Cumha Mhic Criomain
Donald Ban MacCrimmon (Dòmnhull Bàn MacCruimein)Originale | La versione scozzese di Lizzie Higgins, da Mainly Norfolk: English... |
CUMHA MHIC CRIOMAIN Dh' aidh ceò nan stùc mu aodann Chuilinn, Is sheinn a' bhean-shìth a torman mulaid, Gorm shùilean ciùin san Dùn a' sileadh, Bo'n thriall thu bhuainn 's nach till thu tuille. Cha till, cha till, cha till Mac-Cruimein An cogadh no sìth cha till e tuille; Le airgiod no ni cha till Mac-Cruimein, Cha till e gu bràth gu là na cruinne. Tha osag nam beann gu fann ag imeachd, Gach sruthan ’s gach allt gu mall le bruthaich; Tha ealtainn nan speur feadh ghèugan dubhach, A’ caoidh gu ’n d’ fhalbh ’s nach till thu tuille. Cha till, cha till, cha till Mac-Cruimein An cogadh no sìth cha till e tuille; Le airgiod no ni cha till Mac-Cruimein, Cha till e gu bràth gu là na cruinne. Tha'n fhairge fa-dhèoigh làn bròin is mulaid Tha'm bàta fo sheòl, ach dhiùlt i siubhal Tha gàirich nan tonn le fuaim neo-shubhach Ag ràbh gun d'fhalbh 'snach till thu tuille. Cha till, cha till, cha till Mac-Cruimein An cogadh no sìth cha till e tuille; Le airgiod no ni cha till Mac-Cruimein, Cha till e gu bràth gu là na cruinne. Cha chluinnear do cheòl san Dùn mu fheasgar 'Smac-talla nam mùr le muirn ga fhreagairt Gach fleasgach us òigh, gun cheòl gun bheadrach O'n thriall thu bhuainn, 's nach till thu tuille. Cha till, cha till, cha till Mac-Cruimein An cogadh no sìth cha till e tuille; Le airgiod no ni cha till Mac-Cruimein, Cha till e gu bràth gu là na cruinne. | MACCRIMMON'S LAMENT Around Coolin's peaks the mist is sailin; The banshee croons her note o wailin. (1) My own blue een wi sorrow is streamin (2) For him that shall never return, MacCrimmon. No more, no more, no more forever Shall love or gold bring back MacCrimmon. No more, no more, no more forever Shall love or gold bring back MacCrimmon. The breeze on the braes are mournfully moanin, (3) The brooks in the hollows are plaintively moanin. My own blue een wi sorrow are streamin For him that shall never return, MacCrimmon. No more, no more, no more forever Shall love or gold bring back MacCrimmon. No more, no more, no more forever Shall love or gold bring back MacCrimmon. MacLeod's withered flag from the grey castle sallies, The oars are unseated, unmoored are the galleys, Gleans war-axe and broadsword, clan target and quiver, For him that shall never return, MacCrimmon. No more, no more, no more forever Shall love or gold bring back MacCrimmon. No more, no more, no more forever Shall love or gold bring back MacCrimmon. |
(2) e'en: eyes;
(3) braes: slopes.