Ri fuaim an taibh
Is uaigneach mo ghean;
Bha mis’ uair nach b’ e siud m’àbhaist.
Ach pìob nuallanach mhòr
Bheireadh buaidh air gach ceòl,
An uair a ghluaist’ i le meòir Phàdraig …
Thoir an t-soraidh seo bhuam
Gu talla nan cuach,
Far ’m biodh tathaich nan truagh
dàimheil …
Chun an taighe nach gann
Fon an leathad ud thall,
Far bheil aighear is ceann mo mhànrain.
Sir Tormod mo rùin,
Olgharach thu,
Foirmeil o thùs t’ àbhaist.
A thasgaidh’s a chiall,
’S e bu chleachdamh dut riamh
Teach farsaing ’s e fial fàilteach.
Bhiodh teanal nan cliar
Rè tamaill is cian,
Dh’fhios a’ bhaile ’m biodh triall
chàirdean.
Nàile, chunnaic mi uair
’S glan an lasadh bha ’d ghruaidh
Fo ghruaig chleachdaich nan dual àrbhuidh’. |
At the ocean’s sound my mood is forlorn –
time was that
such was not my wont to hear,
But the great shrill-voiced pipe,
all music surpassing
when Patrick’s fingers stirred it …
Bear this greeting from me
to the hall of wine-cups,
haunt of kinsmen in
distress …
To the dwelling that is not scanty,
over yonder beneath
the slope, where is the joy and the theme of my melody.
Sir Norman of my love,
one of Olgar’s race art thou,
stately from of old thy custom.
Thou treasure beloved,
this was ever thy wont: a wide
house liberal and welcoming.
For many a day poet-bands would gather
towards the
homestead whereunto friends would
fare.
Lo, I have seen the day
when bright shone thy cheek,
under the gold-yellow ringlets of thy head; |
