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Theid Mi le m' Dheoin

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.

Thèid mi le m' dheòin a Dhùthaich Iain òig, An luingeas fo sheòl gluaisidh mi; Fàgaidh mi 'Spàinnt, o'n dhìobair mo shlàint' Cha 'n urrainn mi tàmh suas innte. Tha bliadhn' agus corr o'n fhuair mi mo leòn, 'S tha 'n teas a' cur mòr ghluasad orm, Ruigidh mi 'n t-àrd, is fallain an t-ait', 'Us gheibh mi ni's fearr, 's dualach dhomh,	I will go gladly to Glenmoriston; I will go there in a ship under sail; I will leave Spain; since my health has failed I cannot live here. It is more than a year since I was wounded, and the heat has affected my bodily functions. I will get to the hills; the place to which I am going is a healthy one, and I will recover in the place to which I belong by heredity.
O'n dh'èirich dhomh bhi anfhann gun spìd, Gun chomas an Righ 'dhuaiseachadh, Tha mo dhuil anns an Tì 'tha os mo chinn, Gu'n stiùir e gu tìr m' uaigheachd mi; Tha m' aighear 's mo mhiann daonnan, gu fìor, 'Toirt brosnachaidh giar gu gluasad dhomh, Cha'n àrda mo leum, dh'fhaillig mo cheum, Stràc e nach gleidh buannachd dhomh.	Since I have become feeble and incapable of quick movement, without the ability to serve the King, my trust is in the One above, that He will guide me to the land where 1 should be buried. My joy in prospect and my desire, are truly, giving me a powerful incentive to go. I cannot jump high; my step has failed. My wound is a blow that is not likely to lead to a long life.
Ghabh miotailte throm còmhnuidh na m' chom, Dheònaich a bhonn tàrmachadh, Dh'fhuirich e buan, dh'fhuiling e cruas, Gaoth tha toir sguab làirich leth'; Tha 'm balla cho ur 's nach tuit e na bhrùchd, Air a thogail le ùird sharbhuilleach, 'S ma chàirear a bhonn an àite gun pholl, 'S deacair da 'bhonn fàilligeadh.	A heavy piece of metal has lodged in my body and the main part of it has decided to remain, it has clung on; it has endured hardship, a wind that would take the sweeping of a brush with it. The wall is so high that it will not fail to make a breach, built, as it is, with hard-hitting hammers, and if its base is fixed in firm ground, it is not likely that its foundations will fail
Is duilich an nì 'fhuadach a frith, Ma gheibh e na fìor fhàsaich i, 'S miann leis a clìth barra 'thoirt di, Mur gabh e le' sgìos gràin oirre ; 'S ionnan d' a bhrìgh sud mar tha mi, Snaighte, gun mhir fhàgail orm, Loma-ruisteach lom o m' mhullach gu m' bhonn, Mar asbhuain fo throm fhaladair.	It is difficult to drive an intruder from land if he finds it deserted. It is his wish to take the good out of the land, before weariness causes him to dislike it. That is just how I am, whittled down without much flesh left on me, worn to a shadow from head to foot, like stubble under a heavy scythe.
Is gòrach a' seòl a dh'aon neach tha beò, Bhi daonnan air thoir dànadais, A siubhal gu treun, na bharantas fhèin, Anbharrach, glè tharmuiseach ; O'n is miannach le miann riobadh dhe'n lìon Thionnd'neas gu 'rian àbhaist e, Nis cha'n eil feum sealltuinn 'na 'dheigh, O'n is gnothach a leum a dàmhair e.	It is foolish for anyone alive to be constantly intent on being bold and imperious, stepping out boldly in his own strength, overweeningly proud and arrogant. An ungovernable desire for something can lead to entanglement in a destructive net of circumstances. Then it is useless for him to look back, since his situation is the result of reckless impetuosity.
Ma thèid thu 'na choill, chì thu ann craobh Snìomhte o ghreum a h-alaiche, Is duilich dhi treum seasamh romh thè 'il' Mar prop i 's an te tha làmh rithe ; 'Nuair laidheas i sìos grodaidh a friamh, Spùtag no nuar cha'n fhas oirre; Tuitidh i pronn lann bhroilleag us tholl, 'Na mosgan 's an tom o'n d'thàinig i.	If you go to the wood, you will see there a tree twisted because of the way in which its own saplings have grown around it. It is difficult for it to strongly resist the thrust of another unless it leans against the one beside itself. When it falls over, its roots will rot. Alas, no twig will grow on it. It will lie full of fragments and holes, a rotten tree an the mound from which it grew.
'Us fhir thèid air chuairt, a null do 'n Taobh-Tuath, Thoir teachdaireachd uam, 's na dì-chuimhnich, 'Us innis mar tha m' ìre 's mo chail, Sin daonnan gach là a dhùisgeas mi: Tha saighead o 'n eug, mar is barail leam fhèin, Fo m' aisnean a'm pèin dlùth riutha Ga m'sparradh cho geur, 's cho teotha ri flame, Teachdair gu feum dùsgadh dhomh.	You who are going on a visit to the North, take a message from me. Do not forget. Inform my friends of my condition, which is the same every day that I awake. There is a pain, the messenger of death in my opinion under my ribs, causing pain in the area around them, driving into me sharply, as hot as a flame, a messenger to whom I must give heed.