An Eala Bhàn

swan-lovers

This beautiful Scottish Gaelic love song was writen by Dòmhnall Ruadh Chorùna for his love Magaidh NicLeòid. Dòmhnall composed the song as a love letter whilst in the trenches at the battle of the Somme during the First World War. This gives his words such poignancy and power. I include here the lyrics both in the Gaelic and English and a video of Karen Matheson performing a very touching version.

https://youtu.be/lSyYb9jO7vQ

Gur duilich leam mar tha mi

‘S mo chridhe ‘n sàs aig bròn

Bhon an uair a dh’fhàg mi

Beanntan àrd a’ cheò

Gleanntannan a’mhànrain

Nan loch, nam bàgh ‘s nan sròm

‘S an eala bhàn tha tàmh ann

Gach latha air ‘m bheil mi ‘n tòir.

A Mhagaidh na bi tùrsach

A rùin, ged gheibhinn bàs-

Cò am fear am measg an t-sluaigh

A mhaireas buan gu bràth?

Chan eil sinn uile ach air chuairt

Mar dhìthein buaile fàs

Bheir siantannan na blianna sios

‘S nach tog a’ ghrian an àird.

Tha ‘n talamh leir mun cuairt dhìom

‘Na mheallan suas ‘s na neòil;

Aig na ‘shells a’ bualadh –

Cha leir dhomh bhuam le ceò:

Gun chlaisneachd aig mo chluasan

Le fuaim a’ ghunna mhòir;

Ach ged tha ‘n uair seo cruaidh orm

Tha mo smuaintean air NicLeòid.

Air m’ uilinn anns na truinnsichean

Tha m’ inntinn ort, a ghràidh;

Nam chadal bidh mi a’ bruadar ort

Cha dualach dhomh bhith slàn;

Tha m’ aigne air a lionadh

Le cianalas cho làn

‘S a’ghruag a dh’fhàs cho ruadh orm

A nis air thuar bhith bàn.

Ach ma thig an t-àm

Is anns an Fhraing gu faigh mi bàs

‘S san uaigh gun tèid mo shìneadh

Far eil na mìltean chàch,

Mo bheannachd leis a’ ghruagaich,

A’ chaileag uasal bhàn –

Gach là a dh’fhalbh gun uallach dhi,

Gun nàire gruaidh na dhàil.

Oidhche mhath leat fhèin, a rùin

Nad leabaidh chùbhraidh bhlàth;

Cadal sàmhach air a chùl

Do dhùsgadh sunndach slàn.

Tha mise ‘n seo ‘s an truinnsidh fhuar

‘S nam chluasan fuaim bhàis

Gun duil ri faighinn às le buaidh –

Tha ‘n cuan cho buan ri shnàmh.

Sad I consider my condition

With my heart engaged with sorrow

From the very time that I left

The high bens of the mist

The little glens of dalliance

Of the lochs, the bays and the forelands

And the white swan dwelling there

Whom I daily pursue.

O Maggie, don’t be sad

Love, if I should die –

Who among men

Endures eternally?

We are all only on a journey

Like flowers in the deserted cattle fold

That the year’s wind and rain will bring down

And that the sun cannot raise.

All the ground around me

Is like hail in the heavens;

With the shells exploding –

I am blinded by smoke:

My ears are deafened

By the roar of the cannon;

But despite the savagery of the moment

My thoughts are on the girl called MacLeod.

Crouched in the trenches

My mind is fixed on you, love;

In sleep I dream of you

I am not fated to survive;

My spirit is filled

With a surfeit of longing

And my hair once so auburn

Is now almost white.

But if it should happen

That I am killed in France

And laid in the grave

As thousands are already,

My blessings go with the maiden,

So noble and fair.

May her every day be free of care,

And her life a source of pride.

Goodnight to you, love

In your warm, sweet-smelling bed;

May you have peaceful sleep and afterwards

May you waken healthy and in good spirits.

I am here in the cold trench

With the clamour of death in my ears

With no hope of returning victorious-

The ocean is too wide to swim.

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