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Lyrics: |
English Translation: |
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Cha b'e sneachda 's an reothadh ò thuath |
It wasn't the snow of frost from the north |
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Cha b'e 'n crannadh geur fuar ò 'n ear |
It wasn't the cold snap from the east |
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Cha b'e 'n t-uisge 's gaillionn ò 'n iar |
It wasn't the rain or gale from the west |
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Ach an galar a bhlian ò 'n deas |
But the disease which has blanched from the south |
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Blàth, duileach, stoc agus freumh |
The blossom, foliage, stem and roots |
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Cànan mo threubh 's mo shluagh |
Of the language of my race and people |
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Sèist: |
Chorus (after each verse): |
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Thig thugainn, thig cò' ruinn gu siar |
Come along and join us in the west |
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Gus an cluinn sinn ann cànan nan Gàidheal |
So that we will hear the language of the Gael |
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Thig thugainn, thig cò' ruinn gu siar |
Come along and join us in the west |
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Gus an cluinn sinn ann cànan nan Gàidheal |
So that we will hear the language of the Gael |
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Bheir anuas dhuinn na coinnleirean òr |
Fetch down the golden chandeliers |
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'S ann annt càraibh na coinnlean geal cèir |
And set the white wax candles in them |
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Lasaibh suas iad an seòmar a' bhròin |
Light them up in the chamber of sorrow |
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Taigh aire seann chànan a' Ghàidheil |
The wake house of the old Gaelic language |
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'Se siud ò chionn fhad' thuirt an nàmh |
That's what the enemy said a long time ago |
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Ach fhathast tha beò Cànan nan Gàidheal |
But the Gaelic language still lives |
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Ged theich i le beath' às na glinn |
Although she has retreated from the glens |
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Ged 's gann an diugh chluinnear i nas mò |
Though one hears her so seldom now |
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O Dhùthaich Mhic Aoidh fada tuath |
From the Mackay far in the north |
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Gu ruig thu Druim Uachdar nam bò |
Down to Drumochter of the cattle |
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Gidheadh, dhith na h-Eileanan Siar |
But even so, we need to have the sword and shield |
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Biodh claidheamh is sgiath ud 'n ur dòrn |
In our fists in the Western Isles |
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Ged nach cluinnear anis i 'san dùn |
Although it is no longer heard in the castle |
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No 'n talla nan cliar is nan corn |
Nor in the hall of bards and drinking cups |
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Ged tha meòir Chloinn 'ic Criomain gun lùths |
Though the fingers of the MacCrimmons lie without strength |
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O 'n tric fheasgar ciùin dhòirteadh ceòl |
Which once played such splendid music of an evening |
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Gidheadh, anns ha h-Eileanan Siar |
She's even under threat in the Isles |
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'S i fhathast ann, ciad chàinnt an t-slòigh |
Though it's still the first language of the people |
