Gàidhlig Gaidhlig


Canan Nan Gaidheal





1 Cha b' e sneachda 's an reòthadh bho thuath,
Cha b' e 'n crannadh fuar bho 'n ear,
Cha b 'e 'n uisge 's an gailleon bho 'n iar,
Ach an galair a bhlean bho 'n deas
Blàth, duilleach, stoc, agus freumh
Canan mo threubh 's mo shluaidh.

Séist: Thig thugainn, thig co-rium gu siar
Gus an cluinn sinn ann canan nam Féinn,
Thig thugainn, thig co-rium gu siar
Gus an cluinn sinn ann canan nan Gaidheal.

1 It was not the snow and frost from the north,
nor the cold withering from the east,
it wasn't the rain or the storms from the west,
but the sickness from the south that has faded
the bloom, foliage, stock and root
of the language of my race and my people.

Chorus Come, come on, come with me westwards
until we hear the language of the Fein,
Come, come on, come with me westwards
until we hear the language of the Gaels.


2 Far a nuas dhuinn na coinnleirean òir
'S annt' caraibh coinlean geal ceir
Lasaibh suas iad an seòmair bhroin
Tìgh-'aire seann chanan a' Ghae'l
'S sud o chionn fhad' thuirt a namh
Ach fhathast tha beò canan a' Ghae'l.

2 Pass over to us the golden candlesticks
and put in them the white waxen candles
light them up in rhe mourning room
of the wake-house of the Gael's old language
That's what the enemy has long been saying
but the language of the Gael is alive yet.

3 'S iomadh gille thug greis air a' chuibhl'
'S an du-oidhch' thog fonn Gàidhlig a chridh
'S iomadh gaisgeach a bhrosnaich 'sa bhlair
Gu euchd nuair bu teòtha bha 'n strì
O Ghaidheil, o caite 'n deach t' uaill
'Nad fhine 's 'nad chanan 's do thir.?

3 Many a lad who has spent a while at the wheel
in the darkness of night has had his heart lifted by a Gaelic song;
and many a hero has spurred on on the battle field
to valour where the fight was hottest;
O Gael, where has your pride in your race and your
language and your country gone?


4 Uair chite fear-feilidh 'sa ghleann
Bu chinnteach gur gàidhlig a chainnt
Ach spion iad a fhreumh as an fhonn
'N aite gàidhlig tha canan a Ghoill
'S a Ghaidhealtachd creadhal-nan-sonn
'S tir mhajors is cholonels 'n diugh th' innt'.

4 Once if a kilted man was seen in the valley it was certain
that Gaelic was his language, but they have torn his roots from
the ground, in the place of Gaelic is the foreigner's language,
and the Gaeltachd, cradle of heroes, today it is a land of
majors and colonels.

5 O chanan ta leath ri mo chridh
M' aran m' amhlan is m' anal 's mo smior
'S tu cho aosd ri fraoch-dosradh nam frith
Shloinneadh og leat beinn, leitear is sgur
Ghaidheil, 'gad easbhuidh, 's 'gad dhith
'S clarsach aon-theud, is cuislean gun fhuil.

5 O language that's close to my heart,
My food, my spice, my breath, and my strength,
you are as old as the abundant heather on the hills
The hills, slopes, and peaks were named by you when they were young
Gael, you're needing and you're wanting,
like a stringless harp or a vein without blood.


6 Ged theich i le beath' as na glinn
Ged 's gann an diugh chluinntear i nis mo
O Dhuthaich MhicAoidh fada tuath
Gu ruig thu Druim-Uachdar nam bo
Gigheal, dhi na Eileanan Siar
Bi na claimheamh 's na sgiath'n ud dhoirn.

6 Although it has escaped with its life fom the valley,
although it's rare today that it's head any more
from Strathnaver [MacKay's country] in the far north
right down to Drumouchter where the cattle are
nevertheless, for it in the Western Isles
the swords and shields are taken in hand there.

7 Ged nach chluinntear nis mo i 'san dun
No 'n talla-nan-cliar is nan còirn
Ged tha meòir chloinn'icCreumein gun luths
O 'n tric feasgair ciuin dhoirteadh ceòl
Gigheadh, anns na Eileanan-siar
'S i fhathast ann ciad chainnt an t-sloigh.

7 Although it is heard no more in the city
or in the festive hall of the laureates,
Although the strength has gone from the MacCrimmons' fingers
from which often music would be poured out in the evening
Nevertheless, in the western Isles,
there it is still the first language of the people.


8 Tha na suinn le 'm bu bhinne bha t' fhuaim
'Nad linn thir nam fuarbeannaibh ard
Aig an druim anns na uaidhean nan suain
Suas air eirigh mo thruaigh tha nan àit
Eadhon siar ann an duthaich-MhicLeoid
Linn og oirt a ghàidhlig rinn tair.

8 The heroes to whom your sound was sweetest
in your time in the land of the cool high bens
are on their backs at rest in graves
and risen up, Oh woe, in their place, is
even in McLeod's country
a young generation who despise you, gaelic.

1 comment:

Bryce said...

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