Òrain Nollaige sa Charmina Gadelica

Rugadh is thogadh Alasdair Mac ‘Ille Mhìcheil (1832 – 1912) ann an Lios Mór. Fad cha mhòr leth-cheud bliadhna chruinnich e òrain, ùrnaighean, sean-fhaclan, cleachdaidhean is beul-aithris air feadh na Gàidhealtachd, “bho Arainn gu Gallaibh agus bho Pheairt gu Hiort”, agus dh’fhoillsich e iad anns a’ Charmina Gadelica ann an 1900. ‘S e seo an cruinneachadh as fharsainge a th’ againn de dh’ùrnaighean is bàrdachd às an dualchas beòil-aithris Gàidhlig, air an aiseag bho ghinealach gu ginealach gun a bhith air an sgrìobhadh sìos, agus gun Alasdair bhiodh a’ mhòr-chuid dhiubh air an call.

Mar a chunnaic sinn leis a’ mhìosachan Ghàidhlig, bhuin cuid mhòr de na cleachdaidhean agus na h-oibeagan traidiseanta do àm ro bhuaidh Crìosdaidheachd, ach rè nan linntean chaidh am filleadh a-steach còmhla rithe. Bha, agus ‘s dòcha gu bheil fhathast, na crìochan eadar creidheamh agus saobh-chràbhadh gu math lionn. Leis gun robh dòigh-beatha nan Gàidheal cho cruaidh, nan sgìrean is eileanan iomallach, bu bheag an t-iongnadh nan robh iad airson an dà chuid “crios agus galairsean” a chumail. Bha saobh-cràbhadh gu math laidir fiù ‘s aig na h-iasgairean diadhaidh ann am Machair Rois gus an fhicheadamh linn.

Chan eil dlighe-sgrìobhaidh aig an leabhar fhèin tuilleadh agus tha e ri leughadh air loidhne:

http://archive.org/details/carminagadelica01carmgoog

no
http://www.sacred-texts.com/neu/celt/cg1/index.htm

Seo cuid den chruinneachadh a tha ceangailte ri àm na Nollaige.

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Christmas songs from the Carmina Gadelica

Alexander Carmichael (1832 – 1912) was born and raised on Lismore. For almost 50 years he collected songs, prayers, proverbs, customs and oral traditions all over the Highlands, “from Aran to Caithness and Perth to St Kilda”, and published them in the Carmina Gadelica in 1900. This is most comprehensive collection that we have of prayers and poetry from the Gaelic oral heritage, passed on from generation to generation without being written down, and without Alexander, the majority of them would have been lost.

As we saw with the Gaelic calendar, many of the traditional customs and incantations belonged to a time before the influence of Christianity, but in the course of the centuries they were integrated into it. The borders between belief and superstition were, and perhaps still are, very fluid. It wouldn’t be surprising if the Gaels, in their remote regions and islands and with the tough lives they had, preferred to hang onto both “belt and braces”. Superstition was going strong even among the god-fearing fisherfolk of the Seaboard into the 20th century.

Carmina Gadelica is now out of copyright and can be read online, here
http://archive.org/details/carminagadelica01carmgoog

or here
http://www.sacred-texts.com/neu/celt/cg1/index.htm

Here are some Christmas-related items from the collection:

HEIRE BANNAG [58]

HEY THE GIFT

THESE carols were sung by a band of men who went about from house to house in the townland. The band selected a leader for their singing and for their actions throughout the night. This leader was called ‘fear-duan,’ song-man, and the others were called ‘fir-fuinn,’ chorus-men. When they had sung their carols at a house, two or three bannocks were handed out to them through a window.  The song-man got half of every bannock so received, and the other half went to the chorus-men.

       
  HEIRE Bannag, hoire Bannag,
Heire Bannag, air a bheo.

Chaidh Muire mhin gheal air a glun,
Is e Righ nan dul a bha ’na h-uchd.

Taobh an t-sorcain, taobh an t-searcain,
Buailtear boicionn air an spar.

’G innse duinn gun do rugadh Criosd,
Righ nan righ, a tir na slaint.

Chi mi tulach, chi mi traigh,
Chi mi ullaim air an t-snamh.

Chi mi ainghlean air an luinn,
Tighinn le cimh is cairdeas duinn.

  HEY the Gift, ho the Gift,
Hey the Gift on the living.

The fair Mary went upon her knee,
It was the King of glory who was on her breast.

The side of the sack (?) the side of the sark (?)
The hide is struck upon the spar.

To tell to us that Christ is born,
The King of kings of the land of salvation.

I see the hills, I see the strand,
I see the host upon the wing.

I see angels on clouds, [waves]
Coming with speech and friendship to us.

 

 

 

 BANNAG NAM BUADH [60]

 

THE GIFT OF POWER 

  IS mise Bannag, is mise Bochd,
Is mise Fear na h-oidhche nochd.

Is mise Mac De anns an dorus,
Di-luain air thuaradh nam bannag.

Is uasal Bride mhin-gheal air a glun,
Is uasal High nan dul ’na h-uchd.

Mac na gile, Mac na greine,
Mac Moire mor na De-meine,

Crois air gach guala dheis,
Mis is dorus, fosgail thusa.

Is leir ’omh tulach, is leir ’omh traigh,
Is leir ’omh ainghlean tighinn air snamh.

Is leir ’omh calaman, cuimir, caon,
Tighinn le caomh is cairdeas duinn.

  I AM the Gift, I am the Poor,
I am the Man of this night.

I am the Son of God in the door,
On Monday seeking the gifts.

Noble is Bride the gentle fair on her knee,
Noble the King of glory on her breast.

Son of the moon, Son of the sun
Great Son of Mary of God-like mind.

A cross on each right shoulder,
I am in the door, open thou.

I see the hills, I see the strand,
I see angels heralding on high.

I see the dove shapely, benign,
Coming with kindness and friendship to us.

 
 

 RUGADH BUACHAILLE NAN TREUD [62]

 

THE SHEPHERD OF THE FLOCK WAS BORN 

  OIDHCHE sin a dhealraich an reult,
Rugadh Buachaille nan treud,
Le Oigh nan ceudaibh beus,
Moire Mhathar.

An Trianaid shiorruidh r’a taobh,
Ann am frasach fuar, faoin.
Thig ’s thoir deachamh de d’ mhaoin,
Dh’ an t-Slan-Fhear.

An cobhrach, ciochrach, caomh,
Gun aon dachaidh fo ’n t-saoghal,
Am Fogaran naomha, maoth,
’Manul!

A thri ainglibh nam buadh,
Thigibh, thigibh a nuas;
Do Chriosd an t-sluaigh
Thugaibh failte.

Pogaibh a bhasa,
Tioramaichibh a chasa
Le falt bhur cinn;
’S O! Thi na cruinne,
’S Iosa, Mhicheil, Mhuire,
Na fagaibh sinn.

  THAT night the star shone
Was born the Shepherd of the Flock,
Of the Virgin of the hundred charms;
The Mary Mother.

The Trinity eternal by her side,
In the manger cold and lowly.
Come and give tithes of thy means
To the Healing Man
.

The foam-white breastling beloved,
Without one home in the world,
The tender holy Babe forth driven,
Immanuel!

Ye three angels of power,
Come ye, come ye down;
To the Christ of the people
Give ye salutation.

Kiss ye His hands,
Dry ye His feet
With the hair of your heads;
And O! Thou world-pervading God,
And Ye, Jesu, Michael, Mary,
Do not Ye forsake us.


 

Barrachd air Pròiseact MhicGilleMhìcheil MhicBhatair an seo: http://www.carmichaelwatson.lib.ed.ac.uk/cwatson/gd/

 More on the Alexander Camichael / Watson archive project here: http://www.carmichaelwatson.lib.ed.ac.uk/cwatson/