Lyr Add: Oran do dh'Ameireaga

Subject: Lyr Add: Oran do dh'Ameireaga
From: Felipa
Date: 08 Jan 21 - 02:03 PM

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.

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Oran do dh'Ameireaga
From: GUEST,Rory
Date: 22 Sep 22 - 03:58 AM

A' Choille Gruamach
(The Gloomy Forest)

Also known as:
Òran Do Dh'Ameireaga
(A Song To America)

Poem by John “The Bard” MacLean
Composed at Barney's River, Nova Scotia c. 1821

John Maclean, or Am Bàrd MacGilleathain, meaning "The Bard MacLean," Scottish Gaelic poet (b at Caolas, on the Hebridean island of Tiree, Scotland 8 Jan 1787; d at Addington Forks, Nova Scotia 26 Jan 1848).

Through his elder daughter, Christy, the Bard Maclean was grandfather of Nova Scotian-born the Rev Dr Alexander Maclean Sinclair, North America's leading 19th-century Gaelic scholar.

The eighteen verse poem printed in:
Clarsach na coille: a collection of Gaelic poetry, by Alexander Maclean Sinclair, 1881, pp.98-103.


1
Gu bheil mi 'm ònrachd sa choille ghruamaich
Mo smaointinn luaineach, cha tog mi fonn;
Fhuair mi 'n t-àite seo 'n aghaidh nàdair,
Gun thrèig gach tàlanta bha nam cheann;
Cha dèan mi òran a chur air dòigh ann
Nuair nì mi tòiseachadh bidh mi trom;
Chaill mi Ghàidhlig seach mar a b' àbhaist dhomh
Nuair a bha mi san dùthaich thall.

2
Chan fhaigh mi m' inntinn leam ann an òrdugh
Ged bha mi eòlach air dèanamh rann;
'S e mheudaich bròn dhomh 's a lughdaich sòlas
Gun duine còmhl' rium a nì rium cainnt.
Gach latha 's oidhche 's gach car a nì mi
Gum bi mi cuimhneachadh anns gach àm
An tìr a dh'fhàg mi bha 'n taic an t-sàile,
Ged tha mi 'n-dràst' ann am bràighe ghleann.

3
Chan iongnadh dhomh-sa 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.

4
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 len tuairisgeul 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.

5
Bidh gealladh làidir ga thoirt an tràth sin,
Bidh cliù an àite ga chur am meud;
Bidh iad ag ràdhtainn gu bheil bhur càirdean
Gu sona saidhbhir gun dad a dh'èis.
Gach naidheachd mheallta ga toirt gur n-ionnsaigh-sa
Feuch an sanntaich sibh dol nan dèidh;
Ma thig sibh sàbhailt, nuair chì sibh iadsan,
Chan fheàrr na stàtachan na sibh fèin.

6
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 cridhe 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 dhuibh an speur.

7
An uair thig an geamhradh is àm na dùbhlachd
Bidh sneachd a' dlùthadh ri cùl nan geug,
Is gu domhain dùmhail dol thar na glùine,
Is ge math an triùbhsair cha dèan i feum
Gun stocainn dhùbailt sa mhocais chlùdach
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.

8
Mur bi mi eòlach airson mo chòmhdaich
Gum faigh mi reòite mo shròn 's mo bheul,
Le gaoith a tuath a bhios neimheil fuaraidh
Gum bi mo chluasan an cunnart geur.
Tha an reothadh fuathasach, cha seas an tuagh ris,
Gum mill e a' chruaidh ged a bha i geur;
Mur toir mi blàths di, gum brist an stàilinn,
Is gun dol don cheàrdaich cha gheàrr i beum.

9
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.

10
Gun dèan i m' aodann gu h-olc a chaobadh,
Chan fhaic mi an saoghal, 's ann bhios mi dall;
Gun at mo shùilean le neart a cungaidh,
Ro ghuineach drùidheach tha sùgh a teang'.
Chan fhaigh mi àireamh dhuibh ann an dànachd
Gach beathach gràineil a thogas ceann;
Is cho liutha plàigh ann 's a bha air Rìgh Phàro
Airson nan tràillean, nuair bhàth e an camp.

11
Gur h-iomadh caochladh tighinn air an t-saoghal
'S ro-bheag a shaoil mi nuair bha mi thall;
Bu bheachd dhomh 'n uair sin mun d' rinn mi gluasad
Gum fàsainn uasal nuair thiginn nall.
An car a fhuair mi cha b' ann gum bhuannachd
Tighinn thar a' chuain air a' chuairt bha meallt'
Gu tìr nan craobh anns nach eil an t-saorsainn,
Gun mhart, gun chaora, 's mi dh'aodach gann.

12
Gur h-iomadh ceum anns am bi mi an dèigh làimh
Mun dèan mi saidhbhir mo theachd an tìr;
Bidh m' obair èiginneach mun toir mi feum aiste,
Is mun dèan mi rèiteach airson a' chroinn:
Cur sgonn nan teinntean air muin a chèile
Gun do lasaich fèithean a bha nam dhruim,
Is a h-uile ball dhìom cho dubh a' sealltainn,
Bidh mi gam shamhlachadh ris an t-sùip.

13
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 geibhear cunnradh air feadh nam bùthan
Gum pàighear null le flùr no ìm.

14
Chan fhaic mi margadh no latha fèille
No iomain feudalach ann an dròbh,
No nì nì feum dhuinn am measg a chèile:
Tha an sluagh nan èiginn sa h-uile dòigh.
Cha chulaidh fharmaid iad leis an ainbhfhaich,
A' reic na shealbhaicheas iad an còir;
Bidh fear nam fiachan is cromadh cinn air
Ga chur don phrìosan mur dìol e an stòr.

15
Mun tig na cùisean à taigh na cùirte,
Gun tèid an dùblachadh aig a' mhòd;
Tha an lagh a' giùlan o làimh na jury
Gun tèid a spùinneadh 's nach fiù e an còrr.
Bidh earraid siùbhlach air feadh na dùthcha
Gan ruith le cunntasaibh air an tòir;
Gur mòr mo chùram gun tig e am ionnsaigh:
Cha ghabh e diùltadh 's bidh diùbhail oirnn.

16
Chan fhaigh mi innse dhuibh anns an dàn seo,
Cha dèan mo nàdar a chur air dòigh
Gach fios a b' àill leam thoirt do na chàirdean
'S an tìr a dh'fhàg mi, rinn m' àrach òg.
Gach aon a leughas e tuigibh reusan,
'S na tugaibh èisteachd do luchd a' bhòsd;
Na faidhean brèige a bhios gur teumadh,
Gun aca spèis dhuibh ach dèidh ur n-òir.

17
Ged bhithinn dìcheallach ann an sgrìobhadh
Gun gabhainn mìosa ris agus còrr
Mun cuirinn crìoch air na bheil air m' inntinn
'S mun tugainn dhuibh e le cainnt' mo bheòil.
Tha mulad dìomhair an dèidh mo lìonadh
Bhon 's èiginn strìochdadh an seo rim bheò,
Air bheag thoil-inntinn sa choille chruim seo
Gun duine faighneachd an seinn mi ceòl.

18
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.



1
I am all alone in the gloomy forest,
My thoughts are restless, I can raise no song;
I have found this place to oppose nature,
That all the talent in my head has been forsaken;
I am unable to construct a song here,
When I start I get despondent;
I’ve lost the Gaelic how I used to have it
When I was over in the country abroad.

2
I can't get my mind in order,
Although I knew how to make a verse;
Sorrow has increased for me and solace has decreased
Having no one with me to speak to me.
Every day and night and every way I do
I will remember at every moment,
The land that I left, hard by the sea,
Though I am now on the brae of the glen.

3
I’m not surprised that I am sad,
There is my dwelling behind the mountains,
In the middle of a wilderness, on Barney’s River,
With nothing better than bare potatoes;
Before I cultivate and raise crops there
And remove the forest from its root
By strength of my arms, I will be fatigued,
And my strength fail before the children grow.

4
This is the land in which there is hardship
Unknown to the people who come over;
Woe be us, the troublemakers
Who by their bad reports, took us over here;
If they make a profit it won’t last for them,
It will not gain them advancement , and I'm not surprised,
For it is the curses of all the poor that persues them
Since the thought of eviction was put in their head.

5
A firm promise is made at the time,
Strengthened by the reputation of the place;
They claim that your relations
Are happily rich without hindrance;
Every deceitful report is brought to you,
To see if you covet [desire eagerly] to go after them;
If you arrive safely, when you see them,
The statesmen are no better than yourselves.

6
When those drovers come to ask [seek] you,
It is with lies that they make use of,
Without a word of truth to tell,
And their hearts condemn what their mouths say;
To place value [worth] that is in this land
Everything that is most precious under the sun;
When you come to it, you will see little
But a tall forest that darkens the sky.

7
When winter comes and the time of darkness,
Snow piles behind the branches,
Deeply and thickly, to above the knee,
No matter how good the trouser, it will not be of use,
Without doubled stockings in ragged moccasins
Which will be tightly bound with thongs;
It was our new fashion, to wear them hoarily,
As though just skinned from the beast yesterday.

8
If I don't know how to cover myself
I will get my nose and mouth frozen;
With a northerly wind that is bitterly cold
My ears will be in sharp danger;
The freezing is dreadful, the axe won’t stand it,
It will spoil the blade, though it was sharp;
If I don't warm it, the steel will break,
Without going to the smithy, it won't strike a cut [cut a mark].

9
When summer comes, and the month of May,
The heat of the sun will leave me weak;
It puts the spirit into every creature
That will be infirmed in all the holes;
The beastly bears, they too will rise
To go through the herd, and the loss is great;
And the black snouted fly [mosquito] is so poisonous
That I wound numerous times with the point of its lance.

10
It will make my face come up lumpy
I will not see the world, I will be blind;
My eyes will swell with the strength of its drug [medicine, poison],
The juice of its tongue stinging and penetrating;
I cannot number them for you in verse
Every hideous [loathsome, odious] beast that rears its head,
There are as many plagues as came to Pharaoh
For the slaves when he drowned the camp [camp of followers].

11
Many changes come over the world,
That I imagined very little of when I was over there [back in the isle];
I thought then before I made the move,
That I would become of noble fashion when I came over;
The way I found was not for gain [advantage],
Coming across [over] the ocean on a deceptive journey [course],
To the land of the trees where there is no freedom,
Without cattle, without sheep and me with few clothes [barely clothed, short of clothes].

12
In many steps I will be behind,
Before my livelihood makes wealth;
The work will be difficult [necessary] before I have what I need out of it,
Before I make a clearing for the plough;
Putting fire logs on top of each other
Inflaming the muscles that were in my back,
And every part of me looking so blackened,
I’ll compare myself to the chimney sweep.

13
Though great the talk they had in Scotland
Matters prove that it was not true;
I won't see the blue dollars circulate,
Although they were renowned in this land;
If a bargain is made, they won't get money,
Though some is named in the price;
If there is a contract across the shops
It is paid for with butter or flour.

14
I do not see a market or a fair day,
Nor the driving of cattle in a drove,
Or anything useful to us amongst each other,
The people are in hardship in every way;
They are not an object of envy, those with the debt,
Selling the possesions in their title [holding];
The indebted man and bowing his head
Will be sent to prison if he does not repay all his goods.

15
Before the cases [lawsuits] come before [from] the courthouse,
They will be doubled at the court [trial];
The law permits, by the hand of the jury
That he be plundered, as he is worth no more;
The sheriff will be on the move across the country
Running with accounts in pursuit [of him];
I am greatly concerned he will come to me,
He can’t be denied, and we will be ruined.

16
I won't be able to tell you in this poem,
My nature will not put in arrangement
All the information I wanted to give to the friends [my relations]
In the land I left, where my youth was nurtured;
Everyone who reads it, understand reason,
And don't listen to those people who boast,
The false [lying] prophets who will bite [tempt, beguile] you
With no regard for you, but only after your gold.

17
Although I should be diligent in writing,
I would take a month and more,
Before finishing what is on my mind,
And before I present [deliver] it to you in my own words;
There is a secret sadness filling me
Since I must submit here to live,
With little pleasure in this dark forest,
Without anyone asking me to sing a song.

18
That was not my habit at the beginning of my days,
I would be talkative at every table;
Heartily cheerful in courteous company,
Our time flying by without a care;
When I turned away from you, I missed you dearly,
My eyes dripping thick with tears,
On Thursday morning going beyond [past] Caolas,
The ship under sail and the wind off the coast.


Caolas is on the coast of the Hebridean island of Tiree where John MacLean was born

Subject: RE: Lyr Add: Oran do dh'Ameireaga
From: GUEST
Date: 22 Sep 22 - 08:20 PM

Thanks for this. I am apparently distantly related to Dan Alex MacDonald, the composer of Oran Do Cheap Breatainn, so I have a bit of a soft spot for this stuff - even if I have no Gaelic ... !