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S' Och A' Dhomhnaill Oig Ghaolaich

de Capercaillie

Mur b'e thusa bhiiodh an Cuilithionn
'na mhur eagarra gorm
ag crioslachadh le bhalla-criche
na tha 'nam chridhe borb

Mur b'e thusa bhiodh a' ghaineamh
tha'n Talasgar dumhail geal
'na clar biothbuan do mo dhuilean
air nach tilleadh an run-ghath

'S mur b'e thusa bhiodh na cuantan
'nan luasgan is 'nan tamh
a' togail cair mo bhuadhan
'ga cur air suaimhneas ard

'S bhiodh am monadh donn riabhach
agus mo chiall co-shint'
ach chuir thusa orra riaghladh
os cionn mo phianaidh fhin

Agus air creachainn chein fhasmhoir
chinn blathmhor Craobh nan Teud
'na meangach duillich t'aodann
mo chiall is aogas reil

The Blue Rampart


But for you the Cuillin would be
an exact and serrated blue rampart
girdling with its march-wall
all that is in my barbarous heart

But for you the sand
that is in Talisker compact and white
would be a measureless plain to my expectations
and on it the spear desire would not turn back

But for you the oceans
in their unrest and their repose
would raise the wave crest of my mind
and settle it on a high serenity

And the brown brindled moorland
and my reason would co-extend
but you imposed on them an edict
above my own pain

And on a distant luxuriant summit
there blossomed the Tree of Strings
among its leafy branches your face
my reason and the likeness of a star

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