O fair-headed lad, if you say the word

Yours is my right hand, right away, if you come with affection

Isn't it a pity that you and I did not meet

On an island without ebbtide, without oar, without coracle, without rudder



If you go to sea, love, have a guinea in your pocket

And drink my health in every place that you sit at table

With your bright, light, joyous, high-spirited, young heart

How I do like the mouth from which music comes most sweetly!



I love the teeth, and the mouth that would not grumble

How I wish that you would come to me and stretch out by my side

If it were not for the gossips, my love and I would surely be

With the blessing of the clergy, together in a firm bond



Oh, if you and I were on a mountain, hill or shady slope

Or on a white beach, in a place where no-one has ever been

Seven days, seven nights, without rest, without sleep, without food

But with you, love, your fair arm freely round me



Heard from Penelope Morrison (South Uist); additional text from the MacDonald Collection of

Gaelic Poetry (Angus & Archibald MacDonald, ed. 1911