Soraidh bhuam gu Barraidh
Soraidh bhuam gu Barraidh
Eileans maisich tha fon ghrein
Far an tric an robh mi sugradh
s le sunna a ruith na spreidh
Gur lionmhor lus tha fas fon druchd
Is deallt air uir as dheidh
A bheireadh slainte is muirneal dhuit
Air maduinn chubhraidh cheit
An am direadh ris a mhonadh
Measq a mhurain be mo mhiann
Air feasgar fanns an fhoghar
Nuair a chromadh air a ghrian
Gum beathaicheadh am faladh thu
Far luscan baille fiomh
An aiteag chubhraidh aluinn
Thig far bharr a chain an lar.
An am eirigh anns an t-samhradh
se bhith ann, bu mhor mo mhiann
Gach iasgair s e le bhata
Dol gu aite a chuir na lion
Nuair a charadh iad siuil shlan rith
Air bharr nan tonnan liath.
Bu bhriagha a bhi ga faicinn
Air a setadh dol dhan iar.
Se Barraidh an t-eilean s boidhche
Ann cho mor s gun dchur mi uigh
Far an tric an do ghabh mi oran
Measg nan oighean maiseach ciuin
S ged tha min duigh air maineol
An Australia nan craobh
Cha di-chuimhuich mi a Ghaidhlig
Tha i sgriobhte s a chlar aig maois.
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My blessings on Barra
My blessings on Barra
the most beautiful island under the sun
Where I often played
And happily herded the cattle
Plants abound beneath the dew
And the fine rain on the soil
On a May morning
Gives forth both good health and happiness.
I wished for nothing better
Than to walk through the maram grass
To the moors
As the sun sank low on a still autumn evening
When the fragrance of the most beautiful plants
Would invigorate me
As would the gentle sea breezes
Coming from the Atlantic.
In the summer
My only wish was to be there
As the fisherman in their boats
Went to lay the lines.
What a joy it was to watch
The boatsunder full sail on
The crests of the white waves
As they headed on their westerly course.
Barra is the most beautiful island
The island of my heart’s desire
When I often sang in the company
Of serene and beautiful young ladies
And although I’m alone today
In Australia of the trees
I’ll never forget the Gaelic language
Which is engraved on my mind.
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Am Buachaile Ban
Och, ochan a Righ gura timn an galair an gradh!
Chan eil neach air am bi nach saoil gura seach dainn gach la,
Gunn bhrist e mo chridh ‘s gun sgaoil e cuislean mo shlaint
Bhith ‘g amharc ad dheidh, a gheng a’ bhrollaich ghil bhdin – ghil bhdin.
A Bhuachaille Bhain, ma ‘s aill leat labhairt air thuis
Gura loatsa gun dail, mo lamh, ma thig thu rimm dluth:
Gur truagh mar ta nach d’tharlaidh mis’ agus thu
An eilein gum traigh, gun ramh, gun choite, gun stinir – gun stinir.
Na faiccadh sibh geng, ‘s i ‘g eirigh maduinn chiuin cheo.
Le pearsa dha reiri iu candan mhenlladh ‘nan doigh:
Gur binne do bhen, na reudan thidheall ri ceol,
‘Snach truagh leat mi ‘d dheidh leam fhein air cnoam ri bron
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The Fair Shepherd
Alas and alack, what a deadly sickness is love!
There is none who suffers it but feels every day is a week.
It has broken my heart and sapped the springs of my health
To keep gazing after you, young of the fair white bosom.
Fair-haired lad, if you but care to speak first,
My hand shall be yours without delay if you come for me:
Play it is true, you and I did not find ourselves
On an island with no ebb, with no oar, no boat, no rudder.
If you could see such a shoot springing up on a calm, misty morning,
With looks to go with it fit to win the hearts of thousands:
Sweeter is your voice than the strings of violins playing,
Can you not take pity on me, ? alone without you, lamenting on a knoll?
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Ma theid mise tuilleadh a Leodhas nam cruimeag
Ma theid mise tuilleadh a Leodhas nam cruimeag,
Ma theid mise tuilleadh a dh’innis nam laoch,
Ma theid mi ri m’bheo dh’eilean Leodhais nam morbhe
Cha till mi ri ‘m bheo as gun ordugh an ri gh.
Mu dheireadh an t-samhraidh, ‘s ann thdinig mi nall as
Bha’n teas orm trom, anns an am bhithinn sgith
Ag iasgath an sgadain a shamhradh ‘s a dh’carrach
‘S a Bhruaich ‘s arm an Sealtuinn ‘s an Arcarnh nan tac
Bidh sgiobair a’ stiuireadh ‘n a chartabhas duinte
‘S bidh is gu siubhlach a rusgadh nan tonn;
An fhairge ‘n a cabhadh mu ghnallainn an fhasgaidh
‘S na glinn a dol seachad ‘s a hailleard a’ diosq.
‘Nuair theid air an fheasgar ‘s a ruigear am banca
‘S a gheibhear le cabhaig a mach aisd na lin
Guin teid sinn thar bord aist a steach do’n tigh-osda,
‘S gun tarruing sinn stopa le oran math gaoil.
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If I ever go again to Lewis of the maidens
If I ever go again to Lewis of the maidens
If I ever go again to the island of heroes,
If ever in this life I travel to Lewis of the highlands
I shall not return unless under the King’s order
I left towards the end of summer
The heat was exhausting and I was weary
Fishing herring all spring and summer
In Fraserburgh and Orkney of the
The skipper steers in his canvas enclosure
As she (the vessel) glides gracefully over the sea
The sea swirls on the leeward side
As pass the glens with the halyard crack
When in the evening we reach the bank
And the nets are hurriedly unloaded
We go ashore and retire to the inn
Where we draw and measure to the cash to accompaniment of
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Urnaigh A’Bhan Thigreagh
M’aithair ‘smo Dhai, deam Thus’ ardion
Mi fhein ‘s mo naoidhean beagan mhios
Gur gann an t-uisg’, ‘s gur gann an siol,
Sinn creuchdach, acrach, brointe, piant’.
‘Adhlaichte an-dingh mo luaidh
‘S nach aithnich mise naigh seach naigh,
Measg mhiltean a Tigre tha e na shuain;
Coinhead Thusa, a Thighearna, oirnn le truas.
Sinn a’famachadh le feas na grein’
Nuair dh’eireas i an-aird sna speur;
Sinn ga ar meileachadh le fauchd
Meadlian oidche, ‘s ar sgeadachadh cho truagh.
An tig,a Thigearna, uisge trom
Bheir a-mach toradh bhon talamh lom?
Cum rium mo chreidamh anmad fhein –
Na canam ‘an-do threig thu mi, mo Dhai?’
Cheus riaghaltas eile Criosd air crann
‘S tha luchd-breng gar biathadh-sa gu teann;
Doirt a-muas do mhaitheas chaoimh, a Dhe,
Na leig an t-ole buileachadh guleir.
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The Tigrean Woman’s Prayer
O Lord, my God will you protect
me and my child of but a few months;
scarce is the water, scarce the grain,
We are hungry, bruised and pained with sores.
My beloved one was buried today
but I cannot tell one grave from the next
as his resting place is with thousands of others from Tigre
Look on us, Lord, with pity.
We faint in the intense heat of the sun
as it rises in the cloudless sky
and at midnight in our ragged attire
We are numbed with cold.
God, let the rain come soon
and let it bring forth crops from this arid land
Strengthen my faith in you, Lord
and let me not say that you have forsaken me – in my hour of need.
Other rulers (another government) crucified Christ on the cross
and we are fed poorly by a similar regime
pour down your healing kindness, God,
do not let evil conquer completely.
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An Rhibhin Donn
Ochoin a ri, ‘si mo rhibhin donn,
Dh ‘fhag mi fo mhi-ghean ‘us m’inntinn trom!
Gur e a boichead a rinn mo leonadh,
‘S cha bhi bed gun mo rhibhin donn.
Is truagh an drasda nach robh mi ‘m bhard
A ghleusadh clarsach ‘s a sheinneadh dan
‘S gu ‘n innsinn buadhan
Na maighdinn nasail,
Mu’ bheil mo smuaintean gach oidhehe ‘s la.
Gur boidheach, dualach an cuailcan min
A th’air a’ghruagaich a bhuair mo chridh’,
Gur binne comhradh
Na guth na smeoraich;
‘S tha mise bronach o’n dh’thag i mu.
Ged tha mo ghrian-sa a’triall fo sgleo,
Ils mise ‘m bhadhna mar ian ‘sa deo.
Togaidh ‘n sgaile
‘S ni ise dearrsadh
‘S gu ‘m faigh mi slainte gach la ri ‘m bheo.
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The Brown Haired Maiden
Alas and woe is me, my brown haired maiden
The cause of my discontent and my heavy heart!
It is her beauty which has left me grieving
And I cannot survive without her.
Would that I were a bard
Who could tune a harp and sing a song
So that I might extol the virtues
Of that gentle maiden
Who feels my thoughts both night and day.
Beautiful and luxuriant is the delicate hair
Of the maiden who has wounded my heart;
Her conversation is sweeter
Than the singing of the thrush
And I am filled with sorrow since she left me.
When the month of May comes to the heathery glen
And all the plants of the meadow into full bloom
It reminds me of my loved one,
The comely little flower which grew so tenderly.
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