Mourn your decease - Na tobhtaichean fuar Mo shoraidh slàn dhuit's gach àit' an téid thu. Ri dorghach nam biorach air lios an Taobh Siar; Cadal cha dean mi,

One with your stateliness upon a street Greed and tyranny;

Beneath lashes that hover close 'S tric mi sealltuinn o'n chnoc as àirde,

's sona bhi fuireach 'nan còir. I will not struggle with the tree I can't bend, And the thousands of tearful sickly poor Tha mo ghaol dhuit daònan fallainn 'Nuair bhios mi gun chompanach; Gach feòirnean maoth tha 'n còs no 'n glaic,

I would be happy with dear Gregor Each blade of grass in crevice or hollow, It is not fitting for me not to grieve. If I could stay down in the glen Fishing by handline off the West Side Am fear aig am bheil fortan, Oh, my boatman, o hòro éile 'Nuair bhios buaireas air an tìd': A mach air bharr nan stuadh ri gaillionn, The laughter of the sea and the wind of the mountains He subsequently recorded the song himself with The Popes. The young wives of the village Colin agreed if the fishing paid off The ruins, now cold, Timchioll Rudha Stòir

Such glittering beheld by no one Endless caves of silver and gold A chuir m' inntinn-se gu fonn; Air tachdadh nam fuaran Under the attention of His eye, Oir 's cinnteach tha mo làmh-sa dhut, The mist of the peaks Far across the grey north sea. Gu'm b'e mo mhiann 'bhi 's a chiar g'an tarruing

'S truagh nach robh mis' ann an Eilean mo Chridh', One of Neil Macleod's poems is included here. What will I do if the wind does blow Sud agaibh na balaich nach gearain air cruadal But I am happily thankful From the pure and brimming well; Neil looked across the bar, mortified at the possibility of having to acknowledge this scruffy sailor as his brother; "No," he replied, "I don't believe I ever set eyes on the man before.". 'S bean bòichead t'aodainn cha robh ri fhaotainn, Full of pride for their loved ones, Ma sheachnas sibh na boireannaich bi sonas as ur ceum, Fare thee well my black haired diamond, Which one of them brown ghosts is he? Tha 'n geamhradh cho fada 's an gallionn cho cruaidh, And the night bears heavily down on me, Feadh gach cearn far am bi d' àl, I sailed the western sea. Hùbha i 's na Horaibh Hùbhaidh, I grieve I am not in the guise of a seagull, To the Campbell of Uig, to the Campbell of Uig, And uneasy my sleep Make my bed, For my hand is destined for you Bidh tu m' aisling anns an oidhche, Am measg nan òighean far 'n òlainn bainne

Cha chluinnear do cheòl The Jewel of all youth. Aig taobh nan sruthan tlàth, Cha bhi mi strìth ris a' chraoibh nach lùb leam A rìbhinn na biodh àmghar ort, The Island.

Bi 'ghealach toirt nam chuimhne (Iain Dubh Dhomhnaill nan Òran). The wind with us then coming north of Scalpay; What else are the past-times of the boys of 'an Ruadh Thig an Fhèill Phàruig mu 'm pàigh sinn na fiachan Without change, without mercy, So appropriate for me at this time Gach lus no crè is ìsle staid, Gu fann ag iomachd, Ach thus' a bhi 'ghràidh 's do làmh gheal tharam gu fial. Is bheirinn sgrìobag do'n eilean Ileach, Anns na h-Innsean a b'fhaide thall, Obhan, obhan, obhan, iri, But a love that began when I was a child On an isle with no shore, without boat or rudder or oar. Cha b'urrain dhaibh mo bhàthadh, cha robh rath'd aca na dòigh, 'S bi cuimhn' agaibh an còmhnaidh air 'n àm seòladh mach a' Cluaidh. Neil was standing at the other side of the horseshoe bar with some local dignitaries when the sailors came in. A rìbhinn na biodh iongnadh ort 'S aotrom a dh'fhalbhas i, 's aotrom a dh'fhalbhas i,

And in the morning I will search for you. At the foot of the mountains, in the shade of the crags Sign up to our Newsletter to receive updates on Gigs, Christy Chat and any Christy News. Uamhan airgiod 's òr gun dìth, And the wind it blows from the North and South, Great darling of the "Domhainn" folk, Ma chì iad sin aig càch; Sìde nan seachd sian, The knot is now tied A rìbhinn a' bheil cuimhn' agad? Ged is Maighdinn mhara mì. Ach nan robh leth a nochd agam 's a chuir mi anns an òl, Is ann a thòisich càch, As an seallaidhean gu brath. Coma leam leabaidh no cadal no biadh Many's the night I slept with your mother." Mòr dhiomb’ is droch luaidh Lofty mountains and resplendent ledges, 'N sin laighinn sios is dh'èirinn suas Little Helaval and Big Helaval A caoidh gu'n dh'fhalbh

Sheilings were small huts, made of stone or sod, with just enough room to sleep and to store milk while the cream rose to the surface, and then to prepare the cream and skimmed milk for butter, cheese, crowdie or whatever. Cha till MacCriomain; By Norman Macleod, Tarbert. No air an traigh bhàn an àite nach robh duine riamh The night ere we leave, the night ere we leave Aig bonn nam beann fo sgàil nan creag Ach striochdadh a luath ’s Cadal Cha Dean Mi / Sleep Comes Not to Me, Chi Mi 'n Tìr 's an Robh Mi na m' Bhalach / I See the Land Where I was a Boy, Cumha Mhic Criomain / MacCrimmon's Lament, Gillean Òga tapaidh / Stalwart Young Lads, Chi Mi na Mòr-Bheanna / I See the Big Mountains, Mo Chailin Dìleas Donn / My Faithful Brown-haired Maiden, Mo Rùn Geal Dìleas / My Faithful Fair Darling, Òran na Maighdinn Mhara / The Song of the Mermaid. Then he sees Caolas Bhearnaraidh, the Sound of Berneray, and Tràighean Phabaidh, the beaches of Pabbay, an island in the vicinity - all in the Sound of Harris, the channel between the islands of Harris and North Uist. But their advice to me means no more Where sail by the big ships. Do not let that disturb you, 'S mòr mo mhulad, 's mòr. Serenely sleep this eve 'S aotrom mo cheum a' leum g' am faicinn; Mòrag bheag nighean Mhurchaidh an t-saoir,

Will you come tonight - or should I even expect you? Cha bhi mo shaoghal buan. Cha chùm dad idir 'uat mi I see the land where I was a boy. Isle of the high cold mountains.

Although they said you had no substance And never returning. Lainnearachd chan fhaca sùil e Chì mi am Meall, agus chì mi an Sgòrr; Sìnt' air a bhallaist gun pheallaig m' an uachdar, The song begins with the line, I see the land where I was a boy, and the verse continues with the bard at the top of the mast of whatever vessel he is on, not because he has work to do there or that his job aboard requires him to be there, but that this vantage point allows him to see for just a little while longer, the land where he was a boy, before it disappears over the horizon. My sleep is sporadic Cha ghaol bliadhna, 's cha ghaol ràidhe; Bi mòran do thoil-inntinn ann, 's na chì thu 'n taigh an danns' Even to my own mother who reared me young.

Nam faighinn òrdan gur mi bhiodh deònach 'S truagh nach robh mis' ann an Eilean Mo Chrìdh' Click here to see one of Iain Dubh's songs, or here to read about Iain Dubh's wizardry.

Remembering as I grieve. 'S ann tha mo ghaol-sa na laidhe tinn. To the high yards you will be ordered, no matter how sick you are, They can not have peace; they won't be free, This song is believed to date from the 16th century and mourns the death of Gregor MacGregor. Hùbha i 's na Horaibh Hùbhaidh, Hear the rebels voices calling,

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'S Mac-Talla na mùr

Ged bhiodh an teas ga d' sgaradh mar is tric a thachair dhomhs' Last year I was healthy And cheeks like the rowan 'S gu 'm faighinn fois is tàmh; Am bàta air an tràigh And it's you I prefer my sweetheart, Tabhainn fia'chadh dhoibh is sìth. He was blonde and fair A tigh'n dhòmhsa na dealbh-dathach, He subsequently recorded the song himself with The Popes. De ni mi ma shéideas a ghaoth Many's a time you'll say to yourself, "I wish I were on land". Obhan iri O! A flawed tune and a great lyric. In luxurious tranquil leisure, Tha na deòir a ruith 'o m' shùilean Till I put my nets back in order, The winter's so long and the tempest so hard See the bright new moon is rising,

Mourn your decease - Na tobhtaichean fuar Mo shoraidh slàn dhuit's gach àit' an téid thu. Ri dorghach nam biorach air lios an Taobh Siar; Cadal cha dean mi,

One with your stateliness upon a street Greed and tyranny;

Beneath lashes that hover close 'S tric mi sealltuinn o'n chnoc as àirde,

's sona bhi fuireach 'nan còir. I will not struggle with the tree I can't bend, And the thousands of tearful sickly poor Tha mo ghaol dhuit daònan fallainn 'Nuair bhios mi gun chompanach; Gach feòirnean maoth tha 'n còs no 'n glaic,

I would be happy with dear Gregor Each blade of grass in crevice or hollow, It is not fitting for me not to grieve. If I could stay down in the glen Fishing by handline off the West Side Am fear aig am bheil fortan, Oh, my boatman, o hòro éile 'Nuair bhios buaireas air an tìd': A mach air bharr nan stuadh ri gaillionn, The laughter of the sea and the wind of the mountains He subsequently recorded the song himself with The Popes. The young wives of the village Colin agreed if the fishing paid off The ruins, now cold, Timchioll Rudha Stòir

Such glittering beheld by no one Endless caves of silver and gold A chuir m' inntinn-se gu fonn; Air tachdadh nam fuaran Under the attention of His eye, Oir 's cinnteach tha mo làmh-sa dhut, The mist of the peaks Far across the grey north sea. Gu'm b'e mo mhiann 'bhi 's a chiar g'an tarruing

'S truagh nach robh mis' ann an Eilean mo Chridh', One of Neil Macleod's poems is included here. What will I do if the wind does blow Sud agaibh na balaich nach gearain air cruadal But I am happily thankful From the pure and brimming well; Neil looked across the bar, mortified at the possibility of having to acknowledge this scruffy sailor as his brother; "No," he replied, "I don't believe I ever set eyes on the man before.". 'S bean bòichead t'aodainn cha robh ri fhaotainn, Full of pride for their loved ones, Ma sheachnas sibh na boireannaich bi sonas as ur ceum, Fare thee well my black haired diamond, Which one of them brown ghosts is he? Tha 'n geamhradh cho fada 's an gallionn cho cruaidh, And the night bears heavily down on me, Feadh gach cearn far am bi d' àl, I sailed the western sea. Hùbha i 's na Horaibh Hùbhaidh, I grieve I am not in the guise of a seagull, To the Campbell of Uig, to the Campbell of Uig, And uneasy my sleep Make my bed, For my hand is destined for you Bidh tu m' aisling anns an oidhche, Am measg nan òighean far 'n òlainn bainne

Cha chluinnear do cheòl The Jewel of all youth. Aig taobh nan sruthan tlàth, Cha bhi mi strìth ris a' chraoibh nach lùb leam A rìbhinn na biodh àmghar ort, The Island.

Bi 'ghealach toirt nam chuimhne (Iain Dubh Dhomhnaill nan Òran). The wind with us then coming north of Scalpay; What else are the past-times of the boys of 'an Ruadh Thig an Fhèill Phàruig mu 'm pàigh sinn na fiachan Without change, without mercy, So appropriate for me at this time Gach lus no crè is ìsle staid, Gu fann ag iomachd, Ach thus' a bhi 'ghràidh 's do làmh gheal tharam gu fial. Is bheirinn sgrìobag do'n eilean Ileach, Anns na h-Innsean a b'fhaide thall, Obhan, obhan, obhan, iri, But a love that began when I was a child On an isle with no shore, without boat or rudder or oar. Cha b'urrain dhaibh mo bhàthadh, cha robh rath'd aca na dòigh, 'S bi cuimhn' agaibh an còmhnaidh air 'n àm seòladh mach a' Cluaidh. Neil was standing at the other side of the horseshoe bar with some local dignitaries when the sailors came in. A rìbhinn na biodh iongnadh ort 'S aotrom a dh'fhalbhas i, 's aotrom a dh'fhalbhas i,

And in the morning I will search for you. At the foot of the mountains, in the shade of the crags Sign up to our Newsletter to receive updates on Gigs, Christy Chat and any Christy News. Uamhan airgiod 's òr gun dìth, And the wind it blows from the North and South, Great darling of the "Domhainn" folk, Ma chì iad sin aig càch; Sìde nan seachd sian, The knot is now tied A rìbhinn a' bheil cuimhn' agad? Ged is Maighdinn mhara mì. Ach nan robh leth a nochd agam 's a chuir mi anns an òl, Is ann a thòisich càch, As an seallaidhean gu brath. Coma leam leabaidh no cadal no biadh Many's the night I slept with your mother." Mòr dhiomb’ is droch luaidh Lofty mountains and resplendent ledges, 'N sin laighinn sios is dh'èirinn suas Little Helaval and Big Helaval A caoidh gu'n dh'fhalbh

Sheilings were small huts, made of stone or sod, with just enough room to sleep and to store milk while the cream rose to the surface, and then to prepare the cream and skimmed milk for butter, cheese, crowdie or whatever. Cha till MacCriomain; By Norman Macleod, Tarbert. No air an traigh bhàn an àite nach robh duine riamh The night ere we leave, the night ere we leave Aig bonn nam beann fo sgàil nan creag Ach striochdadh a luath ’s Cadal Cha Dean Mi / Sleep Comes Not to Me, Chi Mi 'n Tìr 's an Robh Mi na m' Bhalach / I See the Land Where I was a Boy, Cumha Mhic Criomain / MacCrimmon's Lament, Gillean Òga tapaidh / Stalwart Young Lads, Chi Mi na Mòr-Bheanna / I See the Big Mountains, Mo Chailin Dìleas Donn / My Faithful Brown-haired Maiden, Mo Rùn Geal Dìleas / My Faithful Fair Darling, Òran na Maighdinn Mhara / The Song of the Mermaid. Then he sees Caolas Bhearnaraidh, the Sound of Berneray, and Tràighean Phabaidh, the beaches of Pabbay, an island in the vicinity - all in the Sound of Harris, the channel between the islands of Harris and North Uist. But their advice to me means no more Where sail by the big ships. Do not let that disturb you, 'S mòr mo mhulad, 's mòr. Serenely sleep this eve 'S aotrom mo cheum a' leum g' am faicinn; Mòrag bheag nighean Mhurchaidh an t-saoir,

Will you come tonight - or should I even expect you? Cha bhi mo shaoghal buan. Cha chùm dad idir 'uat mi I see the land where I was a boy. Isle of the high cold mountains.

Although they said you had no substance And never returning. Lainnearachd chan fhaca sùil e Chì mi am Meall, agus chì mi an Sgòrr; Sìnt' air a bhallaist gun pheallaig m' an uachdar, The song begins with the line, I see the land where I was a boy, and the verse continues with the bard at the top of the mast of whatever vessel he is on, not because he has work to do there or that his job aboard requires him to be there, but that this vantage point allows him to see for just a little while longer, the land where he was a boy, before it disappears over the horizon. My sleep is sporadic Cha ghaol bliadhna, 's cha ghaol ràidhe; Bi mòran do thoil-inntinn ann, 's na chì thu 'n taigh an danns' Even to my own mother who reared me young.

Nam faighinn òrdan gur mi bhiodh deònach 'S truagh nach robh mis' ann an Eilean Mo Chrìdh' Click here to see one of Iain Dubh's songs, or here to read about Iain Dubh's wizardry.

Remembering as I grieve. 'S ann tha mo ghaol-sa na laidhe tinn. To the high yards you will be ordered, no matter how sick you are, They can not have peace; they won't be free, This song is believed to date from the 16th century and mourns the death of Gregor MacGregor. Hùbha i 's na Horaibh Hùbhaidh, Hear the rebels voices calling,

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