This translation comes from the album notes of Fonn Is Furan by Finlay MacNeill The isle to the north, by the edge of the ocean, The isle where I was brought up, Where I got when young the purest milk to drink And my soul came alive and grew with it. The isle to the north, the island that's cold It is Lewis, the isle of my love Where I'll never hear hunting or drinking Or chopping or hammering on the Sabbath I am very sad, depressed and poor Since I turned my back on the north, When the boat got underway she set a course for the west And darkness swallowed up the hill of Muirneag It won't do me any good to lament my state My feeling of remorse is not new to me I can't swim across to the people of my affections Or walk on the shore of Lewis
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