This is an unnamed air found in the Eliza Ross Manuscript from Raasay. We came across this during research for a series of gigs at Blas a few years ago and we were immediately drawn to the melody.

This is a traditional lament with connections to the Isle of Skye and Raasay, and particularly the MacLean family there. It tells a story of love and loss as a woman explains she lost her brother, her sister and her beloved golden-haired youth, all in the last year.

Seo a’ bhliadhn’ a dh’fhàg mi dubhach,
Hiribh ì, hiribh ì, hì ho ro ho,
Chaill mi mo bhràthair ’s mo phiuthar,
Hì horo hì, air fàir a li lò.

Chaill mi mo bhràthair ’s mo phiuthar,
Chan e sin a tha mi cumha.

Chan e sin a tha mi cumha,
Ach òigear òg an òr-fhuilt bhuidhe.

Ach òigear òg an òr-fhuilt bhuidhe,
Bhith ’n ciste chaoil ri taobh a’ bhalla.

Bhith ’n ciste chaoil ri taobh a’ bhalla,
’S air dha dùnadh ’s ùird ga barradh.

Seo a’ bhliadhn’ a dh’fhàg mi dubhach,
Chaill mi mo bhràthair ’s mo phiuthar.

—

This is the year that left me melancholy
Hiribh ì, hiribh ì, hì ho ro ho,
I lost my brother and my sister
Hì horo hì, air fàir a li lò.

I lost my brother and my sister
That is not what I am lamenting.

That is not what I am lamenting
But the youth of the golden hair.

But the youth of the golden hair
Being in the narrow coffin by the wall.

Being in the narrow coffin by the wall
After it has been shut and secured with a hammer

This is the year that left me melancholy,
I lost my brother and my sister.

The woman in this song has been hard done by in love! She reflects on the the pain of rejection and the bitterness of broken promises, and even gives all the men of the world and their fickleness a bit of a dressing down by the end.

O hòireannan e horò
Hù hòireann ó ’s mi air m’ aineol
O hòireannan e horò

Gura mise tha gu truagh dheth
’S luath leam a thàinig an t-earrach

Mi air m’ aineol fad o m’ chàirdean
Cha chluinn mo mhàthair mo ghearan

Mi air m’ aineol fad o m’ eòlas
Mo ghaol dròbhair a’ chruidh-bhainne

Dham bi an crodh-laoigh sa bhuailidh
Dham bi an crodh ruadh sna gleannan

Ràna tu mi feadh na h-oidhche
A dh’fhaighneachd an robh mi fallain

Thuirt mi nach robh aona bheud dhomh
Ged bha èislean air m’ aire

Thug thu leat nighean Lachlann Thàilleir
’S dh’fhàg thu mi fo phràmh aig baile

Chaidh thu còmh’ ri Nì ’IlleRiabhaich
Le buaile chiatach chrodh ballach

Marbhphaisg air fearaibh an t-saoghail
Tha iad caochlaideach nan gealladh

Ge b’ e taobh a chuireas gaoth iad
Ma dh’fhaodas iad gheibh iad leannan

—

O hòireannan e horò
Hù hòireann ó, I am in a strange place.
O hòireannan e horò

Truly, I am in sorrow
Spring came all too quickly for me.

I am a stranger, far from my kin,
My mother cannot hear my cries.

I am far from all I know,
My love is a drover of dairy cattle.

With calves in his byre,
With red cattle in the glens.

You called on me in the middle of the night
To ask if I was well.

I said there was nothing wrong
Though my mind was heavy with sorrow.

You took Lachlan the Tailor’s daughter,
And left me reeling at home.

You went away with Nì ‘IlleRiabhaich,
With her fine herd of speckled cattle.

A shroud upon the men of this world!
They are fickle in their promises.

Whichever way the wind blows,
If they can, they’ll find another sweetheart.

We learned this beautiful song from the singing of Flora MacNeil (SA1958.53.A1, School of Scottish Studies). This woman returns home to find her three brothers murdered, and it seems they come from a noble family.

Chì mi ghrian ’s i falbh gu siùbhlach

E he ho hi e ho hi dhiù ra bhò
Horò hì o hò hì
Na hao ri ri rì e ho
Hi dhiù ra bhò

Chiall ma tha gu dè siod dhuinne?

Bidh i nochd ann an Gleann Ùige

Bidh i ’n athoidhch’ an ceann Loch Sùineart

Och mo chreach mo sgòid ’s mo spùilleadh

Mo thigh mòr an dèidh a rùsgadh

Mo thriùir bhràithrean marbh sa chùl-tigh

’S fuil an cuim ro lèine drùdhadh

’S bha mi fhìn le’m bheul ga sùghadh

Gus na thùch air m’ anail cùbhraidh

’S deagh fhear ’n taigh’ na laighe ’san tùnga

—

I see the sun setting swiftly

E he ho hi e ho hi dhiù ra bhò
Horò hì o hò hì
Na hao ri ri rì e ho
Hi dhiù ra bhò

If it is, what is that to us?

Tonight it will be in Glen Uig

And tomorrow night at the head of Loch Sunart

Alas I am utterly plundered

My great house roofless

My three brothers dead in the outhouse

The blood from their chests seeping through their shirts;

And I sucked it with my mouth

‘Till my fragrant breath hoarsened

And the great man of the house laying in the grave

A cheeky wee clapping song we recorded in one take to match the cèilidh feel from the archive recording where we first heard it (SA1970.126). We were joined by pals Charlie Stewart, Megan MacDonald and Seonaidh MacIntyre for this one!

Cùm na ghealladh,
Na gheall mo leannan dhomh,
Cùm na ghealladh,
Na gheall e dhomhs' e

Fàine den òr a gheall mo leannan dhomh

Còta den t-sròl a gheall mo leannan dhomh

'Mhealladh na seòid a gheall mo leannan dhomh

'S e nach gealladh e, gheall mo leannan dhomh

Nì nach cumadh e, gheall mo leannan dhomh

Chumadh e, ghearradh e, gheall mo leannan dhomh

An cuala sibhse cò thug gealladh dhi?

Gur e George a thug dhi gealladh ann

Gheall e gùn dhen t-sìoda a cheannach dhomh

—

Keep the promise
That my lover made to me,
Keep the promise,
That he made me.

A ring of gold my lover promised me.

A coat of fine satin my lover promised me.

The charm of jewels my lover promised me.

There was nothing my lover promised me.

That he couldn’t keep, my lover promised me.

He’d keep it, cut it, he promised me.

Did you hear who gave her the promise?

It was George who gave her the promise.

He promised to buy me a gown of silk.

We heard this more traditional version of this well-known Gaelic song from Allan MacDonald (Glenuig) whilst working on a project together, who in turn heard it from Nan Eachainn Fhionnlaigh of Vatersay. A huge thank you to Allan for giving us this version, and to Charlie Stewart for creating such a beautiful string arrangement for it. A tear-jerker!

Fhir a bhàta, 's na hò ro éile,
Fhir a bhàta, 's na hò ro éile,
Fhir a bhàta, 's na hò ro éile,
Mo shoraidh slàn leat gach àite an téid thu.

Bha mi raoir anns an t-seòmar uaine,
Far an tric am biodh na h-uaislean,
Ag òl fìon ann 's gun diar 'ga thruailleadh,
'S fear a bhàta 'ga chuir mu'n cuairt ann.

Tha mo chrìdh-sa briste brùite,
'S tric na deòiribh a’ ruith o'm shùilean,
An tig thu nochd no'm bi mo dhùil dhuit,
Na'n dùin mi'n doras le osna thùrsaich.

Tha mo chrìdh-sa tùrsach deurach,
Mar eala bhàn bhiodh an déigh a reubadh,
'S i ri tàmh ann a lochan feurlainn,
'S càch gu léir 's iad an déigh a tréigsinn.

'S tha mo ghaol-sa thall air fairge,
Fleasgach uallach a’ leadain chamalaich,
'S mór mo dhùil ri thu thighinn a-nall ás,
Mar éirigh gréine air madainn shamhraidh.

'S tha mo ghaol-sa taobh thall a’ gheata,
Lainnir òir e a-muigh air aitreamh,
'S fheàrr leam fhìn gum beirinn mac dhuit,
'S gun òilte fìon ann an tìm a bhaistidh.

'S tha mo chrìosan a dol an àirdead,
chan ann o fhìdhlear no o thàillear
ach o stiùireamaich’ a’ bhàta,
fear a sgrìobhadh 's a leughadh Gàidhlig.

—

O man of the ship, 's na hò ro éile,
O man of the ship, 's na hò ro éile,
O man of the ship, 's na hò ro éile,
My farewell goes wherever you go.

I was last night in the green room,
Where the nobles often gather,
Drinking wine, unstained by sorrow,
And the man of the ship serving it all there.

My heart is broken, bruised,
Tears often streaming from my eyes.
Will you come tonight or will I be expecting you,
Or should I close the door with a sorrowful sigh?

My heart is sad and tearful,
Like a white swan just after being wounded,
Resting still in a pure loch,
While all the others have abandoned her.

My love is across the sea,
A cheerful young man of curly tresses,
I long so much for your return
Like sunrise on a summer morning.

My love is beyond the gate,
He is a golden light upon his lodging.
I wish I could bear a son for you
And that we could drink wine at his christening.

And my waist is expanding
Not from a fiddler or from a tailor,
But from the boat’s own helmsman,
A man who writes and reads in Gaelic.

We were fortunate to get the chance to visit the School of Scottish Studies during our research for the album, and Eilidh came across this story told by Rev. Norman MacDonald of Valtos in Skye (SA1956.54.A, School of Scottish Studies) about a woman who left the islands to marry her sweetheart who had emigrated to Australia a few years before. However, when she gets there, it turns out he is not all he was cracked up to be and has turned to a life of crime over there. Let’s just say he gets his comeuppance and she escapes with her life (and her dowry)!

Thàinig naidheachd Là na Sàbaid

Hoireann ùbhill i ò

Ag iarraidh oirre dhol thar sàile

O hao ri rì o
Hoireann ùbhill i ò

Bliadhnaichean bho dh’fhàg e ’m baile
’S e nise deiseil bean a ghabhail.

Trì cheud air a ceann mar tochair
Dh’fhàg i a dh’ionnsaigh beatha shocair. 

Ach air dhi Adelaide a ruighinn 
’S gann gun d’ dh’aithnich i a luran.

“Thig cuide riumsa nis gun mhaille
Mus tig an tuil gun fhios, gun aire.”

’S air a’ chapall ghabh iad astar
Gus an d’ ruig iad drochaid fhada.

Beul na h-oidhche nis a’ teannadh
An uair a dh’fhàs a shùilean carach.

Ruig e oirr’ mar eilid mharbh
’S shad e i don uisge gharbh.

“Nach tu bha faoin, nach tu bha gòrach,
A’ toirt do làimh do dhuine coimheach”

Gùn na sràcan ’s air a lathadh
Dh’fhalaich i an uamh bheag fhalamh.

Chuir i ceann ri cluasag charrach
Gus an cuala i guthan magach.

Dh’fhuirich i na tàmh san uaimh
Gus an tug an daorach buaidh

Thog i ultach òir na basan
Is thug i leatha luaths a casan.

Nach e bha faoin, nach e bha gòrach,
’S e a-nis gu h-àrd air crann a’ crochadh.

—

Word arrived on Sunday

Hoireann ùbhill i ò

Asking her to cross the sea

O hao ri rì o
Hoireann ùbhill i ò

Years since he left the village
And now he’s ready to take a wife.

With three hundred pounds as a dowry
She left in pursuit of a settled life.

But when she reached Adelaide,
She barely recognised her sweetheart.

“Come with me now, without delay,
Before the flood comes, without warning.”

They rode fast on horseback
Until they reached a long bridge.

Night was drawing in
When his eyes began to darken.

He grabbed her like a slain deer
And threw her into the rough waters.

“Weren’t you foolish, weren’t you silly,
To give your hand to a strange man?”

Her gown torn, numbed with the cold,
She hid inside a small, empty cave.

She laid her head on a craggy pillow
Until she heard mocking voices.

She stayed silent and still in the cave
Until the drink had overpowered them.

She lifted a handful of gold from the bowl
And with swift feet, she fled.

Wasn’t he the fool, wasn’t he the silly one,
Now he’s up there hanging from the gallows.

This is a song connected to Roag near Dunvegan in the Isle of Skye. The noblemen of Roag mentioned were likely to have been MacSweens (Clann MhicSuibhne) who were forced out of Roag by MacLeod of Dunvegan’s high rents around 1750/60 – thanks to Dòmhnall Uilleam Stiùbhart for explaining this connection to us.

The subject of the song was the MacSweens’ page boy, who appears to be a grandson of one of the noblemen. The two have enjoyed a fling, but she now finds herself pregnant and believes he is listening to rumours flying around about her. The second half of the song is said to be his reply, saying he would never say a bad word about her for as long as he lives.

Ise:
Mo cheist air Pèidse Fir Ròdhaig
An t-òganach bòidheach smearail

È ho libh ò, ro hoireann ò
È ho libh ò, hò ro ghealladh

Ogha nan tighearnan uasal
Gam biodh na cruachan ’s na teanail

Rinn mi ’n cadal beag an raoir leat
B’ e siud ’n caoibhneas bu mhath leam

’S tric a rinn mi ’n cadal dìomhair
Le òigeir nam miogshùl meallach

Nist o rinn mo chriosan èirigh
Chan urrainn mi fhèin ga theannadh

Calpa cruinn an t-siubhail eutrom
Cha lùbadh tu feur no gaineamh

Traigh chuimir an stocainn bhàinghil
Dhìreadh a’ bheinn àrd gun anail

Ghabh thu seachad orm Didòmhnaich
’S chuir sin dòltramachd air m’ aire

Shaoil mi nach robh thu cho gòrach
’S gun creideadh tu còmhradh balaich

Esan:
Mo cheist air nighean donn na buaile
’S ann leam fhìn nach b’ fhuathach d’ fhaicinn

’S tric a rinn mi ’n cadal sàmhach
Leat am bàthach a’ chruidh bhainne

Mo làmh fo d’ cheann ’s mi riut sìnte
’S an t’ eil' air do chìochaibh geala

Tric a bha mi riut a' sùgradh
Anns na geugan dlùtha barraich.

Brollach geal mun dig an sìoda
Gruaidh mhìn-dearg fo ’n ghlan sealladh?

O cha tug ’s cha toir mi fuath dhut
Gus am fuaighear mi san anart

'S gun cuir iad sa chiste chaoil mi
’n dèis na saoir a bhith ga barradh.

Gus an tèid na saoir gam ghiùlain
Gu eaglais nan tùra geala

Ise:
Mo cheist air Pèidse Fir Ròdhaig
An t-òganach boidheach smearail

—

Her:
Roag’s page is my darling
The strong and active youth.

È ho libh ò, ro hoireann ò
È ho libh ò, hò ro ghealladh

Grandson of noble lords
Who had wealth accumulated.

Last night I slept beside you
That was the kindness I liked so well.

Often I secretly slept beside
The young man of the smiling, alluring eyes.

Now, since my belt is stretching,
I am unable to tighten it.

Neat calf of light footstep,
Sand nor grass would bend beneath you.

Neat foot in whitest stocking
Would climb the high hill without breathing.

You went past me on the Sunday
Which cast gloom upon my spirit.

I thought that you were not so foolish
That you'd believe the chatter of boys.

Him:
I love the brown girl of the cowfold
For me, to see you is no displeasure.

Often I slept soundly beside you
In the cattle byre.

My hand beneath your head as I lay with you
And the other on your white breasts.

Often I flirted with you
In amongst the twigs and treetops.

White is your chest, silk becomes it,
Soft red cheek beneath pure glances.

O I never did, not shall I hate you,
Until in linen I am shrouded,

Until they place me in the narrow coffin
And the carpenters have bound it,

Until the men do take my body
To the church with of the white steeples.

Her:
Roag’s page is my darling
The strong and active youth.

We have been fortunate to work with a woman in Lewis who has written poetry to make some new Gaelic songs. Much like the name of the song, she would prefer not to be named, but we are so grateful to her for lending us her words. Ceitlin put the tune to this gorgeous song about young love which didn’t work out.

Gun shaoil leam nuair a choinnich sinn
’S tu cèilidh air do chàirdean
Gu robh thu eadar dhealaichte
Is uasal na do nàdur

B’ inntinneach do chonaltradh
Am briathran socair càilear
’S bu taitneach a bhi ag èisdeachd riut
Gu fonnmhor ’g aithris bàrdachd

O hi ò o hi ò 
O hi ò hug eileadh 
O hi ò o hi ò 
Gur fada sinn bho chèile

Bha ’n teas ghràdh ghluais ar cridhe
Na èiginn is na chiùrradh
’S cha thuig mi gus an là an-diugh
Carson nach deach sinn comhla

Bha ionndrainn nach gabhadh sàsachadh
Gach uair bhiodh sinn bho chèile –
Cò chreideadh gur e briseadh dùil
Bu dheireadh dhan a sgeul seo

Carson carson nach robh e ’n dàn?
Carson nach d' rinn sinn rèite?
An dìomhaireachd ar freasdal,
Sin a’ cheisd a bhios gam lèireadh

Ach ’s dìomhainn a bhith meòrachadh
Gu ar cuibhrionn fhèin gun tèid sinn
Oir ’s cinnteach tha gach slighe
Air a daigneachadh le seula

Bu chruaidh ’s bu ghoirt am falamhachd
Nuair dhealaich sinn ri chèile
Cha robh e anns na rùintean
’S bha cheairt cho math bhith rèidh ris’

Tha iomadh là is bliadhn’ bho chaidh
A’ chaibideil seo a dhùnadh
Bho àm gu àm mu mheadhon oidhch’
Gu fosgail i gun duil ri

—

I thought, when we first met,
And you were visiting your kin,
That you were somehow set apart
So noble in your nature.

Your conversation was so interesting,
Your words were calm and gentle,
And it was such a joy to listen
As you tunefully recited poetry.

O hi ò o hi ò 
O hi ò hug eileadh 
O hi ò o hi ò 
How far apart we are now.

The heat of love that stirred our hearts
Was a hardship and and a torment,
And still, I don’t understand today
Why we did not stay together.

There was a longing nothing could ease
Each time we were apart –
Who could have believed that disappointment
Would be the end of our story?

Why, oh why, was it not in the stars?
Why did we not marry?
The mystery of our destiny,
That’s the question that haunts me.

But it’s in vain to dwell on it,
We must go with our own fate,
For, surely, every path
Is sealed with its own stamp.

How hard and painful was the emptiness
When we parted from each other.
It was not in the plan,
And it was just as well to go along with it.

Many days and years have passed
Since that chapter was closed.
And now and then, around midnight,
It opens again without warning

Our Gaelic translation of the classic love song ‘Songbird’ by Christine McVie. We decided to translate some well-known songs for summer festivals and this one went down so well that it made the album!

O dhuts’, cha bhi ann caoineadh
O dhuts’, a’ ghrian, bidh i dealradh
Oir saoilidh mi ’s mi còmh’ riut
G’ eil e rèidh, tha fhios g’ eil e rèidh

Is na h-eòin bhinn
A’ ceilearadh le tuigse ’s àgh
O mo ghaol ort, mo ghaol ort, mo ghaol ort
Is bidh gu bràth

O dhuts’, bheirinn cuid mo shaoghail
O dhuts’, cha toir mise fuath

Oir saoilidh mi ’s mi còmh’ riut
G’ eil e rèidh, tha fhios g’ eil e rèidh

Is na h-eòin bhinn
A’ ceilearadh le tuigse ’s àgh
O mo ghaol ort, mo ghaol ort, mo ghaol ort
Is bidh gu bràth
Is bidh gu bràth

—

For you, there’ll be no crying
For you, the sun will be shining

And I feel that when I'm with you
It's alright, I know it's right

And the songbirds are singing
Like they know the score
And I love you, I love you, I love you
Like never before

To you, I will give the world
To you, I'll never be cold

'Cause I feel that when I'm with you
It's alright, I know it's right

And the songbirds are singing
Like they know the score
And I love you, I love you, I love you
Like never before
Like never before

Another gorgeous song from our Lewis poet which Ceitlin put the music to – we thought this would be the perfect outro to the album.

Nuair thèid mi dha mo leabaidh
Laighe socair air mo chluasag
Tric na mo chadal chì mi sibh
Tighinn beò à tìr mo bhruadair,
Tighinn beò à tìr mo bhruadair.

Is prìosail tha na mionaidean
An ionndrainn dol à cuimhne
Is cuideachd aghmhor luchd mo ghràidh
Toirt togail 's slàint' do m' inntinn,
Toirt togail 's slàint' do m' inntinn.

Ach leis an là gach ni mar bha –
Cò dh'iarradh sùilean fhuasgladh?
Sibh teiche mar a theicheas sgàil
Air ais gu tìr mo bhruadair,
Air ais gu tìr mo bhruadair.

—

When I go to my bed,
Lying softly on my pillow,
Often in my sleep I see you
Alive again, from the land of dreams,
Alive again, from the land of dreams.

How precious are the minutes
When longing fades from memory,
And the noble company of those I love
Brings healing and health to my mind,
Brings healing and health to my mind.

But with the day, all fades again –
Who would wish to open their eyes?
You vanish like a fleeting shadow,
Back to the land of my dreaming,
Back to the land of my dreaming.