The author of this song, Iain Mac Illeain, was born on 8 Jan 1787. I am commemorating his birthday by posting these lyrics. It is a poem in Scottish Gaelic. Iain Mac 'Illeain left the Isle of Tiree for Nova Scotia Canada in 1819. Although he came to love his new home, at first the bard was very unhappy and he wrote this Song to America also known as A' Choille Ghruach - The Gloomy Forest
maclean.org/heritage-trust/Bard%20John%20Maclean%2016-Oct-10%20_Full%20Report_%20v2.pdf
sung by Fiona Mackenzie
more background information, mainly in English: https://www.bbc.co.uk/alba/foghlam/larachnambard/poets/iain_macilleathain/beachdan/

Òran do dh'Ameireaga

Gu bheil mi am ònrachd sa choille ghruamaich,
Mo smuaintean luaineach, cha tog mi fonn:
Fhuair mi an t-àit' seo an aghaidh nàdair,
Gun thrèig gach tàlant a bha nam cheann;
Cha dèan mi òran a chur air dòigh ann,
An uair nì mi tòiseachadh bidh mi trom;
Chaill mi a' Ghàidhlig seach mar a b' à'ist dhomh
An uair a bha mi san dùthaich thall.

I am alone in the gloomy wood
My mind is restless, I cannot raise a tune
I found this place unnatural
And my mind's every talent has deserted me
It cannot create a song for me
When I begin one, I am filled with sorrow
My Gaelic is nothing compared to what it was
When I was in yonder country

Chan fhaigh mi m' inntinn leam ann an òrdugh,
Ged bha mi eòlach air dèanamh rann;
Is e mheudaich bròn dhomh 's a lùghdaich sòlas
Gun duine còmhla rium a nì rium cainnt;
Gach là is oidhche is gach car a nì mi,
Gum bi mi cuimhneachadh anns gach àm
An tìr a dh'fhàg mi tha an taic an t-sàile,
Ged tha mi 'n-drast' ann am bràighe ghleann.

I can't get my mind in order
Though I was acquainted with fashioning verse
I have no one to whom to whom I can speak
And this increases sorrow and lessens joy
Each day and night and everything I do
Recalls to my mind
The land that I left, dependent on the sea
Though I am now at the head of a glen

Chan iongnadh dhòmhsa ged tha mi brònach,
Is ann tha mo chòmhnaidh air cùl nam beann,
Am meadhan fàsaich air Abhainn Bhàrnaidh,
Gun dad as fheàrr na buntàta lom;
Mun dèan mi àiteach 's mun tog mi bàrr ann
Is a' choille ghàbhaidh chur às a bonn,
Le neart mo ghàirdein gum bi mi sàraichte,
Is treis' air fàilinn mum fàs a' chlann.

Is i seo an dùthaich sa bheil an cruadal
Gun fhios don t-sluagh a tha tighinn a-nall;
Gur h-olc a fhuaras oirnn luchd a' bhuairidh
A rinn le an tuaraisgeul ar toirt ann!
Ma nì iad buannachd, cha mhair i buan dhaibh;
Cha dèan i suas iad, 's chan iongnadh leam,
Is gach mallachd truaghain a bhios gan ruagadh
Bhon chaidh am fuadach a chur fon ceann.

Bidh gealladh làidir ga thoirt an tràth sin,
Bidh cliù an àite ga chur am meud;
Bidh iad ag ràidhtinn gu bheil bhur càirdean
Gu sona sàidhbhir gun dad a dh'èis;
Gach naidheachd mheallta ga toirt gur n-ionnsaigh-se
Feuch an sanntaich sibh dol nan dèidh –
Ma thig sibh sàbhailt', nuair chì sibh àdsan,
Chan fheàrr na stàtachan na sibh fèin.

An uair thèid na dròbhairean sin gur n-iarraidh,
Is ann leis na breugan a nì iad feum,
Gun fhacal fìrinne bhith ga innse,
Is an cridh' a' dìteadh na their am beul;
Ri cur am fiachaibh gu bheil san tìr seo
Gach nì as prìseile tha fon ghrèin –
An uair thig sibh innte, gur beag a chì sibh
Ach coille dhìreach toirt dhibh an speur.

An uair thig an geamhradh is àm na Dùbhlachd,
Bidh sneachd a' dlùthadh ri cùl nan geug,
Is gu domhainn dùmhail dol thar na glùine,
Is ge math an triùbhsair, cha dèan i feum
Gun stocainn dhùbailt sa mhocais chlùdaich
Bhios air a dùnadh gu dlùth le èill:
B' e am fasan ùr dhuinn a cosg le fionntach
Mar chaidh a rùsgadh den bhrùid an-dè.

An uair thig an samhradh 's am mìosa Cèitein,
Bidh teas na grèine gam fhàgail fann;
Gun cuir i spèirid sa h-uile creutair
A bhios fo èislean air feadh nan toll;
Na mathain bhèisteil, gun dèan iad èirigh
Dhol feadh an treud, is gur mòr an call;
Is a' chuileag ìneach gu socach puinnseanta
Gam lot gu lìonmhor le rinn a lainn.

Ge mòr an seanchas a bh' aca an Albainn,
Tha a' chùis a' dearbhadh nach robh e fìor:
Na dolair ghorma, chan fhaic mi falbh iad,
Ged bha iad ainmeil a bhith san tìr;
Ma nìtear bargain, chan fhaighear airgead,
Ged 's èiginn ainmeachadh anns a' phrìs;
Ma gheibhear cunnradh air feadh nam bùthan,
Gam pàighear null e le flùr no ìm.

Chan fhaigh mi innse dhuibh ann am Ghàidhlig,
Cha dèan mo nàdar a chur air dòigh,
Gach fios a b' àill leam thoirt do na càirdean
San tìr a dh' fhàg mi, rinn m' àrach òg;
Gach aon e leughas e, tuigibh reusan,
Is na tugaibh èisteachd do luchd a' bhòst,
Na fàidhean brèige a bhios gur teumadh,
Gun aca spèis dhibh ach dèidh bhur n-òir.

I can't tell you in this poem
My mind won't put together
Each piece of information I wish to convey to my friends
In the land I left, where I was reared
May everyone who reads it understand reason
And not listen to the boastful ones
The lying prophets who wound you
Who have no regard for you, but for your gold

Ged bhithinn dìcheallach ann an sgrìobhadh,
Gun gabhainn mìosa ris agus còrr
Mun cuirinn crìoch air na bheil air m' inntinn
Is mun tugainn dhuibh e le cainnt mo bheòil;
Tha mulad dìomhair an dèidh mo lìonadh,
On is èiginn strìochdadh an seo rim bheò,
Aig bheag thoil-inntinn sa choille chruinn seo,
Gun duine faighneachd an seinn mi ceòl.

Though I were diligent in my writing
I would take a month and more
To finish what is on my mind
And deliver it to you in my own words
A secret sadness has filled me
Since I must surrender to this place forever
With little contentment in this dense forest
Where no one asks me to sing a song

Cha b' e sin m' àbhaist an tùs mo làithean,
Is ann bhithinn ràbhartach aig gach bòrd,
Gu cridheil sunndach an comann cùirteil
A' ruith ar n-ùine gun chùram oirnn;
An uair thug mi cùl ribh bha mi gur n-ionndrainn,
Gun shil mo shùilean gu dlùth le deòir,
Air moch Diardaoin a' dol seach an Caolas
Is an long fo h-aodach 's a' ghaoth on chòrs'.

lyrics above are from http://www.bbc.co.uk/alba/foghlam/larachnambard/poets/iain_macilleathain/bardachd/
and the translation is from http://www.celticlyricscorner.net/cormack/achoille.htm which also has this verse:
Gur h-iomadh caochladh tigh'nn air an t-saoghal      
'S ro-bheag a shaoil mi'n uair bha mi thall      
Bu bheachd domh nuair sin mu'n d'rinn mi gluasad      
Gu'm fàsainn uasal nuair thiginn 'nall      
An car a fhuair mi cha b'ann gu'm bhuannachd      
Tigh'nn thar a' chuain air a chuairt 'bha meallt      
Gu tír nan craobh anns nach eil an t-saorsainn      
Gun mhàrt, gun chaora, 's mi dh'aodach gann      

Many changes come over the world
And little did I think of them when I was over there
I thought then, before I emigrated
That I would grow prosperous when I came here
The course I took was not to my gain
Crossing the ocean on a misleading journey
To the land of trees where there's no freedom
Without cattle, without sheep, and short of clothes


I'll probably summarise the untranslated versions later, but I want to post the lyrics now in time for the birthday celebration.