Seinneam Cliu Nam Fear Ur
(I Sing The Praises Of The New Men)

Composed by Iain Dhòmhnaill Bhàin (John MacLeod) who was from near Sconser on Skye.

Originally titled "Oran Molaidh an t-Saighdeir Ghaidhealaich" (Song of Praise of the Highland Soldier), published in:
Celtic Annual: Yearbook of the Dundee Highland Society, 1916, p 82.

Composed upon the tune ‘Cruachan Beann’.
 

This song is in praise of the young men of Skye who left to fight in the Great War (WW1). Iain Dhòmhnaill Bhàin was too old himself to fight and so he composed this song in their honour.



"Oran Molaidh an t-Saighdeir Ghaidhealaich"


Sèist:
Seinnibh cliù nam fear ùr,
Gillean glùn-gheal nam breacan;
B'e mo rùn bhi 'nan cùirt,
'S miann mo shùl bhi 'gam faicinn.

1
Seinnibh cliù an Tir a' Cheò
Do na seòid nach robh gealtach,
Chaidh a null do Neuve Chapelle;
'S cuid cha till dhiubh gu'n dachaidh.

2
'S lionmhor màthair tha fo leòn,
Agus òigh tha gun leannan,
Leis a' bhatal thug na seòid
Far na dhòirt an cuid fala.

3
'S truagh nach robh mi leibh 'san Fhraing,
'S ann am Flànras car tamuill,
Chithinn sin mu'm faighinn bàs
Gnìomh nan àrmunn 's nan gaisgeach.

4
Chithinn sealladh ann le 'm shùil
A bhiodh cliùiteach ri aithris;
'S dh' innsinn ann an cainnt nam bàrd.
Gnìomh nan sàr a' dion nam bratach.

5
Dh, Innsinn dhuibh mar chaidh an leòn.
Mar a dhòirt iad an cuid fala,
'S mar a dh' fhulaing iad am bàs
Dion na dh' fhàg iad aig baile.

6
Seinnibh cliù do 'n dh' fhalbh à Slèibhte,
Gillean treun nach robh meata,
Chaidh a dhion ar cliù 's ar tir,
Bho 'n a' mhilltear gun cheartas.

7
Seinnibh cliù do'n dh' fhàg Port-rìgh
Fo 'n cuid phioban is bhreacan;
Feile beag os cionn an glùn,
Eideadh sunndach nan gaisgeach.

8
Biodh ur cliù 'ga sheinn gu bràth,
Fhad's bhios tonn is tràigh air cladach ;
Fhad's bhios grian air àird nan speur
Biodh cuimhn' le spèis air euchd nan gaisgeach.



"Song of Praise of the Highland Soldier"

Chorus:
Sing the praises of the new men,
white-knee lads with their tartan;
It was my honour to be a court,
My eyes desire to see them.

1
Sing the praises of the Land of the Mist
To the heroes who were not cowards,
Went over to Neuve Chapelle;
And some of them will not return home.

2
Many a mother is grieved,
And a maiden is without a lover,
The battle took the heroes
Where their blood spilled.

3
It's a pity I wasn't with you in France,
In Flanders for a while,
As I would see before I die
The action of warriors and heroes.

4
I could see a vision in my eyes
That would be famously recited;
And I told in the language of the bards.
The act of the champions defending the flags.

5
God, I can tell you how they were wounded.
As they shed their blood,
And how they suffered death
Protect what they left at home.

6
Sing the praises of the departed from Sleat,
Brave boys who were not timid,
Our reputation and land have been defended,
From the unjust destroyer.

7
Sing the praises of those who left Portree
Under their pipes and plaids;
Their small kilts above the knee,
The cheerful uniforms of the heroes.

8
May your praise be sung forever,
While the waves strike the beach on the shore;
As long as the sun is high in the sky
Remember with respect the achievement of the hero.


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