[read english version] This beautiful unrequited love song is one that I
have heard my friends Jim Watson and Hector MacNeil sing
many times. I’m grateful to Hector for putting it on
tape for me. He learned it from the singing of Lauchie
Dan N. MacLellan of Dun Bheagan, Inverness Co. The words
are published in that great Gaelic songbook, An t-Òranaiche,
which thankfully has just been republished here in Nova
Scotia by Sìol Publishing. “…My mind has fallen low, and it will
not rise while I live,
I will never tell the thing that has wounded me,
Until I am buried in a secure board coffin,
I will not abandon my love of the girl who has left my
mind heavy, wounded…” S’ mithich dhòmhsa tòiseachadh,
Is m’ òran chur an céill,
Gur fhada bhon bu chòir dha,
Bhi ann an òrdugh réidh;
Tha m’ inntinnsa cho luaineach,
Ri gaoith tuath air bhàrr nan geug,
Ma s’ e gum pòs a’ ghruagach,
Tha shuas ann an Gleann Éit’. Gur bòidheach leam a dh’fhàs thu,
Bho d’ bhàrr gu sàil do bhuinn,
Chan eil cron ri àireamh ort,
‘s tu bean an nàduir grinn;
Nar mhealamsa mo shlàinte,
Mur b’ fheàrr leam na bhi ‘m rìgh,
Cead bhi laidhe làimh riut,’s
Mo làmh fo’ d’ mhuineal màn. Gur lìonmhor mais ri ‘ h-aithris,
Air an ainnir is math snuadh;
Do shlios geal mar an caineal,
No mar eala nan tonn uain’;
Shiubhail mi bho ’n Apuinn,
A mach gu Uisge Chluaidh,
‘S bean t’ aogais anns an astar sin,
Cha’n fhaca mis’, a luaidh. Tha falt bachlach bòidheach ort,
Air dhath an òir ‘na dhuail,
Gur fiamhach sgiamhach, òrbhuidh e,
‘An òrdugh ann an cuaich;
Bha m’ inntinnsa làn sòlais,
‘Nuair bha mi chòmhnuidh shuas,
‘S a nise bho ‘n a dh’fhàg mi e,
Chan eil mo thàmh ach truagh. Tha nìonagan an àite seo,
Ri tàir orm gu mòr,
G’un d’ thuirt iad rium am bachelor,
‘S gu bheil mi sean gu leòir;
Ach cha b’ i ‘n aois a liath
Mo chiabhagan cho mòr,
Ach sìoban na tonn dubh ghorm,
A’ tighinn bho chùl nan seòl. Gur lìonmhor anns an àite seo,
Mo nàimhdean bho chionn greis,
A chionn gu’n d’ thug mi gràdh,
Dh’an nighean bhàin tha’ n Dail-an Eas;
Tha fleasgaich anns an àite seo,
‘S gum b’ fheàrr leo gun robh mis’
‘An iomall domhain fad air falbh,
Gun earbsa ri tighinn às. Ged a bhithinn fad air falbh,
Bhiodh m’ earbsa ri tighinn as,
A shealltainn air mo ghràdh,
An nigh’nn bhàn a’s àillidh dreach;
Chan eil e anns an àl seo,
No ‘s an àl a thig am dhéigh,
Bean do mhais’ a Mhàiri,
‘S tu a’s àille tha fo ‘n ghréin. ‘S ìseal a thuit m’ inntinnsa ‘s
Cha dìrich i ri m’ bheò,
A chaoidh cha dean mi innseadh
An nì sin tha ‘gam leòn;
Gus an téid mo thiodhlaiceadh,
‘An cistidh dhìonaich bhòrd,
Cha tréig mi gaol na h-ìghneige,
Dh’fhàg m’ inntinn trom fo leòn. |
Màiri Bhàn Dhail an
Eas (Fair Mary from Dalness) It is timely for me to begin and
compose my song,
It is long since it should have been put in order
My mind is as restless as the north wind on top of the
branches
As the maiden from Gleann Eit has married. You grew so beautiful to me, from the
top of your hear to the heel of your foot,
You have no fault to enumerate; you are a woman of a
charming nature.
May I not enjoy my health, I would prefer that I was a
king,
With permission to lie beside you, my arm under your
fine neck. There are many beauties to enumerate,
about the lass and her fine complexion,
Your side, white like the ?, or like a swan on top of
the green waves,
I traveled from Appin out to the Clyde
And a woman of your countenance I did not see, love. You have beautiful curly hair,with the
colour of gold on your braid
It appears beautiful, golden, arranged in ringlets,
My mind was full of slight, when I was living up there,
Now that I have left, my rest is but poor. The girls of this place, insult me a
great deal,
They call the “bachelor”, that I am plenty old,
But it isn’t age that has made mustach so grey,
But the drifts of the blue-black waves coming from
behind the sails. There are many in this place, my
enemies since a while,
Because I gave my love to the fair maid from Dalness,
The young men in this place, would prefer if I was,
At the edge of the world, far away, with no means of
coming back. Although I would be far away, I would
have means of coming back,
To look on my love, the fair maid and her elegant
appearance,
\It is not in this generation, nor in the generation to
come after me,
A woman of your beauty, Mary, you are the most beautiful
under the sun. My mind has fallen low, and it cannot
bring me to life,
I have never told the thing that has wounded me,
Until I am buried in a secure board coffin,
I will not abandon my love of the girl who has left my
mind heavy, wounded. |