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Tha cuid ag ràdh gur e Dòmhnall Donn Mac fear Bhoshuntain, a rinn an t-òran seo. Tha cuid, mar an ceudna, ag ràdh gun do rinneadh e le mac tuathanaich, do mhaighdean àlainn a bha na banaraich aig athair. A-rèir coltais, bha spèis mhòr aige don nighein, agus nuair a mhothaich a mhàthair dha seo, cha robh i idir toilichte. Air feasgar àraidh, chunnaic a mhàthair gun deach a` bhanarach ga failceadh, agus air dha mac tighinn dhachaigh, dh` innis i gum faca i tunnag àlainn air an abhainn. Gun tuilleadh a ràdh, ghlac an gille a ghunna `s thàr e às. Tha an t-òran ag innse mar a thachair.
A` Mhairead Og, `s tu rinn mo leòn
Is caileag bhòidheach lurach thu
`S tu as guirme sùil sa mhadainn chiùin
Gur gil` thu ghràidh nan sneachda bàn
A` cur air àird nam monaidhean
A` cur air àird nam monaidhean
Och `s i mo mhàthair rinn an call
Nuair chuir i shealg nan tunnaig mi
Och `s i mo mhàthair rinn an call
Nuair chuir i shealg nan tunnaig mi
`S nuair ràinig mi an linne chaol
`S ann bha mo ghaol a` srùthladh innt`
`S ann bha mo ghaol a` srùthladh innt`
`S e `n gunna caol a rinn mo leòn
Cha tèid e òirleach tuilleadh leam
`S e `n gunna caol a rinn mo leòn
Cha tèid e òirleach tuilleadh leam
`S an tè rinn dhomh-sa lèine chaol
Cha dèan thu ghaoil gin tuilleadh dhomh
Cha dèan thu ghaoil gin tuilleadh dhomh
Ged thèid mi suas don bhail` ud shuas
Cha bhi mo chuairt ach diomain ann
Cha bhi mo chuairt ach diomain ann
Air leabaidh làir chan fhaigh mi tàmh
`S air leabaidh àird cha chuir iad mi
`S air leabaidh àird cha chuir iad mi
O Rìgh nan dùl cum rium mo chiall
Cha robh mi riamh sa chunnart seo
Cha robh mi riamh sa chunnart seo
Mi `n-diugh `s an-dè air cnoc leam fhèin
A` sileadh dheur `s mi turaman
A` sileadh dheur `s mi turaman
A Mhairead Og `s tu rinn mo leòn
`S tu dh`fhàg fo bhròn `s fo mhulad mi.
Tionndadh Beurla:
Young Margaret, you are the cause of my grief
A bonnie, lovely girl you are
Your eyes are bluer in the calm morning
Than the blaeberry amongst the leaves
You are more radiant my love than
The white snow that falls on the moorland
It was my mother that did wrong
When she sent me to hunt for the ducks
When I got to the narrow pool
It was my love that was bathing there
It was the slender gun that wounded me
It won`t travel an inch more with me
The girl who made for me the shirt of fine cloth
Shall make no more
Even if I go to the village up yonder
My visit will be short-lived
On a low bed, I`ll get no rest
And on a high bed, they`ll not place me
Oh King of the Elements, keep me sane
I have never been in such danger
Today and yesterday alone on a hill
Shedding tears and rocking myself in grief
Oh young Mairead, you are the cause of my grief
You`ve left me desolate and grief-stricken.
1 comments:
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- Norman
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