An eala bhàn
Dòmhnall Ruadh ChorùnaOriginale | Traduzione inglese dal sito dei Capercaillie. |
AN EALA BHÀN Gur duilich leam mar tha mi 'S mo chridhe 'n sàs aig bròn Bhon an uair a dh'fhàg mi Beanntan àrd a' cheò Gleanntannan a'mhànrain Nan loch, nam bàgh 's nan sròm 'S an eala bhàn tha tàmh ann Gach latha air 'm bheil mi 'n tòir. A Mhagaidh na bi tùrsach A rùin, ged gheibhinn bàs- Cò am fear am measg an t-sluaigh A mhaireas buan gu bràth? Chan eil sinn uile ach air chuairt Mar dhìthein buaile fàs Bheir siantannan na blianna sios 'S nach tog a' ghrian an àird. Tha 'n talamh leir mun cuairt dhìom 'Na mheallan suas 's na neòil; Aig na 'shells a' bualadh - Cha leir dhomh bhuam le ceò: Gun chlaisneachd aig mo chluasan Le fuaim a' ghunna mhòir; Ach ged tha 'n uair seo cruaidh orm Tha mo smuaintean air NicLeòid. Air m' uilinn anns na truinnsichean Tha m' inntinn ort, a ghràidh; Nam chadal bidh mi a' bruadar ort Cha dualach dhomh bhith slàn; Tha m' aigne air a lionadh Le cianalas cho làn 'S a'ghruag a dh'fhàs cho ruadh orm A nis air thuar bhith bàn. Ach ma thig an t-àm Is anns an Fhraing gu faigh mi bàs 'S san uaigh gun tèid mo shìneadh Far eil na mìltean chàch, Mo bheannachd leis a' ghruagaich, A' chaileag uasal bhbànn - Gach là a dh'fhalbh gun uallach dhi, Gun nàire gruaidh na dhàil. Oidhche mhath leat fhèin, a rùin Nad leabaidh chùbhraidh bhlàth; Cadal sàmhach air a chùl Do dhùsgadh sunndach slàn. Tha mise 'n seo 's an truinnsidh fhuar 'S nam chluasan fuaim bhàis Gun duil ri faighinn às le buaidh - Tha 'n cuan cho buan ri shnàmh. | THE WHITE SWAN Sad I consider my condition With my heart engaged with sorrow, From the very time that I left The high bens of the mist, The little glens of dalliance, Of the lochans, the bays and the forelands, And the white swan dwelling there, Whom I daily pursue. Maggie, don't be sad, Love, if I should die - Who among men Endures eternally? We are all only on a journey, Like flowers in the deserted cattle fold, That the year's wind and rain will bring down And that the sun cannot raise. All the ground around me Is like hail in the heavens; With the shells exploding - I am blinded by smoke: My ears are deafened By the roar of the cannon; But despite the savagery of the moment My thoughts are on the girl called MacLeod. Crouched in the trenches My mind is fixed on you, love; In sleep I dream of you, I am not fated to survive; My spirit is filled With a surfeit of longing, And my hair once so auburn Is now almost white. Good-night to you, love, In your warm, sweet-smelling bed; May you have peaceful sleep and afterwards May you waken healthy and in good spirits. I am here in the cold trench With the clamour of death in my ears, With no hope of returning victorious - The ocean is too wide to swim. |