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Gaelic cultures are rich in traditional songs, prayers and blessings for daily tasks, from starting the morning fire, milking the cow, churning the butter, harvesting the crops, and putting the fire out at night. So rich in fact that there is even a collection of these songs recorded in
Gaelic Songs of Scotland: Women at Work in the Western Isles.
This is a practice that I have adopted and adapted into my daily routine, which I find does make work a lot more pleasant and my actions more meaningful {I talk about this a bit more
here}. While I don't have sheep, nor do I spin, weave or knit, I do find the songs and prayers associated with these activities particularly lovely.
Am Beannachd Lombaidh
Falbh lom ’s thig molach,
Beir am boirionn Bealltain,
Bride mhin a bhi
dha d’ chonaill,
Moire gheal dha t’ aurais,
Moire gheal dha t’
aurais.
Micheal mil a bhi dha d’ dhion
Bho ’n mhi-chu is bho ’n an-chu,
Bho ’n
mhac-tir ’s bho ’n mhadhan stig,
’S bho ianaibh ineach call-ghob,
Bho
ianaibh ineach cam-ghob.
{Translation:}
The Clipping Blessing
Go shorn and come woolly,
Bear the Beltane female lamb,
Be the lovely
Bride thee endowing,
And the fair Mary thee sustaining,
The fair Mary
sustaining thee.
Michael the chief be shielding thee
From the evil dog and from the
fox,
From the wolf and from the sly bear,
And from the taloned birds of
destructive bills,
From the taloned birds of hooked bills.
Coisrigeadh An Aodaich
Is math a ghabhas mi mo rann,
A teurnadh le gleann;
Aon
rann,
Da rann,
Tri rann,
Ceithir rann,
Coig
rann,
Sia rann,
Seachd rann,
Seachd gu lath
rann
Seachd gu lath rann.
Nar a gonar fear an eididh,
Nar a reubar e gu brath,
Cian theid e ’n
cath no ’n comhrag,
Sgiath chomarach an Domhnach da,
Can theid e ’n cath
no ’n comhrag,
Sgiath chomarach an Domhnach da.
Chan ath-aodach seo, ’s chan fhaoigh e,
’S cha chuid cleir no sagairt
e.
Biolair uaine ga buain fo
’S air a toir do mhnai gun fhiosd;
Lurg an
fheidh an ceann an sgadain,
’S an caol chalp a bhradain bhric.
{Translation:}
The Consecration of the Cloth
Well can I say my rune,
Descending with the glen;
One
rune,
Two runes,
Three runes,
Four runes,
Five
runes,
Six runes.
Seven runes,
Seven and a half
runes,
Seven and a half runes.
May the man of this clothing never be wounded,
May torn he never
be;
What time he goes into battle or combat,
May the sanctuary shield of
the Lord be his.
What time he goes into battle or combat,
May the
sanctuary shield of the Lord be his.
This is not second clothing and it is not thigged,
Nor is it the right of
sacristan or of priest.
Cresses green culled beneath a stone,
And given to a woman in
secret.
The shank of the deer in the head of the herring,
And in the
slender tail of the speckled salmon.
Sláinte!
Laurel
