Oganaich an Or-fhuilt Bhuidhe - am Braighe - текст песни
O\ganaich an O\r-fhuilt Bhuidhe - am Bra\ighe
O\ganaich an o\r-fhuilt bhuide, Leat a chinneadh sealg a's sithionn; 'S ann ad ghruaidh a bhiodh an rudha, 'N uair a bhiodh tu siubhal bheann!
'N uiar a dhi\readh tu na stu\can Leis a 'ghunna chaol nach di\ultadh, 'S i do luaidhe ghorm a's d'fu\dar, Chuireadh smu\id air feadh nan gleann.
Na cnuic 's na glinn bu bho\idhche leinn, 'S iad cnuic is glinn a'Bhra\ighidh, Mu'n tric bha sinn ri ma\nran binn, 'S a' chomunn ghrinn a b'fhearr leinn
Chan 'eil a\it' an diugh fo'n ghre/in, 'S am b'fhearr leam fhe/in bhi ta\mhachd Na Bra\igh' na h-Aibhne measg nan sonn O'm faighte fuinn na Ga\idhlig.
O\ganaich an o\r-fhuilt shniomhain, Dh'fhag thu saca trom air m'inntinn; 'S mur a till thu nall do 'n tir so, Mo thoil-inntinn bidh air chall.
Na cnuic 's na glinn bu bho\idhche leinn, 'S iad cnuic is glinn a'Bhra\ighidh, Mu'n tric bha sinn ri ma\nran binn, 'S a' chomunn ghrinn a b'fhearr leinn
Gur binn leam ceo\l an h-aibhne mo/ir, 'S i falbh an glo\ir a h-a\illeachd; Fhad's bhios i gluasad sios le fuaim, Cha toir mi fuath do'n Bhra\ighidh.
Gu leir a bhla\th air mo ghruaidhse, Gu'n tug mi dhuit gaol nach fuaraich; Dh'innis iad gu'n d'thug thu fuath dhomh, Ach cha chreid mi, luaidh, an cainnt.
O\ganaich an o\r-fhuilt bhuide, Leat a chinneadh sealg a's sithionn; 'S ann ad ghruaidh a bhiodh an rudha, 'N uair a bhiodh tu siubhal bheann!
O\ganaich an o\r-fhuilt bhuide, Leat a chinneadh sealg a's sithionn; 'S ann ad ghruaidh a bhiodh an rudha, 'N uair a bhiodh tu siubhal bheann!
Youth whose hair is golden yellow You will bag the deer when hunting On your cheeks the colour's rising When you tramp across the hills
When you climb up to the tall crags With your slender trusty weapon Then your blue lead and gun powder Scatter smoke among the glens
The hills and dales most beautiful to us Are the hills and dales of the Braes (Margaree), Where we often sang Sweet melodies in the friendly company we liked best.
There is no place today, under the sun, Where I would prefer to live In the Braes of the river Amongst the heroes who were wont To sing Gaelic songs.
Sweet to me is the music of the great river As it meanders amidst the glory of its beauty; As long as it contiues to course to the sea I will never hate the Braes.
It is showing in my cheeks now That my truest love I gave you They are saying that you hate me But I don't believe their talk.
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