Ùghdar
Iain MacGilleBhràighe, 8 Camas Chros
Fiosrachadh

Air fonn ‘Loch Laomainn’. Bhuineadh Iain MacGilleBhràighe do Chamas Chros. B’ e maighstir-sgoile a bh’ ann fad iomadach bliadhna ann an Geàrrloch. Tha sinn an comain Nèill, mac Iain, airson lethbhreac den cheòl sgrìobhte agus dealbh de dh’Iain. Tha an t-òran ri lorg, am measg chlàraidhean eile le Iain, air Tobar an Dualchais fon tiotal ‘’S Thoir Mo Shoraidh thar Sàile gu Dùthaich Mo Ghràidh-sa’ aig https://www.tobarandualchais.co.uk/track/2628?l=gd

Faclan

Thoir mo shoraidh thar sàile gu dùthaich mo ghràidh-sa
Gon eilean as àill san Roinn Eòrpa,
Do Shlèibhte nam buadh is a cliathaich ri cuan
’S ann a dh’àraicheadh suas mi o m’ òige.

An Droma Bàn ’s e an gleann chan eil samhladh a bh’ ann,
’S iomadh latha bha mi tràgh ann as m’ òige
A’ buachailleachd sprèidh, gun mhulad, gun èislean
’S gum b’ aotrom mo cheum air a’ mhòintich.

Ach soraidh leam an càradh th’ air dùthaich mo ghràidh-sa
Tha an talamh gun àiteach, ’s gun phòr ann
Tha raineach is luachair air fàs mu na bruaichean
’S an tric bhuainear sguab annt’ nam òige.

Tha taighean ri làr ann is druisean a’ fàs annt’
’S an tric robh ceòl gàir’ agus òran
Tha leacan teintein fuar, chan eil blàths ’n-diugh mun cuairt
Ach tha tomanan luachrach gan còmhdach.

’S i ri shiùbhlas thar sàile gu dùthaich mo ghràidh-sa
Innis do mo chàirdean ’s luchd m’ eòlais
’S do gach cnocan is bruachag mun òg bha mi cluaineas
Gu bheil iad na mo bhruadar-s’ an-còmhnaidh.

 

Take my farewell over the sea to the land of my love
To the most beautiful island in Europe
To Sleat of the virtues by the ocean –
Where I was brought up in my youth.

At Druim Ban is the glen and no other one compares
Many days I would spend in my youth
Herding cattle, without sadness, without sorrow
My step would be light on the moor.

I regret the state of my beloved homeland
The land is uncultivated, without crops growing
Ferns and rushes have grown around the bruachs
Where sheaves were often cut in my youth.

There are houses in ruins and brambles growing in them.
Where often there was music and song,
The hearthstones are cold, there is no warmth there today
But mounds of rushes covering them.

Whoever sails over sea to the land of my love
Tell my friends and neighbours and relatives
And to every little hill and brae where I used to play
That they are forever in my dreams.