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