The Wren
I’m thinking about the wren. I was on the hills in summer – at the edge
of Inverness. I was resting behind a bush of heather. A wren was flying
around me. It was calling and complaining.
And what was it saying? Well, the old people were putting these words
in the mouth of the wren:
Come, come, come, oh beggar, come come, come oh mite; the other birds
are all mites, except for me myself, except for me myself, mites,
mites.
Gillean-frìde
– mites, little wee things. The wren calls the other birds ‘mites’ as
if it were a big bird itself! The Gaels were ever of the view that the
wren had a high opinion of itself.
We can see that in the proverb:
Is bigid e sin, is bigid e sin, mar a thuirt an dreathan-donn, nuair a thug
e làn a ghuib às a’ mhuir ʼt
is the less for that, ʼtis the less for that, as the wren said, when it
sipped a bill-full from the sea.’
Is bigid e sin, is bigid e sin, mar a thuirt an dreathan-donn, nuair a thug
e làn a ghuib às a’ mhuir.
There is a well-known anecdote about the struggle between the wren and
the golden eagle. The eagle was boasting. ‘I’ll fly higher than any
other bird,’ it said.
None of the other birds were willing to go against it. Well, none,
except the wren. ‘Be quiet, I can go higher than you,’ said the wren.
‘You? You!’ said the eagle. ‘You are just a weak chick. I’ll be looking
down on you, when I am aloft on the wing.’
‘Go on, then,’ said the wren. The eagle ascended. It was far above the
ground. There was no sign of the wren!
And now the conversation [which rhymes in Gaelic]: Where are you, wren?
‘I’m here, above you!’ The wren was on the eagle’s back. It was so light
that the eagle didn’t notice it. And, indeed, it was higher than the eagle!
An Dreathan-donn
Tha mo smuaintean air an dreathan-donn. Bha mi sa mhonadh as t-samhradh –
air iomall Inbhir Nis. Bha mi a’ gabhail fois air cùl preas fraoich. Bha
dreathan-donn air sgèith mu mo thimcheall. Bha e ag èigheachd ʼs a’ gearan.
Agus dè bha e ag ràdh? Uill, bha na seann daoine a’ cur nam faclan seo ann
am beul an dreathain-duinn:
Thig, thig, thig a dhiol-dèirce, Thig thig, thig a ghille-frìde; Is
gillean-frìde na h-eòin uile, Ach mise leam fhìn, Ach mise leam fhìn,
Gillean-frìde, gillean-frìde.
Gillean-frìde – mites, rudan beaga bìodach. Tha an dreathan-donn
a’ gabhail ‘gillean-frìde’ air na h-eòin eile mar gur e eun mòr a tha ann
fhèin! Bha na Gàidheil riamh dhen bharail gu bheil deagh bheachd aig an
dreathan-donn air fhèin.
Chì sinn sin anns an t-seanfhacal: Is bigid e sin, is bigid e sin, mar a
thuirt an dreathan-donn, nuair a thug e làn a ghuib às a’ mhuir ʼ
tis the less for that, ʼtis the less for that, as the wren said, when
it sipped a bill-full from the sea.’
Is bigid e sin, is bigid e sin, mar a thuirt an dreathan-donn, nuair a thug
e làn a ghuib às a’ mhuir.
Tha naidheachd ainmeil mun strì eadar an dreathan-donn agus an
iolair-bhuidhe. Bha an iolair a’ bòstadh. ‘Thèid mise air sgèith nas àirde
na eun sam bith eile,’ thuirt i.
Cha robh gin de na h-eòin eile deònach a dhol na h-aghaidh. Uill, cha robh,
ach a-mhàin an dreathan-donn. ‘Ist, ʼs urrainn dhòmhsa dhol nas àirde na
thu fhèin,’ thuirt an dreathan.
‘Thusa? Thusa!’ ars an iolair. ‘Chan eil annad ach isean lag. Bidh mi a’
coimhead sìos ort, nuair a tha mi shuas àrd air sgèith.’
‘Siuthad, ma-thà,’ ars an dreathan-donn. Chaidh an iolair an-àirde. Bha i
fada os cionn na talmhainn. Cha robh sgeul air an dreathan!
Agus a-nise an còmhradh: ‘Càite a bheil thu, ’dhreathain-duinn?’
‘Tha mi ’n seo, os do chinn!’
Bha an dreathan-donn air druim na h-iolaire. Bha e cho aotrom ʼs nach do
mhothaich an iolair dha. Agus, gu dearbh, bha e na b’ àirde na ʼn iolair!
