Folk Tales and Fairy Lore/Tàladh na Mnà-Sìthe, The Fostering Fairy's Lullaby,
Leaspagan beag odhar thu,
Beiridh bó an nuallain;
Nuallan na bó Muilich thu,
M' anam agus m' aighear thu!
Cha 'n ann & shìol Chuinn thu,
Sìol a's docha leinn thu—
Sìol Leòid nan long 's nan lùireach o Lòchlann:
Do dhùthchas féin duit.
Fire! faire! cha tu laogh
Na seann bhà crìonaidh;
Fire! faire! cha tu minnean
'Rug a' mhìseach.
Fire! faire! ged nach tu sud,
Fire! faire! 's tu mo laogh-sa.
Firein, firein, obh! obh!
Na cluinneam do bhròn,
Gun toll air do bhròig;
Gu 'n do bhioraich do shròn
Cho glas ris na neòil.
Firein, firein, a bh' ann,
Ghabh mo bhuinneag ort an t-àm,
'Nuair a bha sneachd air a' chrann,
'Nuair a bha do mhuime dall,
'S 'n uair a bha 'n cuileann gun cheann.
Hug O! gu h-aireach
Bha mnathan a' bhaile,
Hug O! gu h-aireach
Gu snigheach, galach,
Ag caoidh an leinibh,
A' falbh na coille,
'S an cìochan geala
Ag call a' bhainne.
M' ulaidh agus m' aoibhneas,
'S e do ghoid a rinn mi
Air a' mheadhon-oidhche,
Gun choinneil no gun choinnleir,
Gun solus no gun soillse.
Tha thu agam o 'n uraidh,
'S gur tu m' ulaidh.
Bidh tu 'm bliadhna gu h-ùr uallach
Air mo ghualainn feadh a' bhaile,
'S tu mo leanabh mìleiseach, màileasach.
Glag fo lùirich!
'S tu ceann-feadhna
Nan each snàgach.
'S tu mo leanabh
Ruiteach, reamhar;
Mo shult is m' fhiughair,
Mo luachair bhog,
Am bi m' aighear.
'S truagh nach fhaicinn fhéin do bhuaile
Gu h-àrd àrd air leacainn sléibhe
Còta caol, coilearach, uaine,
Mu do ghualainn agus léine.
'S truagh nach fhaicinn fhéin do sheisreach,
Fir 'na déidh 'cur an t-sìl;
'S Mac-Comhnuill le 'chrann-treabhaidh
'S a charbad ann cuide ribh.
Swarthy little Leaspagan,
Calve will the lowing cow:
Lowing 'tis of Mull cow,
My life and my gladness.
Thou art not the seed of Conn;
Seed of Leod of warships and mailcoats from
Such thy kindred.
Feeri-farri! no calf thou
Of the old withered cow;
Feeri-farri! no kid, I wot,
Of yearling goat.
Feeri-farri! such thou art not,
Feeri-farri! thou'rt my own calf.
Hush! hush! little man.
Sure thou hast no woes.
No hole in thy shoe;
Why pinched then that nose,
Grey as cloud in the blue?
Hero wert thou that hour,
Struck with wand of power.
When the snow was on the tree.
When thy nurse couldn't see,
And the holly had never a flower.
Ho! ho! a-searching
Went wives from the steading.
Ho! ho! a-searching;
Like rain tears shedding,
The lost child wailing,
The wild wood trailing,
From white breasts falling,
The milk drops white.
My joy! my treasure bright!
I stole thee one midnight:
Without candle, candlestick,
Light of heaven, light of earth,
Stole I thee from thy place of birth.
A year now I've had thee,
Treasure to glad me.
This year thou'lt be boldly riding
On my shoulders 'bout the steading:
Thou art my darling, warlike, mailclad.
Laughing! art thou?
Thou art chief o'er
Fleet steeds bounding;
Thou'rt my darling,
Sturdy, red-cheeked;
My hope art thou,
Soft rush, thou art
My life and gladness.
Would that I might see thy fold now
High, high on lofty hillside,
Mantle green about thy shoulders,
Fine-wrought, collared, and a mail-shirt.
Would that I might see thy team now,
Heroes after, sowing seed,
And MacConnel with his beam-plough
And his chariot, lending aid.