´óÏó´«Ã½

’S gann gun dìrich mi chaoidh
Dh’ionnsaigh frìth àird a’ mhonaidh;
’S gann gun dìrich mi chaoidh.

Thàinig litir à Dhun Èideann
Nach fhaotainn fhèin bhith dol don mhonadh.

Pàdruig Mòr aig Ceann Loch Àoineart
Rinn e ’n fhoill ’s nach d’ rinn e buinnig.

Tha mo ghunna chaol air meirgeadh
Cha tèid mi don t-seilg leis tuilleadh.

Thèid e chrochadh air na tàirgnean
’S cha b’ e sin leam àite fuireach.

’S iomadh latha sgìth a bha mi
Nam shuidhe leis ’s e làn air tulaich.

Gabhail sealladh air na slèibhtean
Far am bi na fèidh a’ fuireach.

Ach a-nis gur fheudar strìochdadh
’S fear gun chiall a thèid an cunnart.

Cùl mo làimh do laghan fiar’
Tha toirmeasg biadh thug Dia don duine.

——————————-

I may never climb again
To the deer forests on the high moor;
I may never climb again.

A letter came from Edinburgh Forbidding me to go to the hill.

Padraig Mor from Ceann Loch Aoineart, He did wrong, and did not gain by it.

My slim-barrelled gun is rusted: I will not go to hunt with it again.

It is hanging on nails, Not to me the best place for it.

Many a weary day I was Sitting with it, loaded, on a hill.

Viewing the slopes Where the deer lived.

But now I must comply; Only a fool would court danger.

I dismiss perverse laws That deny us God-given food.