Текст и перевод песни Julie Fowlis - Òran Fir Heisgeir (Gura Mis’ Tha fo Mhìghean) (The Song of Fear Heisgeir)

Òran Fir Heisgeir (Gura Mis’ Tha fo Mhìghean) (The Song of Fear Heisgeir)

Gura mis′ tha fo mhìghean,
'S mi leam fhìn air a′ chnoc,
Fada, fada, bho m' chàirdean,
Ann an àite ri port;
Gus am facas do bhàta,
Le siùil àrda ri dos,
Tigh'nn a-steach chun na h-Àirde
′S mac an àrmainn air stoc.
Mac an àrmainn air stiùir,
A tigh′nn a dh' ionnsaidh an Troit;
Gu bheil an caolas a′ beucadh,
'S muir ag èirigh mu slait;
Tha do làmh-sa cho gleusta,
′S nach do thrèig ise neart;
Ged a thigeadh muir dubh-ghorm,
Chuireadh sgùradh a-steach.
'S ged bhiodh cìosnachadh mar′ ann,
'Bhuileadh barraibh a crann,
'Chuireadh dh′ ionnsaigh a slat i,
′S luaithe h-astar na long;
Bhiodh i aigeannach, aotrom,
'G èirigh eadar gach gleann,
′S muir a' bualadh mu darach,
′Fuasgladh reangan is lann.
Bu tu sgiobair na fairge,
Bu tu fear falmadair grinn,
Gur tu b' urrainn a stiùireadh,
′Nuair a dhiùltadh iad i;
Ged a bheireadh iad thairis,
'S iad na laighe 's an tuim,
Chumadh tusa i cho gàireach,
Gus an tàrradh i tìr.
Chan eil aon rubha cladaich,
Eadar seo ′s a Chaoir-dhearg,
Eadar Lìte ′s gach cala,
'N dèanta fantainn neo falbh;
Chan eil maighstir soithich,
Chuala feothas do làimh,
Nach bi faighneachd, ′s a feòrach',
Càite faighte do bhàt′.
Iùbhrach àlainn, 's i fallainn,
′S i ri gabhail a' chuain,
I ruith cho dìreach ri saighead,
'S gaoth na h-aghaidh gu cruaidh;
Ged bhiodh stoirm chlacha′-meallain
Ann, ′s an cathadh a tuath,
Nì Fear Heisgeir a gabhail
Làmh nach athadh ro 'n stuaigh.
Tha Fear Heisgeir a′ tighinn;
Bu tu ceann-uidhe nan ceud,
Bu tu ceann-uidhe na cuideachd,
'S cha bu sgrubaire crìon;
′N àm ruighinn do bhaile,
Seal mu 'n cromadh a′ ghrian;
Bu tu mac an deagh athair,
Bha gu mathasach riamh.

The Song of Fear Heisgeir

My love is beneath the mist,
I am alone on the hill,
Far, far, from my friends,
In a place by the shore;
Until I saw your boat,
With a high sail behind,
Coming into the Sound
With the sailor at the helm.
The sailor at the helm,
Coming towards the Sound;
Though the strait is raging,
And the sea is rising in waves;
Your hand is steady,
And his strength will not fail;
Though a dark blue sea may come,
And send spume over the mast.
And though the seas may roar,
And its topmasts may sway,
She will guide her towards the shore,
And faster than the ship can sail;
She will be graceful, and light,
As she rises between each glen,
And the sea beats against the oak,
Breaking oars and blades.
You are the master of the sea,
You are a merry mariner,
You could guide her,
When they refused her;
Though they might overturn her,
And they would lie in the ocean foam,
You would keep her so cheerful,
Until she reached the land.
There is not a single headland,
Between here and Point of Ardnamurchan,
Between Lismore and every bay,
Where a spring or a streamlet does not run;
There is not a ship's master,
Who has heard the sound of your hand,
Who is not inquisitive, and curious,
To know where your boat was found.
Lovely, healthy, and strong,
She is to ride the ocean,
She runs as straight as an arrow,
And the wind against her is strong;
Though there may be a storm of shingle,
And the battle in the north,
The Man of Heisgeir will take her,
With a hand that will not tremble before the wave.
The Man of Heisgeir is coming;
You were the leader of the hundreds,
You were the leader of the company,
And you were not a dull miser;
By the time we reach your home,
A little before the sun sets;
You were a good father's son,
Who was always kind.