Originale | English version / Versione inglese / Version anglaise / Englanninkielinen... |
HALLAIG | HALLAIG |
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‘Tha tìm, am fiadh, an coille Hallaig’ | 'Time, the deer, is in Hallaig Wood' |
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Tha bùird is tàirnean air an uinneig | There's a board nailed across the window |
trom faca mi an Àird Iar | I looked through to see the west |
’s tha mo ghaol aig Allt Hallaig | And my love is a birch forever |
’na craoibh bheithe, ’s bha i riamh | By Hallaig Stream, at her tryst |
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eadar an t-Inbhir ’s Poll a’ Bhainne, | Between Inver and Milk Hollow, |
thall ’s a-bhos mu Bhaile Chùirn: | somewhere around Baile-chuirn, |
tha i ’na beithe, ’na calltainn, | A flickering birch, a hazel, |
’na caorann dhìrich sheang ùir. | A trim, straight sapling rowan. |
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Ann an Sgreapadal mo chinnidh, | In Screapadal, where my people |
far robh Tarmad ’s Eachann Mòr, | Hail from, the seed and breed |
tha ’n nigheanan ’s am mic ’nan coille | Of Hector Mor and Norman |
a’ gabhail suas ri taobh an lòin. | By the banks of the stream are a wood. |
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Uaibreach a-nochd na coilich ghiuthais | To-night the pine-cocks crowing |
a’ gairm air mullach Cnoc an Rà, | On Cnoc an Ra, there above, |
dìreach an druim ris a’ ghealaich – | And the trees standing tall in moonlight - |
chan iadsan coille mo ghràidh. | They are not the wood I love. |
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Fuirichidh mi ris a’ bheithe | I will wait for the birches to move, |
gus an tig i mach an Càrn, | The wood to come up past the cairn |
gus am bi am bearradh uile | Until it has veiled the mountain |
o Bheinn na Lice fa sgàil. | Down from Beinn na Lice in shade. |
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Mura tig ’s ann theàrnas mi a Hallaig | If it doesn't, I'll go to Hallaig, |
a dh’ionnsaigh Sàbaid nam marbh, | To the sabbath of the dead, |
far a bheil an sluagh a’ tathaich, | Down to where each departed |
gach aon ghinealach a dh’fhalbh. | Generation has gathered. |
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Tha iad fhathast ann a Hallaig, | Hallaig is where they survive, |
Clann Ghill-Eain’s Clann MhicLeòid, | All the MacLeans and MacLeads |
na bh’ ann ri linn Mhic Ghille Chaluim: | Who were there in the time of Mac Gille Chaluim: |
chunnacas na mairbh beò. | The dead have been seen alive, |
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Na fir ’nan laighe air an lèanaig | The men at their length on the grass |
aig ceann gach taighe a bh’ ann, | At the gable of every house, |
na h-igheanan ’nan coille bheithe, | The girls a wood of birch trees |
dìreach an druim, crom an ceann. | Standing tall, with their heads bowed. |
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Eadar an Leac is na Feàrnaibh | Between The Leac and Fearns |
tha ’n rathad mòr fo chòinnich chiùin, | The road is plush with moss |
’s na h-igheanan ’nam badan sàmhach | And the girls in a noiseless procession |
a’ dol a Clachan mar o thus. | Going to Clachan as always |
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Agus a’ tilleadh às a’ Chlachan, | And coming back from Clachan |
à Suidhisnis ’s à tir nam beò; | And Suisnish, their land of the living, |
a chuile tè òg uallach | Still lightsome and unheartbroken, |
gun bhristeadh cridhe an sgeòil. | Their stories only beginning. |
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O Allt na Feàrnaibh gus an fhaoilinn | From Fearns Burn to the raised beach |
tha soilleir an dìomhaireachd nam beann | Showing clear in the shrouded hills |
chan eil ach coitheanal nan nighean | There are only girls congregating, |
a’ cumail na coiseachd gun cheann. | Endlessly walking along |
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A’ tilleadh a Hallaig anns an fheasgar, | Back through the gloaming to Hallaig |
anns a’ chamhanaich bhalbh bheò, | Through the vivid speechless air, |
a’ lìonadh nan leathadan casa, | Pouring down the steep slopes, |
an gàireachdaich ‘nam chluais ’na ceò, | Their laughter misting my ear |
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’s am bòidhche ’na sgleò air mo chridhe | And their beauty a glaze on my heart. |
mun tig an ciaradh air caoil, | Then as the kyles go dim |
’s nuair theàrnas grian air cùl Dhùn Cana | And the sun sets behind Dun Cana |
thig peilear dian à gunna Ghaoil; | Love's loaded gun will take aim. |
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’s buailear am fiadh a tha ’na thuaineal | It will bring down the lightheaded deer |
a’ snòtach nan làraichean feòir; | As he sniffs the grass round the wallsteads |
thig reothadh air a shùil sa choille: | And his eye will freeze: while I live, |
chan fhaighear lorg air fhuil rim bheò. | His blood won't be traced in the woods. |