Nuair bha mi òg

Traditional – Màiri Mhòr nan Òran

Moch ‘s mi ‘g èirigh air bheagan èislein,

Air maidinn Chèitein ‘s mi ann an Òs,

Bha sprèidh ag gèumnaich an ceann a chèile,

‘S a’ ghrian ag èirigh air Leac an Stòir;

Bha gath a’ boillsgeadh air slios nam beanntan,

Cur tuar na h-òidhche na dheann fo sgòd,

Is os mo chionn sheinn an uiseag ghreanmhor,

Toirt na mo chuimhne ‘n uair bha mi òg.

‘N uair bha mi gòrach a’ siubhal mòintich,

‘S am fraoch a’ stròiceadh mo chòta bàn,

Feadh thoman còinnich gun snath’nn a bhrògan,

‘S an eigh na còsan air lochan tàimh;

A’ falbh an aonaich ag iarraidh chaorach,

‘S mi cheart cho aotrom ri naosg air lòn,

Gach bòt is pòll agus talamh tòll.

Toirt na mo chuimhne ‘n uair bha mi òg.

Toirt na mo chuimhn’ iomadh nì a rinn mi,

Nach faigh mi ‘m bann gu ceann thàll mo sgeòil,

A’ falbh ‘s a’ gheamhradh gu luaidh is bàinsean,

Gun solus lòinnir ach ceann an fhòid;

Bhiodh òigridh ghreanmhor ri ceòl is dànnsa,

Ach dh’fhalbh an t-àm sin ‘s tha ‘n gleann fo bhròn,

Bha ‘n tobht aig Anndra ‘s e  làn de fheanntaig,

Toirt na mo chuimhne ‘n uair bha mi òg.

An uair a dhìrich mi gual an t-Sìthein

Gun leig mis sgìos dhiom air bruaich an lòin,

Bha buadhan m’ inntinn a’ triall le sinteig,

Is sùil mo chinn faicinn loinn gach pòr;

Bha ‘n t-sòbhrach mhin-bhuidh’ ‘s am bearnan-brìghde,

An cluaran-rìoghail, is lus an òir,

‘S gach bileag aoibhneach fo bhraon na h-oidhche,

Toirt na mo chuimhne ‘n uair bha mi òg.

‘Nuair chuir mi cùl ris an eilean chùbhraidh,

‘S a ghabh mi ìubhrach na smùid gun seòl,

‘Nuair shèid i ‘n dùdach ‘s a shìn an ùspairt,

‘S a thog i ‘cùrsa o Thìr a’ Cheò;

Mo chridhe brùite ‘s na deòir le m’ shùilean,

A’ falbh gu dùthaich gun sùrd, gun cheòl,

Far nach faic mi cluaran no neòinean guanach,

No fraoch no luachair air bruaich no lòn.

When I was young

As I arise early under

On a May morning while I am in Ose

The cattle were lowing alongside each other

And the sun was rising on Leac an Stoir

A ray of sun shone on the mountainside

Quickly sending the dark of night away

And above me sang the lively cuckoo

Reminding me of when I was young

When I foolishly travelled the moors

The heather touching my white coat

Amongst hillocks of moss with no boots

Ice like crevices on still lochs

Travelling through the moor looking for sheep

As light as a snipe on the loch

Each mound, and pit and broken ground

Reminding me of when I was young

Reminding me of the many things I have done

That leaves me unhappy until I've reached the end of my story

Going to ceilidhs and weddings in the winter

With no light but a lit sod of peat

The lively young people would be singing and dancing

But that time has now gone and the glen is sad

Andrew's ruin, so full of nettles

Reminding me of when I was young

When I climbed the side of Sìthein

I rested by the side of a loch

My thoughts wandered in bounds

My eye taking in the beauty of each grain

The lovely primrose and the dandelion

The majestic thistle and the golden saxifrage (I’m guessing!)

And each beautiful leaf under the dew

Reminding me of when I was young

When I left the scented isle

I took the steam boat with no sails

She tooted her horn and began the effort

And set the course away from The Misty Isle

My heart bruised and tears in my eyes

Going to a country with no fun, and no music

Where I won’t see thistles or giddy daisies

Nor heather nor reeds on banks or meadows

Dh'fhàg e gun chadal am dhùsgadh mi 

Traditional - Sìleas na Ceapaich

A Righ 's diombach mi 'n iomairt

Chuir gach fine air fògradh,

Dh'fhàg e gun chadal am dhùsgadh mi,

Gun aighear, gun èibhneas,

Gun réite bho Dheòrsa,

Dh'fhàg e gun chadal am dhùsgadh mi;

A Righ 's iomad bean uasal

Tha gu h-uaigneach 'n a seòmar,

Gun aighear, gun èibhneas,

'S i aig èirigh 'n a h-ònar,

A' sior-chaoidh nan uaislean

A fhuair iad ri phòsadh,

Dh'fhàg e gun chadal am dhùsgadh mi.

Mo thruaighe a' chlann Nach robh gann 'n an curaiste,

Dh'fhàg sibh gun chadal am dhùsgadh mi;

Luchd rùsgadh nan lann

An àm nam builleanan,

Dh'fhàg sibh gun chadal am dhùsgadh mi;

Ged a tha sibh 's an àm

Air feadh ghleann agus monaidhean,

Gu nochd sibh ur ceann

An àm teanntachd mar churaidhean;

'Nuair thig Seumas a nal

'S i ur lann bhios fuileachdach,

Dh'fhàg sibh gun chadal am dhùsgadh mi

'S e rìgh na muice

'S na Cuigse Righ Deorsa,

Is fada 'n ur cadal gun dùsgadh sibh ;

Mas tig oirnn an t-Samhuinn

Bidh amhach 's na còrdaibh,

Is fada 'n ur cadal gun dùsgadh sibh ;

Nan èireadh sibh suas

Ann an cruadal 's an duinealas,

Eadar ìslean is uaislean, Thuath agus chumanta,

Sgiùrsadh sibh uaibh e,

Righ fuadain nach buineadh dhuinn,

Is dhèanainn an cadal gu sunndach leibh.

I am sleepless awake

Lord I am grieved at the trouble which has proscribed every family

It has left me lying sleepless awake

Without joy or happiness without settlement from (King) George.

Lord, there are many ladies lying alone in their rooms,

Rising alone without joy or happiness,

Ever lamenting for the gentlemen they married.

It has left me lying sleepless awake

I pity the youths, whose courage was great

You have left me lying sleepless awake

Who would unsheathe their blades when it comes to blows?

Though you are now scattered over valleys and mountains you will reveal yourselves like heroes in time of difficulty;

When (King) James arrives your blade will be covered in blood.

You have left me lying sleepless awake.

King George is a swine a whiggish king

You are a long time sound asleep;

Before Hallowtide comes his neck will be in ropes.

If you were to rise with hardihood and manliness,

Both nobles and vassals, tenantry (Lords) and common folk

You would sweep him away from you,

An alien king who has no place with us

And I would joyfully join you in sleep.

A Mhairead òg

Traditional

A Mhairead òg ‘s tu rinn mo leon

‘S tu dh’fhag fo bhron ‘s fo mhulad mi

‘S mi ‘n diugh ‘s an dè air cnoc leam fhein

A’ sileadh dheur ‘s mi turraman

Och ‘si mo mhathair rinn an call

Nuair chuir I shealg na tunnaig mi

Nuair rainig mi an leinne chaol

‘Sann bha mo ghaol ‘a sruladh innt'

‘Se ‘n gunna caol a rinn mo leon

Cha teid e oirleach tuilleadh leam

'S an te rinn dhomh-s' leine chaol

Cha 'dean thu ghaoil gion tuilleadh dhomh. 

Young Margaret

O young Margaret you caused me pain

You left me with grief and heartache

Today and yesterday on a hillock on my own

Rocking in my grief.

It was my mother who caused the damage

When she sent me to hunt the ducks

When I reached the narrow loch

Where my love was washing

It was the slim gun that caused the pain

I won’t carry it another inch

The one who made the white shirt

You will never, my love, make me another one.

Chaidil mi raoir air an airigh

Traditional

Chaidil mi raoir air an airigh

Hu hoirean o hu hoirean o

Cha ba’ann ri aighear a bha mi

Hi u eileadh hu hoirean o

Cha b’ann ri aighear a bha mi

Hu hoirean o hu hoirean o

Ach gad ionndrainn sa ‘ghraidhein

Hi u eileadh hu hoirean o

Ach gad ionndrainn sa ‘ghraidhein

Shaoil leam nach cumadh muir lan thu

‘S nach cumadh lionadh no traghadh

Le coite beag an da ramhain

Bha mi’ raoir ‘s an airigh luachrach

Dh’fhairich mi crith ‘s cha b’ chrith fhuachd I

Dh’fhairich mi fear laimhe fuaireadh

Gliogadaich nan crios gam fuasgladh

Sgaoileadh a bhreacain air m’uachdair

‘S a cur nan arm an taobh shuas dhiom

Dh’aithnich mi nach b’e mo luaidh e

Thug mi breab dha ‘s thilg mi bhuam e

‘S rinn mi leab’ an lag na luathadh

Thuirt e ruim gu robh mi tuathail

Thuirt mi ris gu ribh mi suaircne

Nach e dhuisgeadh as mo shuain mi

Ach fear ard an leadain dualaich

Fhleasgaich, ma theid thu ‘n taigh-osda

Bi gu miosail, fiosrach eolach

Bi gu fiosrach air na dh’olas

Cuimhnuich air leth t’ ad’s do chleoca

Na dean diochuimhm’ aor do bhrogan

Last night I slept in the shieling

Hu hoirean o hu hoirean o

I was not having fun

Hi u eileadh hu hoirean o

I was not having fun

Hu hoirean o hu hoirean o

But missing you my darling

Hu hoirean o hu hoirean o

But missing you my darling

I thought high tide would not keep you

Nor the ebb or flow of the sea

With the two oared boat                                         

Last night I was in a shieling of rushes

I shivered but it was not from the cold

I felt the chilly handed one

The clinking of belts being opened

Spreading the tartan over me

And placing armour on the other side of me

I knew that he was not my love

I kicked him and threw him off me

And I made a bed in the fire-pit                                         

He told that I was confused

I told him that you were my darling                             

That my sleep would only be woken by

The tall curly haired man

Young man, if you go to a hotel

Be respectable, and knowledgeable

Be aware of what is drunk                                                   

Particularly remember you hat and cloak

Don’t forget your shoes