ARRANE MYSH NY BAATYN-SKEDDAN VA CAILLIT EC
DOOLISH 'SY VLEIN, 1787, Sep. 21st.
The author of this is Quayle Vessee.
COOINEE-JEE, shenn as-aeg,
'Sy vlein shiaght cheead yeig,
Kiare-feed as shiaght, er cheayn Ghoolish
Myr haink eh gy-kione,
V'a eeaystagh vie ayn,
Lesh earish feer aalin as villish.
Ny-yeih cha nee beayn,
Darr yn carish cha kiune,
My daink kione y chiaghtyn dys jerrey,
Son va neeal yn aer, Soilshagh 'niagh danjeyr
Va sterrym feer agglagh er-gerrey.
Oie'l vian dy feer jeean,
Choud's vdn lload ec y cheayn,
Hai-ilk dewillys, as paart jeu ren scarrey,
Veih dy chooilley nhee,
Va deyr da nyn gree,
Eer bioys, liorish dewillys ny maliey.
Te doillem dooin ghra,
Cre whilleen as va,
Oie'l vian, feer ching ec nyn ghreé ghyn;
Cloa'n faagit gyn-ayr,
Va keayney dy geyre,
As mraane son nyn sheshaghyn jeeaghyn.
Va seaghyn as erreebh
Mraane jeeaghyn son nyn vendeilee;
Skimmee Hom Chinlaee
Vicl keayney nyn-yeï,
As sheshaght Yuan Voore Croit-y-Caley.
Thom Ghrimsther myrgeddin,
Va caixt 'syn ole cheddin,
Marish y chooid elley jeh e gheiney;
Cha row dooinney jeu bio,
Jéh'n 'nane as feed shoh;
Nyn gaarjyn dy sharroo va keayney.
Fastyr aalini feer ve,
Tra hiauill adayn jeh,
Voish Doolish marish baatyn elley;
As rosh ad yn voayl
Ván skeddan dy ghoaill
Dyn smooinnaght er assee ny skielley.
Agh gerrit ván traa,
Ren yn earish caghlaa,
Yn gheay niar dy niaital ren sheidey
Dy leah dhatt yn cheayn,
Lesh sterrym as sheean,
Haink doitin lesh dewillys, as ffiaghey.
Eisht hrog ad dy leah,
Nyn shiauïll roish y gheay,
Dy jeeragh lesh purt Ghoolish Shiaulleys;
Tra rosh hd yn vaie,
Viu cheayn magh er draie,
As yn eatish er-gholl foddey smessey.
Ec aker 'sy vaie
Cha faggys'dan ltraic,
Cre berree da ny baatyn va markiagh
S'dorraghey myr ve
Fegooish soilshey er y chey,
Ayns aggle nyn maaish vad farkiagh.
Dy fieau er y cheayn,
Dy lhieeney dy lane,
Ve cheunid feer agglagh dy jarroo;
As baatyn sinkeil,
As scoltey ayns peeshyn cheet thalloo.
Ve cha dorraghey doo
Nagh bleayr daue yn soo
Ny tonnyn va freayney stiagh harroo
Nagh atehimagh ve
Lesh dorrin as kay,
Dy roie roish y gheay dys thalloo.
Er-creau voish yn cheayn,
Lesh sterrym as sheean,
Ny tonnyn, myr sieityn vád girree
As ooilley'n traa shèn,
Ván cheayn brishey bane,
Nagh bleayr daue'n vád dy yeearree.
Mysh oor roish y laa
Ve smooinit ván traa,
Hie Grimsther dy toie son y thalloo
Véh hene as Juan Yoore,
Caill't 'syn un oor,
As ooilley ny Skimmee va maroo.
Ec faagail yn vaie
Cha bleayr da yn raad dy roie jeeragh;
Traa sdorraghey ve,
V'eh bwoailt -noi'n chey,
As ván vaatey sinkit chelleeragh.
Cha row saase 'sy theihll
Nyn gour dy seapail,
Yn vaase va kiongoytt rish nyn sooillyn
Yn eam oc va treih
Lesh cree er ny lheïe,
Ec toshiaght sinkeil boayl va whilleen.
Dy hrial nyn schleï,
Cha voddagh shin reih,
Nyn lhpid as vád shoh ooilley cooidjagh;
Ny deiney mie cheayin,
Ayns y vinnid shen,
Ny tonnyn vaaish rell ad y choodagh.
Son nyn gaarjyn eyr.,
Va oyr oe shilley jeïr,
Chaluma'h mraane, as mraane hreoghe as cloan veggey,
Lesh osnaghyn hreih,
Vád currit lhieu thie,
As oauluckit marish gheiney.
THE FISHERMEN'S BALLAD, ON THE DESTRUCTION
OF THE HERRING FLEET IN DOUGLAS BAY ON THE 21ST
Translated from the Manx by Mr. John Quirk of
WITH pain we record,
The year of our Lord,
Seventeen hundred and eighty and seven;
When it so came to pass,
A good fishing there was,
Off Douglas, in a beautiful season.
But it was for a time,
That the weather kept fine
Ere the week it had come to an ending,
The face of the sky,
Would seem to imply,
That a horrible storm was impending,
On St. Matthew's eve,
With the fleet on the wave,
It blew, as with vengeance to hurry
Poor mariners there
From all that was dear,
Even life, by the elements' fury.
On St. Matthew's Day,
How many could say,
How sick'ning art thou to my feelings!
The fatherless there,
Their cries rent the air,
And widows, how woeful their wailings.
Excitement and cries,
Prevail'd through Kk. Christ,
Poor women who'd lost their defenders;
The fate of John Moore
They lamented full sore,
And also unfortunate Kinley's.
Tom Grimshaw was too,
With the rest of his crew,
In the cold arms of death they were sleeping;
There lived not a man,
Of this twenty-one;
Their friends were most bitterly weeping.
On a beautiful day
They sailed away
From Douglas, along with their fellows;
On reaching the ground,
Where herrings were found,
Wlio'd think of the crashing that follows
Alas! 'twas too soon,
The change it came on,
The easterly winds commenced roaring
The sea running high,
With its boisterous sky,
Whilst torrents of rain were down pouring.
Then up to the gale,
They quickly set sail,
Towards Douglas moved on without ceasing;
But ere they got home,
The sea out had flown,
'Midst storms, with their fury increasing.
At anchor to ride,
To wait for the tide,
'Twas frightful beyond comprehending;
Their cables giving way,
Boats sinking 'neath the spray,
And breaking to pieces on landing.
To hold in the bay,
With the wind from the sea,
Alas! for the boats which were ridin,,.
Dark, dismal, and diear,
Without light on the pier,
Death there, it seemed unavoidiiig.
Tempestuous and dark,
Who could see a spark?
The billows were over them breaking
How dreadful it was
To run for the coast,
With every prospect so threatening'.
The turbulent waves,
Like a mountain, upheaves,
The storm, unabating in ardour;
The sea breaking white,
Through the perilous night,
Completely obscuring the harbour.
An hour before day,
Tom Grimshaw, they say,
To run for the port lie resolved
Himself and John Moore
Were lost in that hour,
Their crews in their fate were involved.
So Kinley was too,
He could not get through
Witli the task he so bravely attempted
'Midst darkness most dread,
Ran on the pier-head,
His boat was immediately swamped.
No means they could see
The danger to flee,
For death waf; no more at a distance;
Though heart-rending cries
Went up to the skies,
No mortal could render assistance.
We might try in vain,
To look for such men,
Or pick such a band of bright fellows;
Such seamen were they,
When taken away,
'Till cover'd beneath the dark billows.
Poor children did weep,
And widows drank deep
Of the grief felt on these occasions
With sorrow we own
They were taken home,
And buried among their relations.