paroles de chanson Oganaich An Or-Fhuilt Bhuidhe/Am Braighe - The Rankin Family
Oganaich
an
o-fhuilt
bhuide,
Leat
a
chinneadh
sealg
a's
sithionn;
'S
ann
ad
ghruaidh
a
bhiodh
an
rudha,
'N
uair
a
bhiodh
tu
siubhal
bheann!
'N
uiar
a
dhieadh
tu
na
stucan
Leis
a
'ghunna
chaol
nach
diultadh,
'S
i
do
luaidhe
ghorm
a's
d'fudar,
Chuireadh
smuid
air
feadh
nan
gleann.
Na
cnuic
's
na
glinn
bu
bhoidhche
leinn,
'S
iad
cnuic
is
glinn
a'bhraighidh,
Mu'n
tric
bha
sinn
ri
maran
binn,
'S
a'
chomunn
ghrinn
a
b'fhearr
leinn
Chan
'eil
ait'
an
diugh
fo'n
ghre/in,
'S
am
b'fhearr
leam
fhe/in
bhi
tamhachd
Na
braigh'
na
h-aibhne
measg
nan
sonn
O'm
faighte
fuinn
na
gaidhlig.
Oganaich
an
o-fhuilt
shniomhain,
Dh'fhag
thu
saca
trom
air
m'inntinn;
'S
mur
a
till
thu
nall
do
'n
tir
so,
Mo
thoil-inntinn
bidh
air
chall.
Na
cnuic
's
na
glinn
bu
bhoidhche
leinn,
'S
iad
cnuic
is
glinn
a'bhraighidh,
Mu'n
tric
bha
sinn
ri
maran
binn,
'S
a'
chomunn
ghrinn
a
b'fhearr
leinn
Gur
binn
leam
ceol
an
h-aibhne
mo/ir,
'S
i
falbh
an
gloir
a
h-ailleachd;
Fhad's
bhios
i
gluasad
sios
le
fuaim,
Cha
toir
mi
fuath
do'n
bhraighidh.
Gu
leir
a
bhla
h
air
mo
ghruaidhse,
Gu'n
tug
mi
dhuit
gaol
nach
fuaraich;
Dh'innis
iad
gu'n
d'thug
thu
fuath
dhomh,
Ach
cha
chreid
mi,
luaidh,
an
cainnt.
Oganaich
an
o-fhuilt
bhuide,
Leat
a
chinneadh
sealg
a's
sithionn;
'S
ann
ad
ghruaidh
a
bhiodh
an
rudha,
'N
uair
a
bhiodh
tu
siubhal
bheann!
Oganaich
an
o-fhuilt
bhuide,
Leat
a
chinneadh
sealg
a's
sithionn;
'S
ann
ad
ghruaidh
a
bhiodh
an
rudha,
'N
uair
a
bhiodh
tu
siubhal
bheann!
Youth
whose
hair
is
golden
yellow
You
will
bag
the
deer
when
hunting
On
your
cheeks
the
colour's
rising
When
you
tramp
across
the
hills
When
you
climb
up
to
the
tall
crags
With
your
slender
trusty
weapon
Then
your
blue
lead
and
gun
powder
Scatter
smoke
among
the
glens
The
hills
and
dales
most
beautiful
to
us
Are
the
hills
and
dales
of
the
braes
(margaree),
Where
we
often
sang
Sweet
melodies
in
the
friendly
company
we
liked
best.
There
is
no
place
today,
under
the
sun,
Where
i
would
prefer
to
live
In
the
braes
of
the
river
Amongst
the
heroes
who
were
wont
To
sing
gaelic
songs.
Sweet
to
me
is
the
music
of
the
great
river
As
it
meanders
amidst
the
glory
of
its
beauty;
As
long
as
it
contiues
to
course
to
the
sea
I
will
never
hate
the
braes.
It
is
showing
in
my
cheeks
now
That
my
truest
love
i
gave
you
They
are
saying
that
you
hate
me
But
i
don't
believe
their
talk.
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