Till rium a leannain
One of my favourite traditional voices is that of the late Angus Kenneth MacIver of Uig, Lewis. His voice was truly unique and I love his singing of this particular song.
The bard longs for his sweetheart to return home to him. He wishes to be alone with and describes her beauty as being without comparison.
Till rium a leannan o till o till
Till rium a leannan o till o till
Till rium a leannan dha d’ dh’ eoin no led eu-dheòin **
No thèid mi le cabhaig don chill don chilll.
‘S tha gruaidhean mo leannan mar lilidh nan gleann
Do mhil-laisean geala ‘s gur taitneach iad leam
‘S ged dhèanadh sinn cadal air cluasagan geala
Ged bhiodh sinn gun fhearann, gun fhonn gun fhonn
‘S truagh nach robh mise ‘s mo ghràdh ‘s mo ghràdh
Air m’ ullach na beinne gu h-àrd, gu h-àrd
Gun duine bhith faisg dhuinn ach leanabh gun astair
A bheireadh sgeul dhachaigh gu cach, gu cach.
‘S truagh nach robh mise ‘s mo ghaol ‘s mo ghaol
An lagan beag falaichte san fhraoch, san fhraoch
Gun càil a bhith eataroinn ach leine chaol anart
Gun dèanadh sinn cadal sinn taobh ri taobh
Ach, càite am beil comas dom luaidh, dom luaidh
Mar ròs air uchd-gheala tha gruaidh, tha gruaidh
Clar-aghaidh is sgìlean nam bainne ga bhleoghan
‘S a ghrian a’ dol fodha ‘s a chuan ‘s a chuan
**last chorus (A mhairi den cabhaig bho dhùthaich nan Gallaibh)
Return to me my love, o return o return
Return to me my love, o return o return
Return my love whether it be your will or not**
Or I will quickly be in my grave.
My loves cheeks are like the lily of the glen
Her fine features are so appealing to me
If only we could sleep on the white pillows
Even if we had no land of our own.
It's such a pity that my love and I
Weren't in the hills high above, high above
Without anyone been near us but a child at distance
That would bring home the story to the people, the people.
It's such a pity that my love and I
Weren't in the hidden hollow in the heather, the heather
With nothing between us but a fine cotton shirt
We'd sleep peacefully, side by side
But who can compare to my love, my love
Her cheeks are like a rose upon the swan
To picture her with her skills milking the cows
And on the horizon the sun disappearing into the sea, the sea
**last chorus (O Màiri, return from the foreign lands)