Is trom leam an àirigh, ’s a’ ghàir’ seo a th’ innt’,
Gun a’ phàirtidh a dh’fhàg mi bhith ’n tràth s’ air mo chinn –
Anna chaol-mhalach, chìoch-chorrach, shlìob-cheannach, chruinn
Is Iseabail a’ bheòil mhilis, mhànranaich, bhinn.
Heich! Mar a bha, air mo chinn,
A dh’fhàg mi cho cràiteach, ’s nach stàth dhomh bhith ’g inns’.
Shiubhail mis’ a’ bhuaile ’s a-suas feadh nan craobh
’S gach àit’ anns am b’ àbhaist bhith pàgadh mo ghaoil;
Nuair chunnaic mi ’m fear bàn ud, ’s e mànran ra mhnaoi,
B’ fheàrr leam nach tiginn idir làmh riu no ’n gaoith.
’S e mar a bha, air mo chinn,
A dh’fhàg air bheag tàth mi, ge nàr e ri sheinn.
Ach, Anna bhuidh Dhòmhnaill, nam b’ eòl dhut mo nì,
’S e do ghràdh gun bhith pàight’ leag a-bhàn uam mo chlì;
Tha e dhomh à t’ fhianais cho gnìomhach ’s nuair chì,
A’ diogalladh ’s a’ smùsach, ’s gur ciùrrt thu mo chrìdh’.
Ach, ma tha mi ga do dhìth,
Gum b’ fheàirrde mi pàg uat mus fàgainn an tìr.
On chualas gun gluaiseadh tu uam leis an t-saor,
Tha mo shuain air a buaireadh le bruadraichean faoin:
Dhen chàirdeas a bha siud chan fhàir mi bhith saor –
Gun bhàirnigeadh làmh riut, tha ’n gràdh dhomh na mhaor
Air gach tràth, ’s mi ann an strì
A’ feuchainn ra àicheadh, ’s e fàs rium mar chraoibh. |
The shieling is a sad place for me, when the present company in it –
Rather than the company who used to be there – are near to me –
Anna of the pointed breasts, finely-arched brows, shining hair, full figure
And honey-mouthed Isabel, melodious, sweet.
Alas for things as they were close to me –
I have grown so bereft, there is no point in talking about it.
I wandered across the fold and up into the woods
And everywhere I used to kiss my love.
When I saw that fair fellow courting his wife,
I wish I had not come near them or beside them.
That’s how it was, close to me,
What has made me so dispirited – it’s no good talking about it.
Fair Anna, Donald’s daughter, if you knew my condition,
It is unrequited love for you that deprived me of my strength.
It remains as lively with me as in your presence,
Teasing and provoking, wounding me to the heart.
Now, if I am to lose you,
I would be the better of a kiss from you, before I leave the country.
Since it was rumoured that you would forsake me for the carpenter,
My sleep is disturbed with dreams of love.
Of the affection that was between us I cannot break free:
When I am not beside you, love is like a bailiff to me.
At every hour I am in turmoil,
Trying to deny it, while it grows in me like a tree. |
