While I have it on my monitor, these are the Gaelic and English words on Donald MacDonald's site http://www3.sympatico.ca/donaldmacdonald/songs.htm#chi :

MO RÙN GEAL DÌLEAS

Mo rùn geal dìleas, dìleas, dìleas
Mo rùn geal dìleas nach till thu 'nall
Cha till mi fhein leat, a ghaoil, cha'n fhaod mi,
'S ann tha mo ghaol-sa na laidhe tinn.

Is truagh nach robh mi an riochd na faoilinn
A snàmhadh aotrom air bhàrr nan tonn;
Is bheirinn sgrìobag do'n eilean Ileach,
Far bheil an rìbhinn dh'fhàg m'inntinn trom.

Is truagh nach robh mi 's mo rogha cèile
Air mullach shlèibhte nam beanntan mòr,
'S gun bhi 'gar n-éisdeachd ach eoin na slèibhe,
'S gun tugainn fhéin di na ceudan pòg.

Thug mi corr agus naoi mìosan
Anns na h-Innsean a b'fhaide thall,
'S bean bòichead t'aodainn cha robh ri fhaotainn,
'S ged gheibhinn saoghal cha'n fhanainn ann.

Thug mi mìos ann am fiabhrus claoidhte
Gun dùil rium oidhche gu'm bithinn beò;
B'e fàth mo smaointean a là 's a dh'oidhche,
Gu'm faighinn faochadh 'us tu bhi 'm chòir.

Cha bhi mi strìth ris a' chraoibh nach lùb leam
Ged chinneadh ùbhlan air bhàrr gach gèig,
Mo shoraidh slàn leat ma rinn thu m'fhagail,
Cha d'thàinig tràigh gun mhuir làn 'na dèigh.

Words by Maclean
Torlosk, Mull.
        
MY FAITHFUL FAIR DARLING

My faithful fair darling,
My faithful fair darling, won't you turn back to me;
I will not turn with you, my love, I cannot
For my beloved is lying ill.

I grieve I am not in the guise of a seagull,
Swimming light on top of the waves;
And I would journey to the island of Islay
Where tarries the maiden who vexes my soul.

I regret I am not with my own chosen mate,
On the mountaintop moorland
And no one to listen but the birds of the heath;
And hundreds of kisses I would give to her.

I took more than nine months
In the Indies so distant,
Where a woman whose beauty like yours was unseen
And for all this world I would not stay there.

I spent a month in the torment of fever
When each night I did not expect to survive;
The object of my thoughts each day and night
That my request be granted and you at my side.

I will not struggle with the tree I can't bend,
Though each bough be amply laden with apples;
My fond farewell to you if you have left me,
The sea never ebbs, but follows the flow.