Song to Iain Son of Sir Norman
Though I go to my bed it is not sleep I desire, for the flood is so great and my mill is unshod; the mill-due is to be paid if this year is not to ruin me, and get it I must, though it be that I borrow it.
I dearly love this mason that hath satisfied my spirit; thou great one of sweet-speaking mouth, though silent thou art eloquent; on my word, the castles themselves I'd get for the asking, and despite my state that hath laid me under a debt.
Though I called thee a mason, by my word I spoke falsely; for royal is thy lineage, and full manifest to trace. A true MacLeod fresh and splendid art thou, comely, prudent, wise, and generous, of the race of princely heroes, good as a host to poet bands.
But, thou son of Sir Norman, may every year prosper thee, to give success to thy descendants and increase to thy posterity; and for the rest of thy sire's children in every way they shall fare, may the fruit of my good wishes be accomplished for them as I would desire.
When thou goest to the hill, the hunt goeth right well with thee, with thine eager leash of hounds at thy heel in thy travelling; a slender sure gun withal, tough and straight, with no bend in it; hunter of the hind wert thou, of the blackcock and the moorhen.
I dearly love this Roderick — thy news hath stirred my spirit; a pure and gentle blood-drop art thou, dowered with the brilliance of the peacock; with thy rich curling hair all golden as harp-strings, a bright and gentle countenance withal; that were no false narration of thy beauty.
Safe faring to thee, Iain, may good luck befall thee; thou son of the good sire that was benign and joyous-hearted, that was hospitable and humane, welcoming and charitable; prime leader of a host wert thou when thou didst need their service.
Set in a saddle's hollow thou art a comely cavalier, keeping thy body in martial exercise, as I would ask for thee; well would thine hand fit a Spanish blade blue and long-pointed, and a good pair of pistols on a spiral-embossed belt.
I dearly love this mason that hath satisfied my spirit; thou great one of sweet-speaking mouth, though silent thou art eloquent; on my word, the castles themselves I'd get for the asking, and despite my state that hath laid me under a debt.
Though I called thee a mason, by my word I spoke falsely; for royal is thy lineage, and full manifest to trace. A true MacLeod fresh and splendid art thou, comely, prudent, wise, and generous, of the race of princely heroes, good as a host to poet bands.
But, thou son of Sir Norman, may every year prosper thee, to give success to thy descendants and increase to thy posterity; and for the rest of thy sire's children in every way they shall fare, may the fruit of my good wishes be accomplished for them as I would desire.
When thou goest to the hill, the hunt goeth right well with thee, with thine eager leash of hounds at thy heel in thy travelling; a slender sure gun withal, tough and straight, with no bend in it; hunter of the hind wert thou, of the blackcock and the moorhen.
I dearly love this Roderick — thy news hath stirred my spirit; a pure and gentle blood-drop art thou, dowered with the brilliance of the peacock; with thy rich curling hair all golden as harp-strings, a bright and gentle countenance withal; that were no false narration of thy beauty.
Safe faring to thee, Iain, may good luck befall thee; thou son of the good sire that was benign and joyous-hearted, that was hospitable and humane, welcoming and charitable; prime leader of a host wert thou when thou didst need their service.
Set in a saddle's hollow thou art a comely cavalier, keeping thy body in martial exercise, as I would ask for thee; well would thine hand fit a Spanish blade blue and long-pointed, and a good pair of pistols on a spiral-embossed belt.
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