Thuirt i rium gum bu chòir dhuinn
Dol do sheòmar nan uinneag –
Gu robh cluich agus ceòl ann,
Gu robh òl ann is iomairt,
Gu robh maighdeannan òg ann
Dhe gach seòrs’ agus cinneadh,
Agus taghadh nan òigfhear,
‘’S bidh tu, Dhòmhnaill, air mhire
Mun tig thu às!’
Nuair a ràinig mi ’n cala,
Cha b’ e talla nan uaislean –
Bha aon chòig no sia bhalaich
Agus caile thiugh ruadh ann;
Iad ri mionnan ’s ri bòilich
Agus còmhradh gun tuaiream –
Bheirinn fàsgadh air sgòrnan
Na tè neònaich thug suas mi,
Nam biodh i mach.
Chuirinn impidh gun sòradh
Air gach Dòmhnall sa bhaile
Gun e lùbadh le gòraig
A bhiodh bòidheach na shealladh;
Ged as milis an còmhradh,
Tha ceud fòtas fon earradh –
’S math tha fios aig mo phòca,
’S far ’n do sgròb iad mo mhala,
Gu bheil sin ceart. |
She said we should go to
the room with the windows,
there’d be games there and music,
there’d be drink there and frolics,
and my choice of young maidens
of every kind and colour,
and the best of the young men,
‘And you’ll be in your element
before you leave’.
When I got to that harbour,
it was no great lords’ castle –
there were five or six lads there
and a stout red-haired lassie;
they were cursing and bawling,
their talk was aimless:
I’d wring the neck of
the strange one who enticed me
were she about.
I’d beg with no hesitation
every Donald in the city
not to be swayed by a silly girl
who looks pretty to his eyes;
although her speech may be sweet,
her dress conceals a hundred blemishes,
and well my pocket knows,
and my brow where they scratched me,
that that’s correct. |
