,)

said the falcon. She went, and she was not long when she came with three ducks and eight blackcocks in her mouth, They set their meat in order, and they took it.

“Thou must not be without sleep,”

(Cha-n fhaod thu bhi gun chadal,)

said the falcon.

“How shall I sleep without a warranty over me, to keep me from any one evil that is here.”

(Demur a chaidleas mi gun bharantas ‘sam bith orm gu mo dhìon o aon olc a tha ‘n so?)

Sleep thou, king, and I will warrant thee.

(Caidil thusa, rìgh, ‘s barantachaidh mis’ thu.)

He let himself down, stretched out, and he slept.

In the morning, the falcon set him on foot.

Hardship or difficulty that comes on thee, mind, at any time, that thou wilt get my help.

(Cruadhchas no càs a thig ort, cuimhnich aig àm sam bith gum faigh thu mo chuideachadhsa.)

He went swiftly, sturdily. The night was coming, and the little birds of the forest of branching bushy trees, were talking about the briar roots and the twig tops; and if they were, it was stillness, not peace for him, till he came to the side of a great river that was there, and at the bank of the river there was the forming of the site of a fire. The king blew a heavy, little spark of fire. He was not long here when there came as company for him the brown otter of the river.

“Och! och!”

said the otter,

“Bad was the plight of thy wife and thy two horses last night with the giant.”

(Och! Och! B’olc dìol do mhnatha ‘n so an rair aig an fhamhair.)

There is no help for it. I got much of their trouble and little of their benefit.

(Cha-n ‘eil arach’ air, fhuair mise mòran d’ an dragh is beagan d’ an àbhachd.)

Catch courage, before midday tomorrow thou wilt see thy wife. Oh! king, thou must not be without meat.

(Glac misneach, fo mheadhon latha màireach chì thu do bhean. A! Rìgh, cha ‘n fhaod thu bhi gun bhiadh.)

said the otter.

How is meat to be got here?

(Demur a gheibhear biadh an so?)

said the king. The otter went through the river, and she came and three salmon with her, that were splendid. They made meat, and they took it. Said the otter to the king,

Thou must sleep.

(Feumaidh tu cadal.)

How can I sleep without any warranty over me?

(Demur a chaidleas mi ‘s gun barantachadh sam bith orm?)

Sleep thou, and I will warrant thee.

(Caidil thusa ‘s barantachaidh mis’ thu an nochd.)

The king slept. In the morning, the otter said to him,

Thou wilt be this night in presence of thy wife.

(Bithidh thu an nochd an làthair do mhnatha.)

He left blessing with the otter.

Now,”

said the otter,

“if difficulty be on thee, ask my aid and thou shalt get it.”

(Nis, ma bhitheas càs ort, iarr mo chuideachadh-sa, ‘s gheobh thu e.)

The king went till he reached a rock, and he looked down into a chasm that was in the rock, and at the bottom he saw his wife and his two horses, and he did not know how he should get where they were. He went round till he came to the foot of the rock, and there was a fine road for going in. He went in, and if he went it was then she began crying.

“Ud! ud!”

said he,

“This is bad! If thou art crying now when I myself have got so much trouble coming about thee.

(Ud! Ud! ‘S olc so, mi féin a dh’ fhaotainn na huibhir de dhragh a tighinn ma d’ thuaiream, ma ‘s ann a caoineadh a tha thu nis.)

Oo!”

said the horses,

“Set him in front of us, and there is no fear for him, till we leave this.

(U! Cuir thus’ air’ ur beulthaobh-ne e, ‘s cha-n eagal da gus am fàg sinne so.)

She made meat for him, and she set him to rights, and when they were a while together, she put him in front of the horses. When the giant came, he said,

The smell of the stranger is within.

(Tha boladh an fharbhalaich a stigh.)

Says she,

“My treasure! My joy and my cattle! There is nothing but the smell of the litter of the horses.”

(M’ ullaidh, is m’aighear, is m’ fheudail, cha-n’ eil ann ach boladh a bhalaidh bhreuna de na h-eachaibh.)

At the end of a while he went to give meat to the horses, and the horses began at him, and they all but killed him, and he hardly crawled from them.

Dear thing,”

said she,

“they are like to kill thee.

(Ghràigh, tha iad a brath do mharbhadh.)

If I myself had my soul to keep, its long since they had killed me,

(Na’m b’ ann agam féin a bhitheadh m’ anam g’a ghleidheadh ‘s fhad’ o’n a mharbh iad mi.)

said he.

Where, dear, is thy soul? By the books I will take care of it.

(C’ ait’ a ghràidh am bheil d’ anam? An leòbhra, gabhaidh mise cùram deth.)

It is,”

said he,

“in the Bonnach stone.”

(Tha e ann an clach Bonnach.)

When he went on the morrow, she set the Bonnach stone in order exceedingly. In the time of dusk and lateness, the giant came home. She set her man in front of the horses. The giant went to give the horses meat and they mangled him more and more.

What made thee set the Bonnach stone in order like that?

(Ciod e ‘thug ort clach Bonnach a chur an òrdugh mur sin?)

said he.

Because thy soul is in it.

(Chionn gu bheil d’ anam innte.)

I perceive that if thou didst know where my soul is, thou wouldst give it much respect.

(Tha mi ‘g aithneachadh nam bitheadh fìos agad c’ aite ‘bheil m’ anam, gun d’ thugadh thu t’aire mhaith dhà.)

I would give (that).

(Bheireadh.)

said she.

“It is not there, my soul is; it is in the threshold.”

(Cha-n ann an ain a tha m’anam ‘s ann a tha e ‘sa starsaich.)

She set in order the threshold finely on the morrow. When the giant returned, he went to give meat to the horses, and the horses mangled him more and more.

What brought thee to set the threshold in order like that?”

(Dé ‘thug ort an starsach a chuir an ordugh mar sud?)

Because thy soul is in it.

(Chionn gu bheil d’ anam innte.)

I perceive if thou knewest where my soul is, that thou wouldst take care of it.

(Tha mi ‘g aithneachadh na ‘m bitheadh fìos agad far am bheil m’ anam gun gabhadh tù cùram dheth.)

I would take that,

(Ghabhadh,)

said she.

It is not there that my soul is,”

said he.

“There is a great flagstone under the threshold. There is a wether under the flag. There is a duck in the wether’s belly, and an egg in the belly of the duck, and it is in the egg that my soul is.

(Cha-n’ ann an sin a tha m’ anam. Tha leac mhòr fo ‘n starsaich, tha molt fo ‘n leachd, tha lach ‘am broinn a mhuilt, agus tha ubh am broinn na lacha, agus ‘s ann anns an ubh a tha m’ anam.)

When the giant went away on the morrow’s day, they raised the flagstone and out went the wether.

If I had the slim dog of the green wood, he would not be long bringing the wether to me.”

(Na ‘m bitheadh agamsa cù seang na coill’ uaine, cha b’ fhad ‘a bhitheadh e ‘toirt a’ mhuilt a m’ionnsuidh.)

The slim dog of the geenwood came with the wether in his mouth. When they opened the wether, out was the duck on the wing with the other ducks.

If I had the Hoary Hawk of the grey rock, she would not be long bringing the duck to me.

(Na’m bitheadh agamsa seobhag liath na creige glaise, cha b’ fhada’ bhitheadh i ‘toirt na lach a m’ionnsuidh.)

The Hoary Hawk of the grey rock came with the duck in her mouth; when they split the duck to take the egg from her belly, out went the egg into the depth of the ocean.

If I had the brown otter of the river, he would not be long bringing the egg to me.

(Na’m bitheadh agamsa doran donn na h-amhann, cha b’fhada bhitheadh i ‘toirt a m’ionnsuidh an uibhe.)

The brown otter came and the egg in her mouth, and the queen caught the egg, and she crushed it between her two hands. The giant was coming in the lateness, and when she crushed the egg, he fell down dead, and he has never yet moved out of that. They took with them a great deal of his gold and silver. they passed a cheery night with the brown otter of the river, a night with the hoary falcon of the grey rock, and a night with the slim dog of the greenwood. They came  home and they set in order “a CUIRM CURAIDH CRIDHEIL,” a hearty hero’s feast, and they were lucky and well pleased after that.

3 thoughts on “I. The Young King of Easaidh Ruadh, pp.1-11.

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