Bothan Àirigh am Bràigh Raithneach скачать в хорошем качестве

Bothan Àirigh am Bràigh Raithneach

Bothan Àirigh am Bràigh Raithneach Gur e m' anam is m' eudail chaidh an-dè do Ghleann Garadh: fear na gruaig' mar an t-òr is na pòig air bhlas meala. O hi ò o hu ò, o hi ò o hu ò, Hi rì ri ò hu eile O hì ri ri ri ò gheallaibh ò Is tu as fheàrr don tig deise de na sheasadh air thalamh; is tu as fheàrr don tig culaidh de na chunna mi dh' fhearaibh. Is tu as fheàrr don tig osan is bròg shocrach nam barrall: còta Lunnainneach dubh-ghorm, is bidh na crùintean ga cheannach. An uair a ruigeadh tu 'n fhèill is e mo ghèar-sa a thig dhachaigh; mo chriosan is mo chìre is mo stìomag chaol cheangail. Thig mo chrios à Dùn Eideann is mo bhrèid à Dùn Chailleann, gheibh sinn crodh as a' Mhaorainn agus caoraich à Gallaibh. Is ann a bhios sinn 'gan àrach air àirigh am Bràigh Raithneach. ann am bòthan an t-sùgraidh is gur e bu dùnadh dha barrach. Bhiodh a' chuthag 's an smùdan a' gabhail ciùil duinn air chrannaibh; bhiodh an damh donn 's a bhùireadh gar dùsgadh sa mhadainn. **************************************************** **************************************************** It is my soul and my treasure Who went yesterday to Gleann Garry; Man of hair like gold And kisses as the taste of honey. You are the best for whom a suit becomes Of all those that would stand on the earth; You are the best to whom clothing becomes Of all that I have seen of men. A dark blue London short coat, And the crowns would be buying it. You are the best for whom hose becomes And a comfortable shoe with laces; When you will arrive at the Fair It’s my ‘gear’ that will come home; My wallet, my comb And my narrow tied fillet. My beautiful gloves And golden ears of corn on their finger-tips, My brown thronged purse Along with a knife with haft of rare design. My girdle will come from Edinburgh And my coif from Dunkeld. Why should we be without cattle When the Lowlanders have herds? We shall get cattle in the Mearns And sheep from Caithness. We shall be rearing them there At the shieling in Brae Rannoch, In the bothy of love-making, And it is brushwood that was closing for it. The cuckoo and the ring-dove would be Making music for us in the trees; The roaring of the brown stag Would be waking us in the morning. [W J Watson, Bàrdachd Ghàidhlig Second Edition 1932, pp. 192-194] Audio BandLab, CakeWalk, Suno 4.5