Celtic Lyrics Corner > Artists & Groups > Arthur Cormack > Nuair Bha Mi g > Oran Eile Air An Aobhar Cheudna

   
Nuair Bha Mi g Oran Eile Air An Aobhar Cheudna
   
Credits: William Ross; arranged by Arthur Cormack
   
Appears On: Nuair Bha Mi g
   
Language: Gidhlig (Scottish Gaelic)
   

Lyrics: English Translation:
   
Tha mise fo mhulad 'san am I am sorrowful just now
Chan olar leam dram le sunnd I can't drink a dram
Tha durrag air ghur mo chail A maggot has hatched inside me
A dh'fhiosraich do chach mo run And has told my secret to others
Chan fhaic mi dol seachad air sraid I don't see the girl of the bewitching eye
An cailin bu tlaithe suil Passing on the street
'S e sin a leig m'aigne gu lar That's what's laid my spirit on the ground
Mar dhuilleach o bharr nan craobh Like leaves from the top of the trees
   
A gruagach as bachlaiche cul Woman of the curliest hair
Tha mise gad ionndrainn mor I miss you desperately
Ma thagh thu deagh aite dhut fhein If you choose a good home for yourself
Mo bheannachd gach re dha d'choir My blessings to you evermore
Tha mise ri osnaich nad dheidh I sigh for you
Mar ghaisgeach an deis a leon Like a wounded battle hero
Na laighe san araich gun fheum Lying useless on the field
'S nach teid anns an t-reap ni's mo Never to go into battle again
   
'S e dh'fhag mi mar iudmhail iar treud It left me like a stray from the flock
Mar fhear nach toir speis do mhnaoi Like a man with no romance in his life
Do thuras thar chuain fo bhreid Your trip overseas in your marriage headdress
Thug bras shileadh dheur o'm shuil Has brought showers of tears from my eyes
B'fhearr nach mothaichinn fhin I wish I had taken no notice of
Do mhaise, do cheill, 's do chliu Your beauty, your reason, and your renown
No suairceas milis do bheul The sweet kindness of your mouth
'S binne no seis gach ciuil Sweeter than any music
   
Gach anduin' a chluinneas mo chas Every man who hears of my plight
A'cur air mo nadur fiamh Who thinks little of my nature
A'cantainn nach eil mi ach bard Who says I am only a bard
'S nach cinnich leam dan is fiach Who cannot create good poetry
Mo sheanair ri paigheadh a mhail My grandfather paying his rent
'S m'athair ri maleid riamh And my father with his sales case
Chuireadh iad gearrain an crann They could put horses to the plow
A's ghearainn-sa rann ro chiad And I'd compose over a hundred verses
   
Cha duisgear leam ealaidh air aill' I'll not produce beautiful art
Cha chuirear leam dan iar doigh I'll not put a poem together
Cha togar leam fonn iar clar I'll not raise a tune on the harp
Cha chluinnear leam gair nan g I'll not hear the laughter of youth
Cha dirich mi bealach nan ard I'll not climb the steep path
Le suigeart mar bha mi'n tus With the joy that I once had
Ach triallam a chadal gu brath But I'll journey, forever to sleep
Do thalla nam bard nach beo In the hall of the dead bards