Just a translation for Catherine Ann Macphee - Sings Mhair Mhor

Rising lightly on a May morning
Early light coming up over the hill
The cattle were lowing herded together
Shafts of sun on the hillside hunting
The sweet lark singing high above
The days when I was young

There I grew up without a care
Wandered the moorland
The heather tearing at my shift
The roe-deer in her small hollow
By the silent lochan
I as light-footed through the heather
As the snipe in the marsh
Hillocks peat-banks hollows call back
The days when I was young

My memory teems with all we did
I can't contain it all
Wintertime weddings, gatherings
No lantern but a burning peat
Young ones dancing, making music
All gone, the glen is empty
Nettles growing where houses were
The days when I was young

Climbing the shoulder of the hill
Weariness gone by the lochan's bank
My mind leaping the height of joy
As I looked on nature's splendour
Pale primrose and dandelion
Royal thistle and gorse
Dewdrops at evening bring to mind
The days when I was young

When the time came for me
To turn away from my island
When the ship with no sail
Blew her great bellow
When she picked up steam
And set her course southward
My heart was fit to break
My eyes ran with tears
Off to a cheerless land without songs
Not a dainty daisy in it
Not even a thistle - no heather
No rushes, not even a marsh