Cha chuir e mis' air chùl. My darling, don't be wondering My own mother's blanket and my head in my hand An coibhneas na te bhòidhich. Gorm shùilean ciùin Who once lived in this place. Will not leave their sight evermore. I would go with you to Meavag in Uig Rachainn le cabhag gu clachan mo ghaoil, 'Nuair bhios mi aig a chuidhl' aice Died Duluth, 1951, Welcome to land to the boys of the fishing This is not a complicated song, but perhaps it is its very simplicity that challenges the imagination of the new reader. Cluinn fuaim na h-ataireachd àrd. Left by the others, alone and abandoned. My fond farewell to you if you have left me, Knowing Iain's rapier wit, the barman saw an opportunity for a lark. With your pure, glad and joyful heart, I grieve I am not in the guise of a seagull, That my darling was But their advice to me means no more A gold ring in which I could see his image, Many's the night I slept with your mother." Ach nan robh leth a nochd agam 's a chuir mi anns an òl, Tha bean-na-bainnse, tha bean-na-bainnse O'n thriall thu bhuainn A' tìr nan Suainich a rinn sinn gluasad I see the land where I was a boy. I dearly loved you, I do not deny, There are several more verses, but these are the ones commonly sung. That my request be granted and you at my side. And though the heat torments you as has often happened to me, Nam faighinn Cairstìona chan iarrainn a chaoidh Oft-times do I think of you Nis èisdeabh ris an òran rinn MacLeoid a' chuir a' chuairt I would not see the depredations of the rabble And I wish to God I was with you now. Seileach is luachair, Chi mi 'n tìr 's an robh mi na m' bhalach But I will be at your graveside, Mànais, the small village of Manish in the Bays district on the east coast of Harris, and Ceann an t-sàile, literally The Head of the Salt (water) often anglicized as Kintail. 'Is mar a dean mi d' fhaotainn The nights we spent together. Be the first to add the lyrics and earn points Shipmates more worldly than you will take you ashore 'Rinn mi 'n cuan an iar a sheòladh. Obhan iri O! Ag èisdeach ri srann nan ròpan. B' annsa bhi le Griogal cridhe, / A Rìbhinn Òig 'Bheil Cuimhn' Agad? Standing on the cold black road. 'Nuair bhios mi gun chompanach; Hoova is na horriv hoo-vie, From the pure and brimming well; Nach eil mo phrothaid ann - I have never been happy with the result. Fishing by handline off the West Side Oh greatly would I prefer Little Morag, daughter of Murdo the carpenter Is guth nan tonn is fuaim nan eas Bha uair ’s a bhaile-sa tàmh. Obhan, obhan, obhan iri Guileag bàis aic' air lochan fèurach, 'S neo-shunndach mo chadal dhomh, My sleep is sporadic Chi mi Mànais is Ceann an t-sàile, Round the Point of Storr *Coire Bhreacainn, a whirlpool in the north end of the Sound of Jura between Jura and Scarba. No nì bho thràth gu tràth, Looking around, I am indebted to Murdo Morrison, nephew of the bard, for some recent corrections to the English translation of this song, for having shared his valuable and intimate knowledge of the bard's family and local terminology. Gur a leat-sa gun dàil mo làmh ma thig thu le mùirn Faded pictures in the hallway, Climbing to the upper tower Hoova is na horriv Hee: That I am at a disadvantage, Without respite or peace between the croft and the net De ni mi ma shéideas a ghaoth Where I oft-times slaked my thirst. Fàs suas ’s a chagailt ’bha blàth. And the night bears heavily down on me, My friends and kinfolk often say 'Nochd cha'n fhaigh mi tàmh, Leabhradair nan duilleag, Ach 's eagal leam gun dean e dìchuimhn'. ’G ar ruagadh mach gun chion fàth, An uaigh le mallachd nan àl. In verse four the bard sees a fisherman at the head (end) of his nets, and he longs to be there, pulling in the nets in the twilight. You will be in my dreams at night The madness from the mountains crawling, To the high yards you will be ordered, no matter how sick you are, While it was possible to take away the HIghlanders' musical instruments, no one could take away their music. We will with desire make a home there She is the bride so tiny. 'S Mac-Talla na mùr An duais tha aca mar tha, I’ve counted years and weeks and days, Ach 's ann a tha gach aon diubh 'g ràitinn, Even to my own mother who reared me young. Ach tha 'n comhairle dhomh cho diamhain; 'Tis with pleasure I'll stay there a while. Le mùirn ga fhreagairt: Thus the shieling. Chi mi 'n tìr 's an robh mi na m' bhalach. I would not want to live forever; ’S an eanntagach ruadh, 'S nuair theid thu do na h-Innsean, 's null do Shìne fada thall I will receive there hospitality, and love when I reach it Iomradh is tarruing is gearradh a' bhiathaidh; Fàilt' air na coilltean, is fàilt' air na h-uile - Will not outlast the rest. It was at this time that the crofters in Neil's native Isle of Skye were rising up against the tyranny of the landlords during and following the infamous Highland Clearances. Cha ghaol bliadhna, 's cha ghaol ràidhe; In heartbreak as I mourn. As they covet what others possess; Fail i, fail ò, horò air fail a lail é. Oh, fair-haired cow-herd, if it is your desire to be first to speak: Iad beò gun lochd, 's an òran bìnn And the wind it blows from the North and South, Gu suaimhneach mar a b' aill, The wind was whipping through the trees. The song begins with the line, I see the land where I was a boy, and the verse continues with the bard at the top of the mast of whatever vessel he is on, not because he has work to do there or that his job aboard requires him to be there, but that this vantage point allows him to see for just a little while longer, the land where he was a boy, before it disappears over the horizon. Walking On the Waves . Tha 'n geamhradh cho fada 's an gallionn cho cruaidh, Ri taobh na cruaich-mhòna, air cnocan a tàmh; When sudden storms come upon you Who were banished over the ocean, Gach sruthan 's gach allt A Chan eil ùbhlan idir agam Damsel of the well-groomed tresses, singer of the songs; Air fàil a lail ò, horò, air fàil a lail é Gach lus no crè is ìsle staid, Tha bean-na-bainnse 's cha mhór i. Le airgiod no nì I see the land where I was a boy. Sleep comes not to me, Fare thee well my black haired diamond, To lower the dingy and sail her home; Cuirear orm fàilte 'sa chànan a thuigeas mi; Tha torunn a’ chuain, Bi cùisean dhut glè anasach mu'n fhaithnich thu gach ròp; Sabhal is bathach is stàbhag bò-laoigh, And elevated me to princeliness. 'Cùl a' chinn ri làr. On the mountaintop moorland Tha cuid dhuibh a tha deònach 'ur lòn thoirt thar a' chuain; 'Si cainnt do bheòil bu bhinne leam, I sailed the western sea. 'S na mìlltean deòiridh breòite truagh Dh'iath ceò nan stùc Content I would live there forever. With sheep and cattle Far across the grey north sea. I see the land where I was a boy. My brown-haired darling do you hear me? My dear if I am well Sìde nan seachd sian, dh'fheuch am faic mi fear a' bhàta; Beanntaichean àrda is àillidh leacainnean; Cha till, cha till, For I will know no rest until I return to thee. A short time before we sailed, Much hatred and disrepute O horo mo chailin donn Lazybeds are a form of cultivation that was once used extensively in the Hebrides where tillable land was scarce, and in wet areas. Chì mi am Meall, agus chì mi an Sgòrr; 'S ged gheibhinn saoghal cha'n fhanainn ann. Cha till e gu brath He sent me a cassette of the song and I could not make out the melody, in my anxiety to sing the song I threw a tune at it. Residing always here, Greed and tyranny; Cluinn fuaim na h-ataireachd àrd, My age and my changes Mar chaochail an sluagh, Am fuachd ’s an cadal a’ bhàis, The object of my thoughts each day and night Cha b'urrain dhaibh mo bhàthadh, cha robh rath'd aca na dòigh, Prevailing in quiet ease. The reminder of birthright, Fhuair mi àite suidhe, Hoova is na horriv hoo-vie, Choking the wells Your long brown hair, your warm eyes 'S gur bliadhna leam gach latha Healthy do I see you, my faithful brown-haired lass; Bi'dh mi tuille tùrsach dèurach, I see Manish and Kintail, Am measg nan òighean far 'n òlainn bainne The thundering of the ocean, Of the poor exiles Barr a' chruinn 's Leac a Li na m' shealladh Curse the spade and curse the plough. Ann an eilean gun tràigh, gun ràmh gun choite, gun stiùir, Ma théid thu air sàil, a ghràidh bi gini 'ad' phòc' In luxurious tranquil leisure, Would that you and I, on mountain, on moor or on heath, Gu'n toir gach lòn do neart asad 's a' mhaise bha na d' ghruaidh; An tig thu 'n diugh, na 'n tig thu màireach Gu'm faighinn faochadh 'us tu bhi 'm chòir. They can not have peace; they won't be free, And the banshee sang It is for you I sing this tune And mountainous green waves break over your back, From the farthest oceans for them there's peace. Were not the gossipers there my dear I'd give thanks, If I could stay down in the glen Bu chridheil an uaill Ach sannt agus cruas; Is òl mo dheoch-slàint'gach àit an suidh thu mun bhòrd My wish is to stay with the kin of my heart Tha gach machair, beinn is bàgh Without change, without mercy, From the land of the Swedes we moved, Is ann a thòisich càch, As is the case with many Gaelic songs, this one has several variations. Instead of with Baron "Dalach," In William's wee bothy by the waves on the beach, What will I do if the wind does blow Gets its share of the dew, Nothing will ever keep me from you Hùbha i 's na Horaibh Hùbhaidh, 'S do 'n ionndrainn tha 'n am chom; The following song was composed by Iain Dubh, or John Macleod, who was the brother of Neil Macleod, the well-known bard. And I'll be getting my net in order, Our budgets depend on each oar and each creel I'd need no music but the birds of the bush If you go to sea, my dear, there will be a guinea in your pocket, Bi 'ghràdhach òg 'nam chuimhne-sa Air fàil a lail ò, horò, air fàil a lail é 'S ann le foill a mheall thu mì. The Sound of Berneray, the beaches of Pabbay; In a countenance calming to me. This song is believed to date from the 16th century and mourns the death of Gregor MacGregor. It is with you that my thoughts are - 'Nuair dhìreas mi do'n chrann aice Bidh dùil 'am bho Chailean ri feannag no dhà, Tacan mu'n do sheòl sinn, O'n thriall thu bhuainn Ach saighead chruaidh a'bhàis. I will not turn with you, my love, I cannot I would be happy with dear Gregor I would not condemn it at times in moderation Give us a drop of your sweet poitín. I would not wish for a palace around me Chì mi ann coilltean; chi mi ann doireachan; 'S bi cuimhn' agaibh an còmhnaidh air 'n àm seòladh mach a' Cluaidh. Fàilte gu fearann air balaich an iasgaich De ’m shuaicheant’ cathrannas tlàth, Frequently you will be cursed and denounced It is important that we too share with you the intentions of the bard. How foolish I am to have given my love to you. When my mind was melancholy, I see the fisherman at the end of his nets, Liuthad oidhch' a bha sinn còmhla. And for all this world I would not stay there. Ach striochdadh a luath ’s Na tonnan uaine chlisgeas tu a' bristeadh mu do dhruim, Or on the white beach in a place where no one e'er was For my sweetheart comes not to me. Na cuireadh sud ort gruaimean, Is truagh nach robh mi 's mo rogha cèile Turning to Neil, he said, "Do you know this fellow who just came in?" Gu Caimbeulach Uige a phòsadh. When I climb the mast Bidh tu m' aisling anns an oidhche, Ruithinn-se cas-ruisg-t air monadh is fraoch Beneath lashes that hover close When I am without companion Listening to the voice of the waves. Do chuailean donn 's do shùilean blàth Will not be ignoring me. A luaidh, ma bhios mi slàn, ’N dh’fhuair mi iomadh deoch-phàit’. Air aithne Righ na dùl; 'S i na mìle bioran. An ceò-geal bu bhoidhche a lùbadh 'sa snàmh Even in the courts or palace of kings. Dhòirt iad d'fhuil an dè, Cha 'n fhaigh iad fois 's cha bhi iad saor, Còignear mo seisear 's an lethcheann air cluasaig, Beside the peat-stack on a hillock at rest A mach air bharr nan stuadh ri gaillionn, Beside the tranquil brook, Cha do lughdaich sud mo ghaol ort; Click here to see one of Iain Dubh's songs, or here to read about Iain Dubh's wizardry. Mo rùn geal dìleas, dìleas, dìleas Till I put my nets back in order, The winter's so long and the tempest so hard
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