Lyrics in Scottish Gaelic / Translations in English
Courtesy of Julie Fowlis / Machair Records Ltd
Love, let me home to my mother
Please note that these program notes are not in order of performance and are subject to
change.
Love, let me home to my mother
Darling, let me home to my mother
Love, let me home to my mother
I only came for the cattle.
1. In this song a young girl pleads with the water-horse to return her to her mother. She
met this mythological creature, common in the Gaelic tradition, at the edge of the cattle
fold and now begs him to return her as she was.
It was only last night
That I heard that my love was herding
And though you found me at the perimeter of the cattle fold
Love, let me home as you found me.
Na faclan bhon leabhar 'The songs of Gaelic Scotland' le Anna Latharna NicIlliosa ach
thog mi am fonn bhon t-seinn binn aig Ceit Nic Neacail, Ceit Phàdraig, nach maireann.
Do Isa, airson iarraidh orm an t-òran seo ionnsachadh an toiseach.
1. A ghaoil, leig dhachaigh gum mhàthair mi
A ghaoil, leig dhachaigh gum mhàthair mi;
A ghràidh, leig dhachaigh gum mhàthair mi;
A ghaoil, leig dhachaigh gum mhàthair mi An tòir chrodh-laoigh a thàine mi.
Gur ann a-raoir a chuala mi
Mo ghaol a bhith ri buachailleachd,
’S ged fhuair thu ’n iomall na buaile mi,
A ghaoil, leig dhachaigh mar fhuair thu mi.
’S mi dìreadh ris na gàrraidhean,
’S a’ teàrnadh ris na fàirichean,
Gun d’ thachair fleasgach bàigheil rium,
’S cha d’ dh’ fheuch e bonn ga chàirdeis rium.
Ged bheireadh tu crodh agus caoraich dhomh,
Ged bheireadh tu eachaibh air thaodaibh dhomh,
Ged bheireadh tu sin agus daoine dhomh,
A ghaoil, leig dhachaigh mar fhuair thu mi.
Trodaidh m’ athair ’s mo mhàthair riut,
Trodaidh mo chinneadh ’s mo chàirdean riut,
Ach marbhaidh mo thriùir bhràithrean thu
Mura tèid mi dhachaigh mar thàine mi.
Gheall mo mhàthair gùn thoirt dhomh,
Gheall i ribean a b’ ùire dhomh,
Is gheall i breacan ùr thoirt dhomh
Ma thèid mi dhachaigh mar fhuair thu mi.
I was clambering up the dykes
And descending the ridges
When a friendly lad met me
And he did not enforce his friendship on me.
Though you were to give me cattle and sheep
Though you were to give me tethered horses
Though you were to give me that and men
Love, let me home as you found me.
My mother and father will chastise you
My clan and my relatives will chastise you
But my three brothers will kill you
If I don’t return home as I came.
My mother promised me a gown
Decorated with the newest of ribbons
And she promised me a new plaid
If I return home the way you found me.
2. I learned this simple yet interesting example of Gaelic mouth-music from the National
Trust for Scotland's Canna Collection, from a recording made in 1950 by legendary
folklorist and scholar Dr John Lorne Campbell, whose incredible contribution to Gaelic
culture is documented in the book 'The Man Who Gave Away His Island', published by
Birlinn books.
Seo direach aon òran beag aotrom bho na ceudan de dh'òrain, sgeulachdan agus duain
eachdraidheil a chaidh a chlàradh le Donnchadh Dòmhnallach (Donnchadh mac
Dhòmhnaill 'ic Dhonnchaidh) a rugadh ann an 1882, an Uibhist a Deas. Tha iad rim
faighinn air làrach-lìn Tobar an Dualchais. Tha an tionndadh seo do sgioba TaD le taing
airson an cothrom a thug iad dhomh obair a dhèanamh mar phàirt dhan phròiseact aca.
2. Danns' a luideagan odhar
Danns' hi ri iù a, danns' a luideagan odhar,
Danns' hi ri iù a, danns' a luid' odhar mhaol,
Danns' hi ri iù a, danns' a luideagan odhar,
Danns' hi ri iù a, danns' a luid' odhar mhaol.
Danns' a luideagan odhar, danns' a luideagan odhar,
Danns' a luideagan odhar, danns' a luid' odhar mhaol,
Danns' a luideagan odhar, danns' a luideagan odhar,
Danns' a luideagan odhar, danns' a luid' odhar mhaol.
Dance hi ri iù a, dance dun-coloured slattern,
Dance hi ri iù a, dance dun-coloured, bald slattern,
Dance hi ri iù a, dance dun-coloured slattern,
Dance hi ri iù a, dance dun-coloured, bald slattern.
Dance dun-coloured slattern, dance dun-coloured slattern,
Dance dun-coloured slattern, dance dun-coloured, bald slattern,
Dance dun-coloured slattern, dance dun-coloured slattern,
Dance dun-coloured slattern, dance dun-coloured, bald slattern.
Cha d’ ghabh mise bàs croinn-ceusaidh
an èiginn chruaidh na Spàinn
is ciamar sin bhiodh dùil agam
ri aon duais ùir an dàin?
Cha do lean mi ach an t-slighe chrìon
bheag ìosal thioram thlàth,
is ciamar sin a choinnichinn
ri beithir-theine ghràidh?
Ach nan robh ‘n roghainn rithist dhomh
‘s mi ‘m sheasamh air an àird,
leumainn à neamh no iutharna
le spiorad ‘s cridhe slàn.
The Choice
3. A powerful song composed by one of Scotland's most significant literary characters,
Sorley MacLean. It appears in his seminal work 'Dàin do Eimhir', a collection of poetry
which explores his own feelings on love, choice, politics and injustice. The English
translation here is Sorley's own and the beautiful melody was composed by the
inimitable Donald Shaw.
A song for lost love.
Airson taic, brosnachadh agus cuideachadh air leth; tha seo do Jo agus Coinneach.
3. An Roghainn Dàin do Eimhir XXII
Choisich mi cuide ri mo thuigse
a-muigh ri taobh a’ chuain;
bha sinn còmhla ach bha ise
a’ fuireach tiotan bhuam.
An sin thionndaidh i ag ràdha:
A bheil e fìor gun cual
thu gu bheil do ghaol geal àlainn
a’ pòsadh tràth Diluain?
Bhac mi ‘n cridhe bha ‘g èirigh
‘nam bhroilleach reubte luath
is thubhairt mi: Tha mi cinnteach;
carson bu bhreug e bhuam?
Ciamar a smaoinichinn gun glacainn
an rionnag leugach òir,
gum beirinn oirre ‘s gun cuirinn i
gu ciallach ‘na mo phòc?
I walked with my reason
out beside the sea.
We were together but it was
keeping a little distance from me.
Then it turned saying:
is it true you heard
that your beautiful white love
is getting married early on Monday?
I checked the heart that was rising
in my torn swift breast
and I said: most likely;
why should I lie about it?
How should I think that I would grab
the radiant golden star,
that I would catch it and put it
prudently in my pocket
I did not take a cross’s death
in the hard extremity of Spain
and how then should I expect
the one new prize of fate?
I followed only a way
that was small, mean, low, dry, lukewarm,
and how then should I meet
the thunderbolt of love?
But if I had the choice again
and stood on that headland,
I would leap from heaven or hell
with a whole spirit and heart.
Measg Chlann Dòmhnaill fhuair mi m’ altrum Buidheann nan seòl ’s nan sròl daithe,
Nan long luath air chuantaibh farsaing,
Aiteam nach ciùin rùsgadh ghlaslann.
The Mavis of Clan Donald
4. This is one of the best known compositions from North Uist's John MacCodrum (17101796), the last official bard to the Clan MacDonald of Sleat. Despite being illiterate, his
command of the Gaelic language was renowned, as was his witty, sharp and satirical
style. This song however, praises the land of his birth and the Clan MacDonald in
particular, declaring them a people 'not mild when baring grey blades' in battle. English
translation here from 'The Songs of John MacCodrum' edited by the Rev. William
Matheson and published originally by Oliver and Boyd in 1938.
Airson Dòmhnallach òg a chaidh a thoirt bhuainn fada ro thrath. Do Ivan.
Hoilibheag hilibheag hò-aill-il ò,
Hoilibheag hilibheag hò-rò ì,
Hoilibheag hilibheag hò-aill-il ò,
A thrush of Clan Donald am I.
A mavis I on Paible's flat,
Huddled in a drowse of sleep,
Without misery that can go farther
My sorrow is the heavier (therefore) my spirit has fallen.
4. Smeòrach Chlann Dòmhnaill
Hoilibheag hilibheag hò-aill-il ò,
Hoilibheag hilibheag hò-rò ì,
Hoilibheag hilibheag hò-aill-il ò,
Smeòrach le Clann Dòmhnaill mì.
Smeòrach mis’ air ùrlar Phaibil
Crùbadh ann an dùsal cadail,
Gun deòrachd a thèid na ’s fhaide,
Truimid mo bhròn, thòirleum m’ aigne.
Smeòrach mis’ air mullach beinne
’G amharc grèin’ is speuran soilleir;
Thig mi stòlda chòir na coille Bidh mi beò air treòdas eile.
Ma mholas gach eun a thìr fèin
Cuim thar èis nach moladh mise
Tìr nan curaidh, tìr nan cliar,
An tìr bhiadhchar, fhialaidh mhiosail?
‘N tìr nach caol ri cois na mara,
An tìr ghaolach, chaomhnach, channach,
An tìr laoghach, uanach, mheannach:
Tìr an arain, bhainneach, mhealach.
An Cladh Chomhghain mise rugadh,
’N Àird an Rùnair fhuair mi togail,
Fradharc a’ chuain uaibhrich chuislich,
Nan stuagh guanach cluaineach cluiceach.
A mavis I on a mountain top,
Watching sun and cloudless skies;
Softly I approach the forest I shall live in other wise.
If every bird praises its own land
Why then should not I?
Land of heroes, land of poets
The abundant, hospitable, estimable land.
The land not narrow near the sea,
The delectable, mild, comely land,
The land of calves and lambs and kids,
The land of bread and milk and honey.
ln Comgan's Churchyard I was born,
In Àird an Runnair I was reared,
In sight of the proud throbbing sea,
Of the sportive, fickle, playful waves.
Among Clan Donald I was nursed,
They of of sails and coloured banners
Of swift ships on wide seas
A people not mild when baring grey blades.
5. Sometimes referred to as 'Cumha Chaluim' or 'Calum's Lament', this piece of poetry
was composed by John MacLean for his brother Calum, on his passing at a young age
in 1960. The lyrics have been set to the third movement of an old piobaireachd called
'Lament for the Children'. In it, he praises Calum's many qualities and attributes and
describes the loss they feel without him.
Dh' ionnsaich mi an t-òran seo bho shàr sheinneadair, Catriona NicDhòmhnaill, Catriona
Shomairle, nach maireann, an nighean aig Somhairle, bràthair Iain. Mar sin, tha an
tionndadh seo airson Somhairle, Gilleasbuig agus Aonghas. Le mòran spèis.
sorrowful, ill;
short your time
short your life
enduring the wound
a blow to your people.
5. Do Chalum
Chalum, a rùin,
on a dh’ eug thu
‘s airsnealach, tinn
as do dhèidh sinn;
geàrr bha do rèis,
geàrr do shaoghal,
buan an creuchd
bheum do dhaoine.
‘S tusa bha mear,
èibhinn, aotrom,
dealasach, ceart,
eirmseach, daonda;
fulganach, treun
gleac ri eucail,
gun fhiamh, gun ghealt
ri uchd èig thu.
Sgoilear gun mheang,
tuigseach, gleusda
thionail ar fuinn,
thruis gach sgeulachd.
Choisinn thu cliù
thall an Èirinn
‘s bhos an Alba
mòr bha dh’fheum ort.
Blàth bha do chrìdh,
fialaidh, mùirneach
macanta, còir,
coibhneil, fiùghant’;
fuaraidh an nochd
aognaidh, tùrsach
gaoth anns a’ bheàrn
nach gabh dùnadh.
To Calum
Beloved Calum
Since you died
we are
You were playful
amusing, light-hearted,
committed, correct,
witty, humane;
long-suffering, brave,
combating disease,
unflinching, uncowardly
in the face of death.
A flawless scholar
understanding, shrewd,
who gathered our songs
and many stories.
You earned a good reputation
over in Ireland
and here in Scotland
you were greatly needed.
Your heart was warm
generous, joyful,
gentle, good
kindly, liberal;
chilly tonight
gloomy, sad
the wind in the gap
that cannot be closed.
6. A traditional Gaelic lullaby which assures the child that their mother will protect them
and be there for them, always.
6. Cadal ciarach mo luran
Cadal ciarach mo luran,
Cadal ciarach mo luran,
Cadal ciarach mo luran,
Bidh mi fhìn agad tuilleadh.
Bidh mi fhìn agad tuilleadh,
Bidh mi fhìn agad tuilleadh,
Bidh mi fhìn agad tuilleadh,
Chan fhaigh dròbhair a' chruidh thu.
Chan fhaigh dròbhair a' chruidh thu,
Chan fhaigh dròbhair a' chruidh thu,
Chan fhaigh dròbhair a' chruidh thu,
Bidh mi fhìn agad tuilleadh.
Sleep well my beloved,
Sleep well my beloved,
Sleep well my beloved,
I’ll always be with you.
I’ll always be with you,
I’ll always be with you,
I’ll always be with you,
The drover of the cattle will not get you.
The drover of the cattle will not get you,
The drover of the cattle will not get you,
The drover of the cattle will not get you,
I’ll always be with you.
A selection of Gaelic mouth music, two jigs at the beginning and end, and a strathspey in
the middle. The final tune has some unusual rhythms and was learnt from the singing of
Seordag Murray from Achiltibuie. Interestingly, this recording was made for the School of
Scottish Studies by Calum MacLean, who is eulogised in 'Do Chalum'.
Sreath de phuirt-à-beul, a' toiseachadh le dà òran aighearrach mu dheidhinn ribinnean.
Chaidh an t-òran mu dheireadh a chlàradh ann an 1955 do Sgoil Eòlais na h-Alba. Leis
an ceangal a th' aice dhan Achd 'Ille Bhuidhe, tha seo airson m' aunty Joan agus Lachie,
bràthair mo mhàthair, agus an teaghlach air fad.
7. Puirt-à-beul set:
Ribinnean Rìomhach
Ribinnean rìomhach nighean an fhìdhleir,
Còta dimitidh, beatagan cailleago,
Ribinnean rìomhach nighean an fhìdhleir,
Còta sìod’ air Màiri.
Brògan àrda, cleòca sgàrlaid,
Còta dimitidh, beatagan cailleago,
Brògan àrda, cleòca sgàrlaid,
Ribinnean rìomhach Màiri.
Beautiful ribbons on the fiddler’s daughter,
A dimity coat, calico petticoats,
Beautiful ribbons on the fiddler’s daughter,
Màiri is wearing a silk coat.
High heeled shoes, a scarlet coat,
A dimity coat, calico petticoats,
High heeled shoes, a scarlet coat,
Màiri is wearing beautiful ribbons.
Gheibh sinn ribinnean mòra mòra
Gheibh sinn ribinnean mòra, mòra,
Gheibh sinn ribinnean mòra, dearga,
Gheibh sinn ribinnean mòra, mòra,
Nuair thig Eòghainn far a’ mhargaidh.
Dannsa leis a’ ghùn ùr, ùr,
Dannsa leis a’ ghùn ùr am bliadhna,
Dannsa leis a’ ghùn ùr, ùr,
Orra chùlaibh ‘s orra bheulaibh.
Air a dhùnadh orra chùlaibh,
’S air a dhùnadh orra bheulaibh;
Air a dhùnadh orra chùlaibh,
Dannsa leis a’ ghùn ùr, a nigheana!
We’ll get big, big ribbons,
We’ll get big, red ribbons,
We’ll get big, big ribbons,
When Eòghainn returns from the market.
Dancing wearing the new, new gown,
Dancing wearing the new gown this year,
Dancing wearing the new, new gown,
Behind and in front.
Fastened behind,
Fastened at the front,
Fastened behind,
Dancing with the new gown, girls!
Cailleach a’ Ghobhainn
’S ann a bha ’n othail air cailleach a’ ghobhainn,
’S ann a bha ’n othail air cailleach a’ mhuilleir,
’S ann a bha ’n othail air cailleach a’ ghobhainn,
Nuair chunnaic i 'n t-ogha bh’ aig cailleach a’ mhuilleir.
Hì hò air cailleach a’ ghobhainn,
Hì hò air cailleach a’ mhuilleir,
Hì hò air cailleach a’ ghobhainn,
’S ann a bha ’n othail air cailleach a’ mhuilleir.
What a din the smith’s wife made,
What a din the miller’s wife made,
What a din the smith’s wife made,
When she saw the miller’s wife’s grandchild.
Hì hò on the smith’s wife,
Hì hò on the miller’s wife,
Hì hò on the smith’s wife,
What a din the miller’s wife made.
8. A stunning song composed by poetess Rachael MacDonald of North Uist, and which
features as the only contribution from a female in the Rev. Archibald MacDonald's 'The
Uist Collection', published in 1894. The song is more commonly known as 'Gura mis' tha
fo mhìghean', the opening line from the first verse as sung here, however, the first verse
which appears in the 'The Uist Collection' book I chose on this occasion to include at the
very end of the song.
Airson tè a tha càirdeach do Raonaid agus aig a bheil spiorad agus comasan cruthachail
air leth. Do Fhlòraidh.
8. Òran Fir Heisgeir (Gura mis’ tha fo mhìghean)
Gura mis’ tha fo mhìghean,
’S mi leam fhìn air a’ chnoc,
Fada, fada, bho m’ chàirdean,
Ann an àite ri port;
Gus am facas do bhàta,
Le siùil àrda ri dos,
Tigh’nn a-steach chun na h-Àirde
’S mac an àrmainn air stoc.
Mac an àrmainn air stiùir,
A tigh’nn a dh’ ionnsaidh an Troit;
Gu bheil an caolas a’ beucadh,
’S muir ag èirigh mu slait;
Tha do làmh-sa cho gleusta,
’S nach do thrèig ise neart;
Ged a thigeadh muir dubh-ghorm,
Chuireadh sgùradh a-steach.
’S ged bhiodh cìosnachadh mar’ ann,
’Bhuileadh barraibh a crann,
’Chuireadh dh’ ionnsaigh a slat i,
’S luaithe h-astar na long;
Bhiodh i aigeannach, aotrom,
’G èirigh eadar gach gleann,
’S muir a’ bualadh mu darach,
’Fuasgladh reangan is lann.
Bu tu sgiobair na fairge,
Bu tu fear falmadair grinn,
Gur tu b’ urrainn a stiùireadh,
’Nuair a dhiùltadh iad i;
Ged a bheireadh iad thairis,
’S iad na laighe ’s an tuim,
Chumadh tusa i cho gàireach,
Gus an tàrradh i tìr.
Chan eil aon rubha cladaich,
Eadar seo ’s a Chaoir-dhearg,
Eadar Lìte ’s gach cala,
’N dèanta fantainn neo falbh;
Chan eil maighstir soithich,
Chuala feothas do làimh,
Nach bi faighneachd, ’s a feòrach’,
Càite faighte do bhàt’.
Iùbhrach àlainn, ’s i fallainn,
’S i ri gabhail a’ chuain,
I ruith cho dìreach ri saighead,
’S gaoth na h-aghaidh gu cruaidh;
Ged bhiodh stoirm chlacha’-meallain
Ann, ’s an cathadh a tuath,
Nì Fear Heisgeir a gabhail
Làmh nach athadh ro ’n stuaigh.
Tha Fear Heisgeir a’ tighinn;
Bu tu ceann-uidhe nan ceud,
Bu tu ceann-uidhe na cuideachd,
’S cha bu sgrubaire crìon;
’N àm ruighinn do bhaile,
Seal mu ’n cromadh a’ ghrian;
Bu tu mac an deagh athair,
Bha gu mathasach riamh.
The song of Fear Heisgeir
I am melancholy
Alone on the hillock
Far, far from my relations
Stranded in this place.
Till your ship was seen,
Full sailed
Coming in to the Aird
Son of the hero on the gunwhale.
Son of the hero at the helm
Coming towards the Troit
The waters of the straits are roaring
The sea rising around her yards;
Your hand is so skilled,
She did not lose her strength
Though the black blue sea
Would scour over her.
Though the seas were overpowering
and tested the top of the mast
And the sail yards
Increasing the speed of the ship;
She would be spirited, light,
Rising between each glen
Sea crashing her oak timbers
Opening ribs and scales.
Who was always benevolent.
9. Composed by Gilleasbaig MacDonald (c1750 - 1815) of North Uist, who also featured
as a contributor to the 1894 'Uist Collection', this humorous song describes a voyage on
a boat with a blacksmith, a gardener and a merchant.
'S ann bhon t-seinn aig an Urr. Uilleam MacMhathain a thog mi seo agus chuala e fhèin
na faclan an toiseach bho Aonghas Boid, Hosta, a bha na mhinistear ann an Gleann
Urachdadain, agus am fonn bho Sheonaidh Iain Linc.
Do Mhàiri - a' cuimhneachadh air mar a fhuair sinn fhèin treis a' bhàirlinn mara air 'Song
of the Whale'
9. Siud thu 'ille Ruaidh Ghallain
You were the sea skipper
You were the elegant helmsman
You were the one who could steer
When the rest refused;
Though they were overcome
Lying down in the bilge water
You would keep her laughing
Till she reached land.
There’s not a coastal point
Between here and a’ Chaoir-dhearg
Between Leith and each harbour
From which they anchored or sailed;
There isn’t a ship’s master
Who heard of your expertise
Who isn’t asking and enquiring
Where your ship is to be found.
Beautiful sound ship,
Taking on the seas
Sailing straight as an arrow
Despite strong headwinds
Though there was a hailstorm
And snow from the north
Fear Heisgeir will take it on
And never falter in the face of rough seas.
Fear Heisgeir is coming;
You are the destination of hundreds
You are the destination of the company
Not a withered niggard;
On reaching your homestead
A while before sunset
You are the son of the good father
Siud thu 'ille Ruaidh Ghallain
Shiùbhlainn leat an cuan fairis
Siud thu 'ille Ruaidh Ghallain.
Nuair a dh'fhalbh sinn leis a' bhàta
Fhuair sinn treis a' bhàirlinn mara.
Cha robh againn ach luchd ceàirde
Gobha, 's gàirnealair 's ceannaich.
B' fheàrr leam am fear ruadh nam mhàthair
Nuair thàinig an gàbhadh tharainn.
An gobha dhèanadh na tàirnean
Lìrigeadh e 'n àird ri anam.
An gàirnealair bha sa ghàrradh
Cha b' ann air a' chàl bha aire.
An ceannaich aig a robh a’ mhàileid
Fhuair e bhathar air a shailleadh.
Fear bha freasdal na h-aon làimhe
'S beag a b' fheàirrd' iad e sa chabhaig.
Gur e gaisgeachd agus cruadal
An fhir ruaidh thug sinn gu caladh.
There you go, handsome red-haired youth
I’d travel across the sea with you
There you go, handsome red-haired youth
When we sailed with the ship
We encountered a period of rolling seas
We had only tradesmen on board
A smith, a gardener and a merchant.
I preferred the red-haired one to my mother
When peril overtook us.
The smith who would make the nails
Would stake his soul on their strength.
The gardener who was in the garden
His attention was not on his cabbages.
The merchant who had the luggage
His goods were soaked in brine.
The one who was dependent on one hand
Was of little use in the emergency.
It was the heroism and the determination
Of the red-haired one that brought us to port.
10. Another set of mouth music which was inspired by the first of the three, which I
learned from a compelling Tobar an Dualchais recording of a Mrs Mary Lamont from
Tiree. The chorus is made up entirely of vocables which were easy to learn and sing but
more tricky to spell and write!
Sreath eile de phuirt-a-beul. Bha an dàrna fear aig Ruairidh MacDhòmhnaill (Ruairidh na
Càrnaich), a bha càirdeach dhomh, à Uibhist a Tuath. Mo thaing do dh'Iseabail T.
NicDhòmhnaill airson a cuideachadh le litreachadh na sèiste anns a' chiad fhear.
Trì òrain aigeannach - do thriùir gillean aigeannach; Dayne, Liam agus Elliott.
Fodder for the small stirks, fodder for the stirks,
Fodder for the small stirks, fodder for the stirks,
Fodder for the heifers when they would come in winter.
When I lived beyond the high rock face I was happy,
When I lived beyond the high rock face I was happy,
When I lived beyond the high rock face I was happy,
Though I am today, I am today with Black William MacDonald.
Chunna mi san Dùn thu
Chunna mi san Dùn thu,
Chunna mi san Dùn thu,
Chunna mi san Dùn thu,
Nuas à Dùthaich Mhic Leòid.
Nighean urra mhòr thu,
Nighean urra mhòr thu,
Nighean urra mhòr thu,
Agus ogh’ an duine chòir.
I saw you in the Dùn,
I saw you in the Dùn,
I saw you in the Dùn,
Down from MacLeod’s country.
You’re the daughter of an important person,
You’re the daughter of an important person,
You’re the daughter of an important person,
And grandchild of the kindly man.
Bidh òr na cailliche duibhe
Bidh òr na cailliche duibhe,
Airgid an dubhadaich,
Bidh òr na cailliche duibhe,
Ann am bonaid Theàrlaich.
10. Puirt-à-beul set:
Fodar dha na gamhna beaga
Fodar dha na gamhna beaga, fodar dha na gamhna,
Fodar dha na gamhna beaga, fodar dha na gamhna,
Fodar dha na gamhna beaga, fodar dha na gamhna,
Fodar dha na h-aighean nuair a thigeadh iad ’sa Gheamhradh.
Nuair a bha mi 'n cùl a’ bhearraidh, b’aighearach mo lòn ann,
Nuair a bha mi 'n cùl a’ bhearraidh, b’ aighearach mo lòn ann,
Nuair a bha mi 'n cùl a’ bhearraidh, b’ aighearach mo lòn ann,
Ged tha mi ’n-diugh, ged tha mi ’n-diugh aig Uilleam Dubh MacDhòmhnaill.
Fodder for the small stirks, fodder for the stirks,
Ìt an ìomhag na h-eireig,
Ann an cìrean a’ choilich,
It a bh’ ann a’ stiùir a’ choilich,
Ann am bonaid Theàrlaich.
The black old lady’s gold,
Inherited money,
The black old lady’s gold,
Will be in Charlie’s bonnet.
The feathers from the pullet’s belly,
Will be in the cockerel’s comb,
The feather that was in the cockerel’s tail,
Will be in Charlie’s bonnet.
11. The piece is actually made up of two songs - about seals. These creatures have a
special place in Gaelic folklore and tradition, and North Uist in particular has stories and
songs of 'Clann rìgh fo gheasan' - children of a Scandinavian king under a spell,
banished forever to remain creatures of the sea. These songs have always interested
me greatly. I first learned and performed these for a fantastic BBC production called
'Innsean an Iar', the Gaelic adaptation of the much acclaimed 'Hebrides on the Edge'
series of 2013. Translation of An Ròn by Bill Innes from 'Chì Mi - the Gaelic Poetry of
Donald John MacDonald', published in 1998 by Birlinn Ltd. Lyrics and translation for Ann
an Caolas Od Odrum courtesy of Anne Lorne Gillies.
Mo thaing do dh' Anna Latharna NicIllÌosa gu h-àraid, agus tha an dreach seo dhith,
agus do Nigel, John, Dòmhnall, Ingrid agus an sgioba air fad bho 'Innsean an Iar'.
11a. An ròn
“Mise nighean Rìgh-fo-Thuinn
Fuil nan rìghrean na mo chrè Ged a chì sibh mi nam ròn
Tha mi mòrail nam thìr fhèin.
“Tìr-fo-Thuinn mo dhachaigh dhùint’
Innis dhùthchasach nan ròn;
Caidlidh mi air leacan sàil’,
Mi fhìn ’s mo bhàn-chuilean òg.”
A Bhana-phrionns’ a’ chuain shiar,
A bheil sgeul agad ri luaidh?
Nach inns thu dhuinn mar a bha
Mun do ghabh sibh tàmh sa chuan?
The Seal
"I am daughter of the King-under-Sea
Royal blood flows in my veins Though you see me as a seal
I am noble in my own land.
"Land-below-waves my prison home,
Hereditary domain of the seal;
I will sleep on a salt sea slab,
Myself and my white-furred pup."
O Princess of the western ocean
Do you have a tale to weave?
Will you tell us how it was
Before you came to live at sea?
"Spells were laid upon us
During our human lives by foes Though we now swim the straits
Human nature is our heritage.
"At the dead of feast-day night
We cast our sealskins on the sand,
Playing there as gentle maids
Shaking our blonde tresses.
"But tonight I am a seal
On a rock beside the sea;
It is my nature to give love,
And mankind I hold dear."
11b. Ann an Caolas Od Odrum
“Chaidh na geasan a chur oirnn
Rè ar beò-bhith le luchd-fuath,
’S ged a tha sinn snàmh nan caol
’S e nàdar daonnd’ tha dhuinn dual.
“Aig tràth-marbh air oidhche fèill
Tilgidh sinn ar bèin air tràigh,
’S cluichidh sinn nar n-òighean suairc’
A’ crathadh ar cuaillean bàn.
“Ach a-nochd tha mi nam ròn
Air an lic an còrs’ a’ chuain:
’S e mo nàdar bhith toirt gaol,
’S do chlann-daoine thug mi luaidh.”
Ann an Caolas Od Odrum far an coidleadh an ròn,
is far nach cluinnte guth duin’ ach fuaim tuinne ’s glog geòidh
Muime 'g altram a pàistean 's i gan tàladh gu ciùin,
gu bheil tulgadh nan cuantan ga sìor luasgadh nan suain.
Hion da hion do hion da odar da
Hion da hion do hion da odar da
Hì o dan dao, hì o dan dao,
Hì o dan dao odar da, odar da
Muime 'g altram a pàistean 's i gan tàladh gu ciùin,
gu bheil tulgadh nan cuantan ga sìor luasgadh nan suain.
An ròn rìoghail a' gusgail, 'n eala guileag ri thaobh,
a' mhaighdeann-mhara ’s i bruadar anns an uaigneas air laoch.
An ròn rìoghail a’ gusgail, ’n eala guileag ri thaobh,
a’ mhaighdeann-mhara ’s i bruadar anns an uaigneas air laoch.
Ann an Caolas Od Odrum far an coidleadh an ròn,
is far nach cluinnte guth duine ach fuaim tuinne ’s glog geòidh.
In Caolas Od Odrum where the seals would sleep
where a human voice was never heard, only the sound of the waves and the calling of
geese
A stepmother nurses her children, softly singing a lullaby
the movement of the waves gently rocks them to sleep.
Hion da hion do hion da odar da
Hion da hion do hion da odar da
Hì o dan dao, hì o dan dao,
Hì o dan dao odar da, odar da.
A stepmother nurses her children, softly singing a lullaby
the movement of the waves gently rocks them to sleep.
The noble seal is mewling, the swan singing beside him
the mermaid dreams in solitude of a hero.
The noble seal is mewling, the swan singing beside him
the mermaid dreams in solitude of a hero.
In Caolas Od Odrum where the seals would sleep
where a human voice was never heard, only the sound of the waves and the calling of
geese.
12. Òran tàlaidh a dh’ionnsaich mi bho Chatrìona Garbutt, seinneadair agus pìobaire air
leth ainmeil à Beinn na Fadhla.
A lullaby song sung as a warning, which I learned from Catriona Garbutt, a great singer
and piper from Benbecula, whose late brother Calum taught me the pipes at Carinish
School when I was a youngster. The word Aoidh can mean “Guest” but it is also a
Christian name, which is still used in Ireland for the name “Hugh”.
12. Aoidh, na Dèan Cadal Idir,
Aoidh, na dèan cadal idir,
Aoidh, na dèan cadal trom;
Aoidh, na dèan cadal idir –
Thoir a-mach ris an tom.
Aoidh, na dèan cadal idir,
Aoidh, na dèan cadal trom;
Seall a‑staigh fo thaobh do leaba:
Gheibh thu ’n gaoirdean rag ’s e trom.
Aoidh, na dèan cadal idir,
Fois chan fhaigh ’s a’ chreach air bhonn;
Seall rid leis, an claidheamh geur ann,
’S thoir a-mach ris an tom.
Aoidh, don’t sleep at all,
Aoidh, don’t sleep at all,
Aoidh , don’t sleep deeply;
Aoidh don’t sleep at all Take to the hills immediately.
Aoidh don’t sleep at all,
Aoidh, don’t sleep deeply;
Look under your side of your bed:
You’ll find the stiff, heavy arm.
Aoidh, don’t sleep at all,
You’ll get no peace with the raid underway;
Ensure your sharp sword is on your thigh
And take to the hills immediately.
13. Rinn Pàdraig Moireasdan à Griomasaigh an deagh òran seo mu 1950, às dèidh
turas a thachair a bhith gu math garbh air an Lochmor. ’S e bàta ainmeil a bh’ anns an
Lochmor, agus ’s iomadh turas a rinn i.
I learned this song from Lachie Morrison (Lachlainn Phàdraig) last summer in his house
in Grimsay, North Uist. This was a song that his father, Peter Morrison, composed after
a particularly memorable journey on a well known boat that served the Hebrides and the
West Coast of Scotland called the Lochmor.
13. Turas san Lochmor
An nì a bha nam inntinn gun inns mi dhuibh an rann:
Gu falbhainn dh’aindeoin sìde air sgrìob do thìr nan Gall,
Le baga làn de chearcan agus rudan a bha gann –
Gum bithinn aig Bliadhn’ Ùir ann ’s gun chùmhnadh air an dram.
Diciadain dh’fhalbh mi casruisgt’ le mo bhagaichean nam dhòrn,
A’ dol a Loch nam Madadh ghabhail aiseag san Lochmor;
Bha fuachd na mo chasan-sa ’s bha sneachd’ air bhàrr nan lòn ‑
Cha dìochuimhnich mi ’n t‑allaban cho fad’ ’s a bhios mi beò.
Nuair ràinig mi a’ cheàrdach, àrdach duine chòir
A thug a‑staigh gun dàil mi ’s a nochd dhomh càirdeas mòr,
Thug dhomh tì a b’ fheàirrde mi ri aghaidh bhlàth an stòbh ‑
Gu seasainn fuachd nuair dh’fhàg sinn le mo chaiseart blàth ’s lem chòt’.
Nuair dh’fhalbh an carbad-ola leinn ’s ar n‑aghaidh thoir dhan tuath,
Bha sinn greis an Cearsabhagh a’ blasad air stuth cruaidh;
Gun tàinig Bean na Maise ’s am muir geal oirre mun cuairt,
’S chanainn fhìn gum b’ amadan a rachadh innt’ air chuan.
Nuair thog i mach gu farsainneachd, ’s sinn airsnealach is sgìth,
Nuair thòisich cur na mara oirnn, bu mhath a bhith air tìr;
Bha mise mar bha càch, le spàirn orm a’ strì ‑
An drama dh’òl mi ’n Cearsabhagh, bu duilich dhealaich sinn.
On ear‑dheas bha i sèideadh oirnn, gun choltas tighinn na b’ fheàrr,
Bha sinn uil’, oir b’ fheudar dhuinn, nar sìneadh air an làr;
Nuair readh i sìos dhan chlaisidh leinn ’s am muir a’ sgailceadh àrd,
Bha cùram air gach neach againn nach tilleadh i gu bràth.
B ’e siud an oidhche ànranach a bh’ againn anns a’ bhàt’,
Ach ràinig sinn Loch Baghasdail le dìon an Tì as Àird;
Thug mi leam mo bhagaichean agus thàrr mi às a’ bhàt’ ‑
Chan fhanainn‑sa na b’ fhaid’ innte ged rachainn dhan taigh-gheàrd!
Fhuair mi cadal socair ann an dachaigh dhaoine còir,
Aig Maiseig Ruadh, ’s mo ghràdh oirre, oir nochd i càirdeas dhòmhs’:
Guma fada slàn i, oir ’s bàidheil i na dòigh
Gu gabhail ro aon ànranach a dh’fhàgadh an Lochmor.
Mun crìochnaich mi an t-òran seo, gun inns mi dhuibh an còrr:
A‑màireach thill mi dhachaigh agus botal na mo phòc;
Chruinnich sinn na càirdean gu pàrtaidh dhe gach seòrs’,
Is cha robh h‑aon a thàinig leinn a chàineadh an Lochmor!
A Journey in the Lochmor
I’ll tell you in verse what my intention was.
Regardless of bad weather, I would pay a visit to the Lowlands,
carrying a bag full of chickens and other scarce goods.
I’d be there at New Year and there would be no stinting on whisky
Barefoot, I left on Wednesday, clutching my bags,
heading for Lochmaddy and a crossing on the Lochmor.
Snow had fallen and my feet were freezing.
It was a journey I’ll never forget.
I reached the smithy, home of a good man,
who took me in and showed me great kindness.
In front of a warm stove he restored me with tea.
I was able to withstand the cold when I left with warm shoes and a coat.
The motor car left, heading north,
and we spent a while in Cearsabhagh sampling whisky.
Bean na Maise appeared through foaming seas all around and,
in my opinion, only a fool would take to sea in her.
By the time she reached open seas we were depressed and weary.
As seasickness started we longed to be ashore.
I was like the others, fighting it valiantly.
But sadly I had to part from the dram I drank in Cearsabhgh.
A south-easterly wind was blowing hard and showing no sign of abating.
We were all, of necessity, lying on the floor.
When she plunged into the trough, with seas breaking high above her,
we were all terrified that she’d never right herself again.
Despite having such a stormy night in the ship,
under the protection of the Almighty, we reached Lochboisdale.
I took my bags and escaped from the ship.
Threat of imprisonmemt wouldn’t have made me stay on board.
I had a good night’s sleep in dear Maiseag Ruadh’s,
the home of generous, friendly people.
May she live long for the kindly welcome she gave
to at least one wanderer who deserted the Lochmor.
Before I finish this song I’ll tell you the rest.
The following day I returned home with a bottle in my pocket.
Friends gathered and we had a splendid party and
no-one in the company bad-mouthed the Lochmor.