A MHUILE NAM BEANN

Allan MacDonald

Sèist:

A Mhuile nam Beann

Dé dh’fhàg mi a’ seinn air do chòir?

Le d’ eachdraidh cho falaicht’ mar òr.

Bha mi uair air do bhràigh’,

Aig an Tobar aig Moire ‘sa bhàgh

Le iongantas.

‘S ann a chaidh mi air sràid

A dh’fhaicinn nan daoin’ a tha

Is mar a bha.

Chaidh mi suas dhan taigh-òsd’

Far an d’ùraiginn òl le d’òig’,

Cha robh iad ann.

Fear bha freasdal air chùl,

Cha do thuig mi a’ ghuth ach an cù

A bha ‘comhartaich.

Cuid le ‘m bòtanan uain’

Bheireadh inbhe nas àirde na càch,

Nach buidhe dhaibh!

Cuid a thàinig gu tìr,

Le ‘m bòtanan beaga cho bréagha,

Cho buidhe leoth’!

Ach misneachd cha d’fhàg mi,

‘S fear nam bòtanan dubha air fàire,

Is boineid air!

Thug mi iomradh ‘sa chainnt,

“Ciamar a tha thu an-diugh, ‘s tha i blàth,”

‘S cha d’fhreagair e.

“Who are you?” thuirt e rium,

“I do not know what you are saying”,

Is tharraing e.

Ach thoir an aire mar tha,

Tha sinn feumach air barrachd na bhi caoidh

Na thachair dhuinn.

Fhuair na daoine sin meas

Air Muile nan tobhta ‘s nam preas,

Mar bhiodh an dùil.

Ged ’s gann tha ar sluagh,

Tha làn àm ann ar guth thoirt gu cluais

Gach fear aca.

Gàidhlig Mhuile air chall

‘Se ‘n fhìrinn a th’ ann gu tur,

Ge b’oil dhuinn e.

Chan eil ann ach aon dòigh

Le misneachd ‘s ìnnleachd threun:

Ath – nuadhachadh.

Làn fhòghlaim dhen chainnt

A bhuineas dhan tìr mar is còir

Gun lagachadh.

Cuir a’ chuibhle mun cuairt:

“English you can’t stop us speaking”

Cuir Gàidhlig air!

Chorus:

Mull of the Mountains,

What has left me singing for you?

Your history like hidden gold.

I was once on your brae,

At Mary’s Well in the bay

And curious.

I took a walk along the street

To see the folks there

And the way things were.

I went into the pub,

Where I hoped to take a dram with your young folk,

They were not to be seen.

The man behind the bar -

I didn’t understand him, only the dog

Who was barking.

Some with their green wellies,

Setting them a cut above the rest,

Good for them!

Some who landed there,

In their pretty little boots,

So yellow!

But I didn’t lose hope,

I spied a man on the horizon in black wellies

And a bunnet!

I spoke to him in my language,

“How are you today, isn’t it warm,”

And he didn’t reply.

“Who are you?” he said to me,

“I do not know what you are saying”,

And off he went.

But take care,

We need to do more than complain about

What has befallen us.

These people have come to love

Mull of the ruins and bushes,

As you might expect.

Though we are few,

It’s high time we brought our voices

To the attention of each one of them.

Mull’s Gaelic is lost,

It’s the complete truth,

Whether we like it or not.

There’s only one way,

With optimism and hard graft:

Renewal.

Well-schooled in the language

That belongs to the land as it should

Without dilution.

Turn full circle:

“English you can’t stop us speaking”

Try saying that in Gaelic!