Текст Julie Fowlis – Oran Fir Heisgeir (Gura Mis’ Tha Fo Mhighean) (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,

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.

Translation:
I am melancholy
Alone on the hillock
Far, far from my relations
Stranded in this place.

Till your ship was seen,
Full sailed
Coming in to the Aird
Son of the hero on the gunwhale.

Son of the hero at the helm
Coming towards the Troit
The waters of the straits are roaring
The sea rising around her yards;

Your hand is so skilled,
She did not lose her strength
Though the black blue sea
Would scour over her.

Though the seas were overpowering
and tested the top of the mast
And the sail yards
Increasing the speed of the ship;

She would be spirited, light,
Rising between each glen
Sea crashing her oak timbers
Opening ribs and scales.

You were the sea skipper
You were the elegant helmsman
You were the one who could steer
When the rest refused;

Though they were overcome
Lying down in the bilge water
You would keep her laughing
Till she reached land.

There’s not a coastal point
Between here and a’ Chaoir-dhearg
Between Leith and each harbour
From which they anchored or sailed;

There isn’t a ship’s master
Who heard of your expertise
Who isn’t asking and enquiring
Where your ship is to be found.

Beautiful sound ship,
Taking on the seas
Sailing straight as an arrow
Despite strong headwinds

Though there was a hailstorm
And snow from the north
Fear Heisgeir will take it on
And never falter in the face of rough seas.

Fear Heisgeir is coming;
You are the destination of hundreds
You are the destination of the company
Not a withered niggard;

On reaching your homestead
A while before sunset
You are the son of the good father
Who was always benevolent.