Oganaich An O-fhuilt Bhuidhe - Am Braighe Lyrics

Oganaich An O-fhuilt Bhuidhe - Am Braighe lyrics

(Youth Whose Hair Is Golden Yellow - The Braes of Margaree)

 

 Oganaich an o-fhuilt bhuide,

 Leat a chinneadh sealg a's sithionn;

 'S ann ad ghruaidh a bhiodh an rudha,

 'N uair a bhiodh tu siubhal bheann!

 

 'N uiar a dhieadh tu na stucan

 Leis a 'ghunna chaol nach diultadh,

 'S i do luaidhe ghorm a's d'fudar,

 Chuireadh smuid air feadh nan gleann.

 

 Na cnuic 's na glinn bu bhoidhche leinn,

 'S iad cnuic is glinn a'Bhraighidh,

 Mu'n tric bha sinn ri maran binn,

 'S a' chomunn ghrinn a b'fhearr leinn

 

 Chan 'eil ait' an diugh fo'n ghre/in,

 'S am b'fhearr leam fhe/in bhi tamhachd

 Na Braigh' na h-Aibhne measg nan sonn

 O'm faighte fuinn na Gaidhlig.

 

 Oganaich an o-fhuilt shniomhain,

 Dh'fhag thu saca trom air m'inntinn;

 'S mur a till thu nall do 'n tir so,

 Mo thoil-inntinn bidh air chall.

 

 Na cnuic 's na glinn bu bhoidhche leinn,

 'S iad cnuic is glinn a'Bhraighidh,

 Mu'n tric bha sinn ri maran binn,

 'S a' chomunn ghrinn a b'fhearr leinn

 

 Gur binn leam ceol an h-aibhne mo/ir,

 'S i falbh an gloir a h-ailleachd;

 Fhad's bhios i gluasad sios le fuaim,

 Cha toir mi fuath do'n Bhraighidh.

 

 Gu leir a bhla	h air mo ghruaidhse,

 Gu'n tug mi dhuit gaol nach fuaraich;

 Dh'innis iad gu'n d'thug thu fuath dhomh,

 Ach cha chreid mi, luaidh, an cainnt.

 

 Oganaich an o-fhuilt bhuide,

 Leat a chinneadh sealg a's sithionn;

 'S ann ad ghruaidh a bhiodh an rudha,

 'N uair a bhiodh tu siubhal bheann!

 

 Oganaich an o-fhuilt bhuide,

 Leat a chinneadh sealg a's sithionn;

 'S ann ad ghruaidh a bhiodh an rudha,

 'N uair a bhiodh tu siubhal bheann!

 

 Youth whose hair is golden yellow

 You will bag the deer when hunting

 On your cheeks the colour's rising

 When you tramp across the hills

 

 When you climb up to the tall crags

 With your slender trusty weapon

 Then your blue lead and gun powder

 Scatter smoke among the glens

 

 The hills and dales most beautiful to us

 are the hills and dales of the Braes (Margaree),

 where we often sang

 sweet melodies in the friendly company we liked best.

 

 There is no place today, under the sun,

 where I would prefer to live

 in the Braes of the river

 amongst the heroes who were wont

 to sing Gaelic songs.

 

 Sweet to me is the music of the great river

 as it meanders amidst the glory of its beauty;

 as long as it contiues to course to the sea

 I will never hate the Braes.

 

 It is showing in my cheeks now

 That my truest love I gave you

 They are saying that you hate me

 But I don't believe their talk.