Ma's ann 'gam mhealladh, a ghaoil, a bha thu, Ma's ann 'gam mhealladh as deigh do gheallaidh, 'Se luaidh do mholaidh ni mi gu brath, Ma's ann 'gam mhealladh, a ghaoil, a bha thu.
Righ! gur mise tha gu tursach, Gaol an iarla 'ga mo chiurradh, Tha na deoir a'sior-ruith o m' shuilean 'S mo chridhe bruite le guin do ghraidh.
Bha mi raoir leat 'na mo bhruadar Thall an Diura nam beann fuara, Bha do phogan mar bhiolair uaine - Ach dh'fhalbh am bruadar is dh'fhan an cradh.
Thig, a ghaoil, agus duin mo shuilean 'S a' chiste-chaoil far nach dean mi dusgadh, Cuir a sios mi an duslach Diurach, Oir 's ann 's an uir a ni mise tamh.
The Bens Of Jura
If deceiving me, o love, thou wert; If deceiving me despite thy vow; Yet chant thy praise I ever will, Tho' deceiving me, o love, thou wert.
O King! I am the sorrowful one, And the love of the Earl a-hurting me; The tears are ever running from mine eyes, And my heart is bruised with the sting of thy love.
Last night I was with thee in my dream, Across in Jura of the cold bens; Thy kisses were like the green water-cresses - Fled the dream - remained the pain.
Come, o love, and close my eyes In the narrow kirst where I shall never awake; Lay me down under earth from Jura - In the grave alone is there rest for me.
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Copy to Clipboard: Ma's ann 'gam mhealladh, a ghaoil, a bha thu, Ma's ann 'gam mhealladh as deigh do gheallaidh, 'Se luaidh do mholaidh ni mi gu brath, Ma's ann 'gam mhealladh, a ghaoil, a bha thu.
Righ! gur mise tha gu tursach, Gaol an iarla 'ga mo chiurradh, Tha na deoir a'sior-ruith o m' shuilean 'S mo chridhe bruite le guin do ghraidh.
Bha mi raoir leat 'na mo bhruadar Thall an Diura nam beann fuara, Bha do phogan mar bhiolair uaine - Ach dh'fhalbh am bruadar is dh'fhan an cradh.
Thig, a ghaoil, agus duin mo shuilean 'S a' chiste-chaoil far nach dean mi dusgadh, Cuir a sios mi an duslach Diurach, Oir 's ann 's an uir a ni mise tamh.
The Bens Of Jura
If deceiving me, o love, thou wert; If deceiving me despite thy vow; Yet chant thy praise I ever will, Tho' deceiving me, o love, thou wert.
O King! I am the sorrowful one, And the love of the Earl a-hurting me; The tears are ever running from mine eyes, And my heart is bruised with the sting of thy love.
Last night I was with thee in my dream, Across in Jura of the cold bens; Thy kisses were like the green water-cresses - Fled the dream - remained the pain.
Come, o love, and close my eyes In the narrow kirst where I shall never awake; Lay me down under earth from Jura - In the grave alone is there rest for me.
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