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Oran Air Gleann-Na-Moireasduinn

Le Alasdair Mac Iain Bhain. From Transactions of the Gaelic Society of Inverness, Volume 10, 1881-83. Translation by Iain MacLeod, courtesy of Murdo Grant of Fortrose and Lewiston.
Thoir mo shoraidh le failte Dh'fhios an ait 'm bheil mo mheanmhuinn, Gu Duthaich mhic Phadrùig 'S an d'fhuair mi m' arach 's mi 'm leanaban; Gar am faicinn gu brath i Cha leig mi chail ud air dhearmad - Meud a' mhulaid bh'air pairt dhiubh Anns an dàmhar 'an d'fhalbh mi.	Take my farewell with a greeting to the place where my thoughts are, to the country of Mac Phadraig where I was brought up as a child; although I should never see it again, I shall never lose that love for it - How great the distress of some of my fellow country people was in the October in which I left!
Chorus - Thoir mo shòlas do'n duthaich 'S bidh mo rùn dhi gu m'eug, Far am fàsadh a' ghiubhsach 'S an goireadh smudan air ghèig; Thall an aodainn an Dùnain Chluinnte 'thuchan gu reith Moch 's a' mhaduinn ri driuchd, An àm dusgadh do'n ghrein.	Chorus - Give my greetings to my country; I will love it till I die; where the pine trees grow and the wood pigeon calls from the branch; over on the face of Dunan its regular cooing can be heard, early in the dewy morning, at the time of the sun's awakening.
'S truagh nach mise bha'n drasta Far am b'abhaist domh taghal, Mach ri aodainn nan àrd-bheann, 'S a stigh ri sail Carn-na-Fiudhaich, Far am faicinn an lan-damh 'Dol gu laidir 'na shiubhal, 'S mur beanadh leon no bonn-craidh dha, Bu mhath a chail do na bhruthach.     Thoir mo sholas, etc.	Would that I were at this moment at a place where I used to go, out on the slopes of the high hills and in at the heel of Carn na Fiudhaich (The Cairn of the Bubbling Spring), where I would see the fully-antlered stag going strongly on his way, and if he were not wounded or injured, with what zest he would spring up the slope. Chorus
Gheibhte boc ann an Ceannachroc, Agus earb anns an doire, Coileach-dubh an Allt-Riamhaich Air bheag iarraidh 's a' choille; Bhiodh an liath-chearc mar gheard air 'G innse dhan dha roimh theine, 'S ma'n ceart a bheanadh an bas dha Thug ise 'gradh do dh-fhear eile.     Thoir mo sholas, etc.	The roebuck would be found in Ceannacnoc (End of the Hill), and the doe in the thicket, the blackcock in Allt Riabhach (The Brindled Burn), withour seeking far in the wood; the heath-hen would be guarding him, telling him of his fate before the gunfire started, and he was hardly dead before she gave her love to another. Chorus
Gheibhte rac 'us lach riabhach Anns an riasg air Loch-Coilleig, Coileach-ban air an iosal Mu rudha 'n iath-dhoire 'taghal Tha e duilich a thialadh Mur cuir sibh 'sgialachd na m' agaidh Is tric a chunnaic sinn sealgair Greis air falbh gun dad fhaighinn     Thoir mo sholas, etc.	The drake and the brindled wild duck would be found in the sedge on Loch Coilleig (The Melodious Loch), the whitecock on the low ground visiting the spur of the straggling thicket - He is difficult to surprise - Perhaps you think that this is just an unsuccessful hunter's story - We often saw one away for a good while without bagging anything. Chorus
Gheibhte gruagaichean laghach Bhiodh a' taghal 's na gleanntaibh, Ag iomain spreidh 'us dha'm bleoghann An tim an fhoghar 's an t-samhraidh; Am por a dheanainn a thaghadh - 'S gur iad roghuinn a b'annsa - Briodal beoil gun bhonn coire Nach tigeadh soilleir gu call dhuinn -     Thoir mo sholas, etc.	There you would find pleasant lassies who used to go to the glens, driving cattle and milking them in the summer and the autumn; they are the sort that I would choose - And they are the choicest to select - With their winning talk, lacking any unpleasantness, which would not do any of us harm - Chorus
Tha mo chion air mo leannan Leis nach b' aithreach mo luaidh rith' - Tha a slios mar an canach, No mar eala nan cuaintean; Tha a pog air bhlas fhiogais 'S gur glan sìoladh a gruaidhean, Suil ghorm is glan sealladh A's caol mhala gun ghruaimean,     Thoir mo sholas, etc.	My beloved, my sweetheart who was not ashamed by my praising her - Her side is as white as the bog-cotton, or the swan of the sea; her kiss is like the taste of figs and fresh-coloured her cheeks, clear blue eyes she has and eyebrows never knitted in surliness. Chorus
Fiach nach eil thu an duil Gu bheil mi, 'ruin, 'us tu suarach, No gu'n cuir mi mo chul riut Airson diombaidh luchd-fuatha; Tha mo chridhe cho ur dhuit 'Sa' chiad la 'n tùs thug mi luaidh dhuit, 'S gus an càirear 'san uir mi Bidh mo shuil riut, a ghruagach.     Thoir mo sholas etc.	Never think, my love that I hold you cheap, Or that I will turn my back on you on account of the displeasure of your enemies; my heart is yours as completely as it was on the first day that I fell in love with you, and I will love you, lass, till the day that I die. Chorus
'S iomadh aite 'n robh m' eolas - Chaidh mi oga do 'n armachd - 'S luchd nam fasan cha b 'eol domh, O 'n a sheol mi thair fairge; An caithe-beatha, 'san stuaimeachd, Ann an uaisle gun anbharr, Thug mi'n t-uram thair sluaigh dhaibh 'San Taobh-Tuath as an d' fhalbh mi.     Thoir mo sholas etc.

This song is printed in vol. viii. of these Transactions, p. 112. The version now given is slightly different.