Artist : FOWLIS, JULIE
Album : Uam
A Mhic Dhùghaill 'ic Ruairidh
A chuir am buaireadh fo m' chèill-sa
A chuir an tainead mo ghruaidhean
'S dh' fhàg mo ghruag air dhroch
ghrèidheadh
Mo mhìle mallachd dha m' phiuthar
Nighean bhuidhe a' chùil stèidhtich
'S gura diombach mi dha m' mhàthair
Ged is màthair i dhòmhsa
'S gura buidheach mi dha m' athair
'S e nach cuireadh droch-sgeul orm
'S mo mhìle mallachd dhan bhuachaill
A bha 'g uallach na sprèidhe
Mac bodachain shuaraich
Dha 'm bu dual bhith an gleann geugach
Chaidh a dhùsgadh nam balach
Moch sa mhadainn man èirich
Air thoiseach bha triùir ann
'S air thùs bha dà-reug ann
Thuirt mo bhràthair bu shine
Ligibh na balaich gu chèile
Thuirt mo bhràthair a b' òige
Chan e chòir ach an eucoir
'S ann a' dìreadh a' ghàrraidh
A' leig thu ghràidh a cheud èigh às
'S ann a' teàrnadh a' bhruthaich
A fhuair thu am bruthadh a lèir thu
'S gu robh fuil do chom chùbhraidh
A' sruladh troimh d' lèinidh
'S ged a dh' òl mi ghaoil pàirt dheth
Cha do shlànaich do chreuchdan
O nach robh mi 's tu m'eudail
Am Baile Pheairt na Dùn Èideann
Na 'n tìr nam fear dubha
Nan Còigeamh Mumhann na h-Eirinn
Man do chuir mi riamh ùidh annad
Lùb ùr a' chùil cheutaich.
Son of Dougal, son of Ruairidh,
who greatly challenged my senses
You thinned my cheeks
and left my hair unkempt
My curse on my sister,
yellow haired girl of wavy hair
I am resentful of my mother
although she is my own
I am thankful to my father,
he that would not put a bad tale on me
A thousand curses on the cow-herd,
who was watching the cattle
Son of a diminutive mean man,
that should be in a glen of branches
Who went to waken the boys
early morning before rising
At first there were three,
then at last there were twelve
My older brother said,
let the boys go together?
My younger brother said,
it is not right but unjust
It was climbing the garden,
you gave the first shout darling
It was descending the slope,
you got the fatal blow
And your blood on your lovely chest,
pouring through your shirt
Although I drank, my love, some of it,
it did not heal your wounds
O that I and you my love
were in Perth or Edinburgh
Or in the land of the black men,
or Munster of Ireland
Before I ever showed interest in you,
smart young fellow of the beautiful rear!
Album : Uam
A Mhic Dhùghaill 'ic Ruairidh
A chuir am buaireadh fo m' chèill-sa
A chuir an tainead mo ghruaidhean
'S dh' fhàg mo ghruag air dhroch
ghrèidheadh
Mo mhìle mallachd dha m' phiuthar
Nighean bhuidhe a' chùil stèidhtich
'S gura diombach mi dha m' mhàthair
Ged is màthair i dhòmhsa
'S gura buidheach mi dha m' athair
'S e nach cuireadh droch-sgeul orm
'S mo mhìle mallachd dhan bhuachaill
A bha 'g uallach na sprèidhe
Mac bodachain shuaraich
Dha 'm bu dual bhith an gleann geugach
Chaidh a dhùsgadh nam balach
Moch sa mhadainn man èirich
Air thoiseach bha triùir ann
'S air thùs bha dà-reug ann
Thuirt mo bhràthair bu shine
Ligibh na balaich gu chèile
Thuirt mo bhràthair a b' òige
Chan e chòir ach an eucoir
'S ann a' dìreadh a' ghàrraidh
A' leig thu ghràidh a cheud èigh às
'S ann a' teàrnadh a' bhruthaich
A fhuair thu am bruthadh a lèir thu
'S gu robh fuil do chom chùbhraidh
A' sruladh troimh d' lèinidh
'S ged a dh' òl mi ghaoil pàirt dheth
Cha do shlànaich do chreuchdan
O nach robh mi 's tu m'eudail
Am Baile Pheairt na Dùn Èideann
Na 'n tìr nam fear dubha
Nan Còigeamh Mumhann na h-Eirinn
Man do chuir mi riamh ùidh annad
Lùb ùr a' chùil cheutaich.
Son of Dougal, son of Ruairidh,
who greatly challenged my senses
You thinned my cheeks
and left my hair unkempt
My curse on my sister,
yellow haired girl of wavy hair
I am resentful of my mother
although she is my own
I am thankful to my father,
he that would not put a bad tale on me
A thousand curses on the cow-herd,
who was watching the cattle
Son of a diminutive mean man,
that should be in a glen of branches
Who went to waken the boys
early morning before rising
At first there were three,
then at last there were twelve
My older brother said,
let the boys go together?
My younger brother said,
it is not right but unjust
It was climbing the garden,
you gave the first shout darling
It was descending the slope,
you got the fatal blow
And your blood on your lovely chest,
pouring through your shirt
Although I drank, my love, some of it,
it did not heal your wounds
O that I and you my love
were in Perth or Edinburgh
Or in the land of the black men,
or Munster of Ireland
Before I ever showed interest in you,
smart young fellow of the beautiful rear!
0 comments:
Post a Comment