AN ATAIREACHD ARD - The Swelling of the Sea
An ataireachd bhuan Cluinn fuaim na h-ataireachd ard Cha torann a' chuain Mar chualas leam-s' 'nam phaisd Gun mhuthadh, gun truas A' sluaisreadh gainneimh na tragh'd An ataireachd bhuan Cluinn fuaim na h-ataireachd ard Sna coilltean a siar Chan iarrain fuireach gu brath Bha m' intinn 's mo mhiann A riamh air lagan a' bhaigh Ach iadsan bha fial An gniomh, an caidreamh 's an agh Air sgapadh gun dion Mar thriallas ealtainn roimh namh... | The everlasting surge of the sea Hear the roar of the mighty surge The thundering of the ocean's As I heard in my childhood Without change, without pity Sweeping up the sands on the shore The everlasting surge of the sea Hear the roar of the mighty surge In the woods of the west I would not want to wait for ever My mind and wish We recover in the little hollow by the cove But those who were gracious In act, in friendship and in birth Are scattered without protection Like a flock of birds before an enemy |
Background
Donald MacIver's An Ataireachd Ard (The Swelling of the Sea)is an emigrant's lament for his beloved island home of Lewis.
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