An Gaidheal am measg nan Gaidheal (A Gael among the Lowlanders)

[read english version]

This is another song I got from Peter MacLean. It
was composed by the Bard MacLean in Tiree before he
immigrated to Nova Scotia. The story given by MacLean
Sinclair in Clarsach na Coille is that a man named Angus
MacNeil was working for the Bard’s father for a time as
a hired hand. He left to go to look for work in the
lowlands. When he returned he asked the Bard to compose
a song for Catriona MacLeod, a sweetheart that he had in
Canna. Although the Bard composed a sweet love song
apparently Angus didn’t marry Catriona after all.
Apparently he threw here over for an older woman with
more money! In any case I still really like the song.

“…When we left Monday to go to the
town
There were English old men there who made us promises
I didn’t understand the English language
I am blind without my language…”

O a ruin, gur a tu th’ m’aire
O a ruin, gur a tu th’ m’aire
Tu-fhein a ruin, gura tu th’air m’aire
Gur e do shugragh tha tighinn fainear dhomh.

Cha togar fonn leam ach trom th’air
m’aineol
Cha dean mi òran ‘s an doigh bu mhath leam,
Gur mi bha gorach, nuair thug mi gealladh
Dh’an nigheag oig a th’an comhnuidh ‘n Canna.

Gur mi bha stàiteal nuair dh’fhàg mi
Ailean,
A’togail gàradh, ‘sa càradh beulach,
Gum b’fheàrr bhith ann airneo ‘s meallt mo bharail,
Na bhith ‘san àm seo ‘san taing nan Gallaibh.

Nuair nì sinn gluasad Dìluain dh’an
bhaile,
Bha bodaich Gallt ann a gheall ar meallachd,
Cha tuig mi nàduir le cànan Gallaich,
Tha mise dall gun an càinnt am theangaidh.

Thoir soiridh bhuamsa thar cuan dh’a
m’ leannan,
Is innsaibh fhein dhi gu bheil mi fallain,
Gu bheil mi’n drast ann an Cader Parish,
‘S gu deachaidh Gàidhlig an àite seallaidh.

‘S Tu Chatriona, tha tighinn air
m’aire,
Gur e do stòras a rinn mo mhealladh,
‘S tu bhith bòidheach, gun bhosd, gun bharrachd,
Dh’en fhine mhòr ‘o MhacLeoid na Hearradh.


An Gaidheal am measg nan Gaidheal
(A Gael among the Lowlanders)

Chorus:
O love you are on my mind,
O love you are on my mind,
It is you, o love, who is on my mind,
It is your playfulness that I think of.

A song doesn’t lift me but I am heavy
of heart,
I will not make a song the way I used to,
I was foolish when I made a promise
To the young girl from Canna

I was stately before I left Allen,
Building walls and fixing fences
I would prefer to be there than
Than to be here obliged to the Galls

When we left Monday to go to the town
There were English old men there who made us promises
I didn’t understand the English language
I am blind without my language

Send my greetings over the sea to
Catriona,
And tell her that healthy
And I am yet in Cader parish,
And that Gaelic has gone from my view

And you Catriona, you are on my mind,
It is your treasures which have enticed me.
And you are beautiful, without boasting, without
superiority
From the great line of the MacLeods of Harris.