Hallaig
Somhairle MacGill-Eain [Sorley MacLean]| Set owre bye / Scots translation / Traduzione scozzese / Traduction... | |
| HALLAIG 'Time, the deer, is in Hallaig Wood' There's a board nailed across the window I looked through to see the west And my love is a birch forever By Hallaig Stream, at her tryst Between Inver and Milk Hollow, somewhere around Baile-chuirn, A flickering birch, a hazel, A trim, straight sapling rowan. In Screapadal, where my people Hail from, the seed and breed Of Hector Mor and Norman By the banks of the stream are a wood. To-night the pine-cocks crowing On Cnoc an Ra, there above, And the trees standing tall in moonlight - They are not the wood I love. I will wait for the birches to move, The wood to come up past the cairn Until it has veiled the mountain Down from Beinn na Lice in shade. If it doesn't, I'll go to Hallaig, To the sabbath of the dead, Down to where each departed Generation has gathered. Hallaig is where they survive, All the MacLeans and MacLeads Who were there in the time of Mac Gille Chaluim: The dead have been seen alive, The men at their length on the grass At the gable of every house, The girls a wood of birch trees Standing tall, with their heads bowed. Between The Leac and Fearns The road is plush with moss And the girls in a noiseless procession Going to Clachan as always And coming back from Clachan And Suisnish, their land of the living, Still lightsome and unheartbroken, Their stories only beginning. From Fearns Burn to the raised beach Showing clear in the shrouded hills There are only girls congregating, Endlessly walking along Back through the gloaming to Hallaig Through the vivid speechless air, Pouring down the steep slopes, Their laughter misting my ear And their beauty a glaze on my heart. Then as the kyles go dim And the sun sets behind Dun Cana Love's loaded gun will take aim. It will bring down the lightheaded deer As he sniffs the grass round the wallsteads And his eye will freeze: while I live, His blood won't be traced in the woods. | HALLAIG “The deer, time, liggs in Hallaig shaw.” The windae’s nailt an broddit up whaur-throu I saw the airt o the Wast an ma luve is at the burn o Hallaig in her bunnet o birk, an she wis aye atween Inver an Mulkie Linn thare or thareaboots roun Baile-Chuirn wey, cled in a birk, in a hazel, in a young rowan straucht an sclender. In Screapadal whaur ma ain fowk wis , whaur Norman an Big Hector bade, thair dochters an thair sons is a wid raxin up alang the burnside. Prood the nicht the pine cocks craws on the heicht o Cnoc an Ra straucht thair spaulds in the muinlicht – no thaim the wids o ma hert. I will byde on the birken shaw whit time it raxes til the Cairn whit lenth the haill rig til its scadda owre Ben na Lice dis lour. Gin it disna, I’m awa doun til Hallaig til the sabbath o the deid wi aa the fowk in thrangity ilk generation that’s awa. Thay’r aa aye in Hallaig Macleans an MacLeods aa thaim thare frae MacGille Chaluim’s day: the deid haes been seen, leivin yit – the menfowk lyin on the gress ilk gavel-en o ilka hoose that’s been, the lassies a wid o birk trees, straucht thair spaulds, blate thair heids. Atween the Leac an Fearns a braird o moss saftens the hie road an the lassies in seilent bauns thegither gangs til Clachan as frae the first. An comin back frae Clachan, frae Suisnish an the land o the leivin – ilkane young an licht o fuit wi nae hertbrek in the story. Burn o Fearns lenth o sea-tint cladach Sae clair in the raivelment o the hills the’r nocht but thon congregation o the lassies aye haudin forrit at thair endless haik, returnin til Hallaig come the eenin in the dumb leivin gloamin fuhlin the stey braes thair lauchter in ma listenin lik a haar thair fairheid watterin ma hert’s een gin comes the mirk owre the kyles, gin gangs the sun the back o Dun Cana a buhlet frae luve’s gun will come threipin an stote thon deer that gangs stoiterin snowkin at the gressy larachs; he will faa in the wid, his ee jeelin; whyle I’m alive, ye winna finnd his bluid. |
