Ged théid mi gu danns, A ni samhladh do m' ghràdh ; Bidh mi sealltainn an àird 'S am bheil m' annsachd a' tàmh. Bheir i bàrr air na ceudan, An té tha mi sealg; I 'n gnùis mar an reul A bheir leus fad' air falbh ; A GHLINN UD SHIOS. A ghlinn ud shìos, a ghlinn ud shìos, Do choill tha fhathast dosrach, àrd, Tha 'n spréidh ag ionaltradh air do mhàgh, Tha chùrr ag iasgach air do thràigh, 'S an fhaoileann air a' chaol. No ball-room can tempt me There is none in the dance That with thee can compare; To the land where my fair one In beauty there's none With the maiden can vie; She's fair as the lily And sweet as the rose; O, LOVELY GLEN! O, lovely glen! as through a haze Thy stately pines their tall heads rear Thy herds are feeding as of yore Tha guth na cuthaig air do stùc; Os ceann do lòin tha 'n uiseag ghrinn Tha suaimhneas anns gach luibh fo bhlàth, Fuaim do chaochain, fead na gaoith, 'G ath-nuadhachadh le còmhradh tlàth Nan làithean àigh a thréig. Ach chì mi t'fhàrdaich air dol sìos Do ghàradh fiadhaich fàs gun dreach, O! c'àit am bheil gach caraid gaoil Tha chuid is mò dhiubh anns an ùir, 'Nam choigreach nochdte, truagh. The cuckoo's voice is heard at dawn; Now carols loud with glee. Repose supremely reigns o'er all; Love crowns the mountains hoar; And vividly they now recall The days that are no more. Thy gurgling brooks, and winds that fleet Thy peaceful dwellings once so bright, The traveller sees not from the height To yonder garden, once thy pride, And weeds grow thickly side by side, Where are the friends of worthy fame, Full many in the church-yard sleep', The rest are far away; And I forlorn in silence weep, With neither friend nor stay. 'Nam choigreach nochdte, truagh, gun taic 'S an aiceid ann am chliabh An aiceid chlaoidhteach sin nach caisg'Gam shlaid a chum mo chrìch. 'Gam shlaid a chum mo chrìch le bròn ; Tha lòchran dealrach, dait' nan speur Air tèarnadh sìos do 'n chuan, Is tonnan uain na h-àirde 'n iar Sgaoil an oidhch a cleòc mu 'n cuairt ; A ghlinn ud shios, a ghlinn ud shios, A' tionndadh uait dhol thar do shliabh, ORAN FEASGAIR A' BHAIRD. LEIS AN LIGHICHE MAC LACHAINN. 'So 'nam shìneadh air an t-sliabh, Deàrrsadh caoin ri taobh na tràigh: 'S truagh nach robh mi air an raon Far an deach i claon 'san àillt. |