Oran an Latha- Taladh Choinnich Oig/Lulllaby of Young Kenneth 30/08/09

Lullaby of Young Kenneth - from Orain nan Rosach 2006 - Songs of the Ross-shire Folk.
http://blip.fm/home?quickBlipId=99741


Fail iu fail eo hi u ho ro
Fail iu fail eo hillinn o ho
Ho hi ho ro ho hi ibh o

A Mhac Coinnich na biodh gruaim ort
Cha do ghlac do mhàthair buarach
No plaide bhan air a h-uachdar
Ach sìoda dearg is srol uaine

Se Mac Coinnich fhuair an t-urram
A miosg nam morbhairean uile
Cheannaicheadh e fìon baile Lunnainn
Each is dìollaid fo chuid ghillean

A Mhac Coinnich mhòir a Brathann
Mhic an t-Seoid nach fhuilingeadh masladh
Cheannaicheadh tu fìon dha t-eachaibh
S cruidhean dha’n or a chur fo’n casan

Chan eil an Coinenach og ach leanabh
Cha do ràinig e aois a sheanar
Marbhaiche’n fhèidh air na beannaibh
Is coilich dhuibh air bàrr nam menagan

O son of Kenneth do not be sad
Your mother was never bound to do housework
Or have a white plaid around her shoulder
But red silk and green satin.

It is Mackenzie who commands respect
The best of all the lairds
He would buy wine from London City
A horse and saddle for every servant

O son of Kenneth, Laird of Brahan
Son of the hero who never had to suffer shame
You would buy wine for your horses
And you would put shoes of gold on their feet

Young Kenneth is still a baby
He has not reached the age of his grandfather
Who was a killer of deer out on the bens
And of the black cocks at the tops of the branches

Oran an Latha= Gaelic Song of the Day

Todays song is 'Cladaich Loch Iu" - The shores of Loch Ewe ( Ross-shire)http://www.imeem.com/people/wOw0u9L/music/rOQ9Q4dE/fiona-j-mackenzie-09-cladaich-loch-iuwma/

Ri Taobh Cladaich Loch Iu

Ri taobh cladaich Loch Iù, leag dhomh siubhal gun èis
Am miosg mo luchd-dàimhe ’s mo chàirdean gu lèir
Ann an dùthaich mo shinnsear, miosg dhilsean cho dlùth
Nach tlachdmhor an tir seo, mu Chladaich Loch Iù.

Bho àm sith-thàimh na maidne, aig bristeadh an là
Gu uair laighe na grèine, le flatheileachd àrd
Tha a’ Chruithneachd a’ dòrtadh òirnn seoladh as ùr
Gach latha agus oidhche, mu chladaich Loch Iù.

Far bheil eunlaith na mara, le cainntearachd cuain
Agus eòin bheag a bhaile, le caithream nar cluais
Tha n t-àile ghlan chùbhraidh, an ionad cho ciùin,
Toirt cuireadh as ùr dhuinn, gu cladaich Loch Iù.

Tha na beanntaichean àrda cuir dion air an t-sliabh
Gu cruinn, corrach, sgorrach s iad dùbh-ghorm is liath
Tha dubhan sgòthach, s na neòil, os ar cionn
A’ roghnachadh dreach dhuinn, mu chladaich Loch Iù.

Fhad’ s bhuaileas na tuinn, air muir-làn no muir-tràigh
Air na cladaich as fheàrr leam, ann an dùthaich mo ghràidh
Tha sior mhàisleachd nadir gach là mu ar gnùis
Toirt ùrachadh làitheil mu chladaich Loch Iù.

By the shores of Loch ewe let me wander and roam
Beside my own dear ones my croft and my home
In my own native Country where friends are still true
How peaceful to walk by the shores of Loch Iu


From the still of the morning at break of the day
Till the sun goes to rest with its glorious display
There nature presents her adorable view
Each day and each night by the shores of Loch Iu

Wheer the seabirds cry out and the song birds are sweet
And the sea breezes mix with the tang of the peats
The atmosphere pure will prove rightly to you
That life is still sweet by the shores of Loch Iu

The high peaked mountains stand guard o’er the scene
Serrated and rounded all blue grey and green
The heavenly shadows determine the hue
Which waters reflect by the hsores of Loch Iu

While the sound of the waves beats an endless encore
On the shores that I love and the land I adore
The creation has something to offer anew
To charm and delight by the shores of Loch Iu

Oran an Latha- Gaelic Song of the Day- Dean Cadalan Samhach/Sleep Peacefully

Dèan Cadalan Sàmhach- Sleep Peacefully. A lullaby from Kintail, reputed to be the first Gaelic Song written in the Americas. By John Macrae, written in North carolina around 1763. Sound clip at my own website-


Dèan cadalan sàmhach, a chuilein mo rùin
Dèan fuireach mar tha thu‘s tu ‘n dràst’ an àit’ ùr
Bidh òigearan againn làn beàirteis is cliù
‘S ma bhios tu ‘nad airidh, s leat feareigin dhiù

Gur h-ann an Ameireaga tha sinn an dràst’
Fo dhubhar na coille nach teirig gu brach
Nuair dh’fhalbhas an dùbhlachd,‘s a thionndas am blàths
Bidh cnothan is ùbhlan is siùcar a fàs

Tha sinne ‘n ar n-Innseanaich cinnteach gu leòr
Fo dhubhar nan craobh cha bhidh h-aon againn beò
Coin-allaidh is bèistean ag èigheach‘s gach fròig
Gu bheil sinn ‘n ar n-èiginn bho’n thrèig sinn Righ Deòrs’

Mo shoraidh le fàilte Chinn t-Sàile nam bò
Far an d’fhuair mi greis àrach, s mi’m phàisde beag, òg
Bhiodh fleasgaichean donna air am bonnaibh ri ceòl
Is nionagan dualach,‘s an gruaidh mar an ròs

An toiseach an fhoghair bu chridheil ar sunnd
Gheibht’ fiadh às an fhireach,is bradan à grunnd,
Bhiodh luingeas an sgadain a’ tighinn fo shiùil
Le’n lasgairean tapaidh nach faicte fo mhuig







Sleep quietly, my beloved child
Stay where you are, you’re in a new land
We will have youths now full of wealth and renown
And if you are worthy, you’ll have one of them too.


Though now it is in America we are now
In the everlasting darkness of the woods
When the winter is over and warmth returns
Nuts and apples and sugar will grow

We are like Indians surely enough
In the gloom of the forest no-one will survive
With wolves and beasts crying in each cranny
We are in trouble since we deserted King George


My best wishes and welcome to Kintail of the cows
Where I was brought up through my childhood when I was young
There were brown haired youths on their feet to sing
And curly haired girls, with cheeks like the rose

At the beginning of autumn we were heartily glad
Deer were got on the moor and salmon
Boats fishing herring came under sail
With able young men, none of them were churlish

Oran an Latha- Song of the Day

Todays song is Òran a’Chianalais.The Homesickness song. Composed by Iain Archie MacAskill, The Berneray Bard, who emigrated to Western Australia in 1924 and composed on the eve of his departure. In the early 20thC, approximately 9,000 people emigrated to Australia every year under a Government scheme which provided grants of land and money as an incentive to developing wheat and sheep farming. Iain Archie was destined never to return to Berneray. A song of intense homesickness despite the cheerful sounding chorus!
www.fionamackenzie.org/Audio_Map.html and click on Berberay near Uist!

Oran a’Chianalais- Song of Homesickness. Macaskill/arr Duguid

Ho ro fal il lo hog I o ho ro i
Ho ro fal il lo hog I o ho ro hi
Ho ro fal il l lo hog I o ro hi
Sa bhi fàgail na dachaidh dh’fhàg airtneal ‘nam chlì.

Gur mise tha fo chùram ‘s mi ‘n dùil ri bhi falbh
Air latha na bliadhn’ ùire s beag tha shunnd a tighinn orm
A dh’ionnsaigh na dùthcha tha cùbhraidh na sealbh
Astralia mhòr iomall còmhdach na fairg’.

Ged dhèanainn mo dhìcheall Sa sgrìobhadh le làmh
Cha b’urrainn mi inns’ mar tha m’inntinn an drast’
Mo chridhe cha ghluais e s e fuaighte le cas
Mo ghean air a mhùchadh le ciùrradh do chradh.

Mo bheannachd do Bhearn’raigh seach àite fo’n ghrèin
Le machraichean fàsmhòr gu àrach na sprèidh
Tha pòr de gach blàth-lus a fàs ann gu sèimh
S air leòidean glas còmhnard uain òga ri leum

Ma ruigeas mi sàbhailt s a bhata ceann ùidh
Bidh misneachd is gabhachd gu làidir nam chridh’
Ged gheibhinn am pailliun cho àrd tha s’an tìr
Gu’mfhearr bhith ‘m Beàrn’aidh air Àirigh chrodh- laoigh

Nan robh mi mar fhaoileig readh aotram air chuairt
Gu’m falbhainn gu h-aotrom ri faontradh is cruas
Gu’n shiùbhlainn air sgiathan s cha’n iarrainn a nuas
Gu laighinn s a cheàrn ghlas a dh ‘àraich mi suas.

Ma gheibh mi mar b’abhaist mo shlàinte le smuais
Cha n fhanainn s a cheàrn seo Gu brath air son duais
Gu’n giùlain an t-aiseag mi thar bhàrr nan tonn uain’
A dh’ionnsaigh mo chàirdean tha tàmh s an Taobh Tuath



Ho ro fal il o hog I ho ro hi
Ho ro fal il o hog I ho ro hi
Ho ro fal il o hog I ho ro hi
To be leaving my home now brings sadness to me

Oh I am so worried
To think that I’ll leave
The first Day of the New Year
Little joy there is for me
To go to the country
Where riches are found
Australia the Great
Far away o’er the sea

Though trying my best
To write with my pen
Its hard to be telling
How my spirit is now
My heart is not lively
Its filled with woe
My joy has been smothered
And tortured by the pain

My blessings to Berneray
Best under the sun
With fields that are fertile
For grazing the herds
While grain of the best
Will grow there with ease
On sloping green pastures
Young lambs are at play

If I should reach safely
The boats’ landing place
Then courage and toil would
Be strong in my heart
Though I’d get a palace
The best in the land
The sheilings of Berneray
I would still prefer

If I were a seagull
So light in flight
I’d soar away lightly
Though lonely and sad
On wings I would travel
Nor seek to come down
Till over the green pastures
Where I was brought up

If I keep, as usual
My health and my strength
I’ll not stay in that place
Forever for pay
The ferry would take me
O’er the top of green waves
To go to my kindred
Who live in the North

Gaelic Song of the Day 03/08

Todays song is Cuir Culaibh ri Asainte - Turn your back on Assynt, an emigrant song of leaving Sutherland for Canada.
www.fionamackenzie.org/Audio_Map.html

Cuir Cùlaibh Ri Asainte

Cuir cùlaibh cuir cùlaibh
Cuir cùlaibh ri Asainte
Cuir cùl ri tìr nan Gaidheal
Far ‘n robh mi og is amaideach
Cuir cùlaibh cuir cùlaibh
1
A ghillean òga eistibh
Gus ‘n dèan mi sgeula aithris dhuibh
Oir feumaidh mi bhith fàgail
An tìr a dh ‘àraich m’athraichean

2
S’ann air Diciadaoin
Gu moch anns a mhàdainn
Dh’fhalbh mise le mo thriall
A dòl thar chuan a Chanada.

3
Bho’n dh’fhàg sinn Loch –an –Inbhir
Bha mise dol air m’aineolas
Mu’s d’ràinig sinne Luirge
Cnoc na glean cha b’aithne dhomh

4
Disathairne rinn sinn seòladh
Bho’n Broomielaw ‘n Glaschu
Measg treubhan dheth gach seòrsa
Air bòrd ‘n “Southwark” Shasunnach

5
Ach tha mi nochd gu tùrsach
Falbh air sràidean Chanada
Is caolas farsainn fiadhaich
Eadar mi ‘s mo luaidh tha’n Asainte

Cuir cùlaibh cuir cùlaibh
Cuir cùlaibh ri Asainte
Cuir cùl ri tìr nan Gaidheal
Ach dùil gu’n till mi dhachaidh ann
Cuir cùlaibh cuir cùlaibh


Leaving behind leaving behind
Leaving behind leaving Assynt behind
Leaving behind the land of the Gaels
Where I was young and foolish


O young lads now listen
While I tell you my tale
For I must be leaving
The land where my ancestors were reared

It was on a Wednesday
Very early in the morning
That I left with my heartache
To go over the sea to Canada


From the time we left Lochinver
I was in totally strange country
By the time we reached Lairg
Neither hill nor glen did I know


On Saturday we set sail
Drom the Broomielaw in Glasgow
Among all different races of people
On board the boat from England, the “Southwark”

Tonight I am so sad
Walking the streets of Canada
With the wide angry ocean
Between me and my love in Assynt

Leaving behind leaving behind
Leaving Assynt behind
Turning your back on the land of the Gaels
But I do hope to return there

Scotster Site for Exiled Scots, resident Scots and indeed anyone with an interest in Scotland!

Gaelic Song of the Day ( Sunday 02/08)

Todays song is O Mo Dhuthaich - O My Country- An emigrant song from South Uist.
Click on island of South Uist on the audio map at www.fionamackenzie.org/Audio_Map.html

O Mo Dhùthaich

O mo dhùthaich, 's tu th'air m'aire,
Uibhist chùbhraidh, ùr nan gallan,
Far am faicte na daoin' uaisle
'S far bu dual do Mhac 'ic Ailein.


Tìr a' mhurain, tìr an eòrna,
Tìr sam pailt’ a h-uile seòrsa
Far am bi na gillean òga
Gabhail òran‘s g’òl an leanna.


Thig iad thugainn carach, seòlta
Gus ar mealladh far ar n-eòlais.
Molaidh iad dhuinn Manitoba,
Dùthaich fhuar gun ghual, gun mhòine.


O gur mise tha gu cràiteach;
'S trom mo cheum, neo-aotrom tha mi;
O'n a dhealaich mi ri'm chàirdean
Thuit mo chridhe 's mo cheòl-gàire.


Fhir a shiùbhlas bàrr an t-sàile
Thoir mo shoraidh gu mo chàirdean;
Guidheam nach trèig sibh ur n-àite
Airson uachdaran no bàillidh

Nam biodh agam fhìn de stòras,
Deagh dheis' aodaich , paidhir bhrògan,
Agus m'fharadh bhith nam phòca,
'S ann air Uibhist dhèanainn seòladh.

Oh my land, you’re always in my thoughts
Fresh, fragrant Uist, home of heroes
Where the noble people live
Herditary territory of Clanranald.

Land of bent grass, land of barley
Land fertile in every way
Where the young lads
Sing songs and drink ale


They come to us, wily and cunning
To seduce us from our homeland
They sing the praises of Manitoba
A cold country without coal, without peat.

Oh, I am distressed
My step is heavy, I am sombre
Since I parted from my friends
My heart and my laughter have waned away

You who travel across the ocean
Bear this greeting to my family
I pray, you, do not desert your homeland
For any land owner nor bailiff.

If only I was rich enough
To possess a good suit of clothes, a pair of shoes
And my fare in my pocket
I would set sail immediately for Uist.

New bi-lingual show going up on Moray Firth Radio

Sunday the 2nd August sees me presenting a new bi-lingual magazine show on Moray Firth Radio 1107 AM 9-10pm - Ru-Ra, which is a Gaelic word meaning 'mixture' or 'eclectic mix'. We'll be playing an eclectic mix right enough, of music, information, features and movie info so dont miss it if you want something a little different on the airwaves! Thig comhla ruinn!

Gaelic Song of the Day -

http://www.fionamackenzie.org/Audio_Map.html Click on Island of Tiree for sound clip.

A’ Choille Ghruamach

Gu bheil mi ‘m ònrachd sa choille ghruamaich
Mo smaointean luaineach, cha tog mi fonn
Fhuair mi’n t-àite seo’n aghaidh nàdair
‘S gun d’thrèig gach tàlant a bha nam cheann
Cha dean mi òran a chur air dòigh ann
Nuair nì mi tòiseachadh bidh mi trom
Chaill mi a’ Ghàidhlig seach mar a b’àbhaist
An uair a bha mi san dùthaich thall.

Chan fhaigh mi m’inntinn leam ann an òrdugh
Ged bha mi eòlach air dèanamh rann
‘S e mheudaich bron dhomh‘s a lughdaich sòlas
Gun duine còmhla rium a ni rium cainnt’
Gach latha‘s oidhche s gach car a ni 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.

‘S I seo an dùthaich sa bheil an cruadal
Gun fhios don t-sluagh tha gun tigh’nn a-nall
Gur h-olc a fhuaras oirnn luchd a’bhuaraidh
A rinn len tuairisgeul ar toirt ann
Ma ni iad buannachd cha mhair I buan dhaibh
Cha dean is suas iad- s chan iongnadh leam
S 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 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 sabhailt’, nuair chi sibh iadsan
Chan fhearr na Stàtachan na sibh fèin.

Chan fhaigh mi innseadh dhuibh anns an dàn seo
Cha dèan mo nàdar a chur air dòigh
Gach fios a b’aill leam thoirt do na càirdean
San tìr a dh’fhàg mi, rinn m’àrach og
Gach aon a leughas e tuigibh reusan
‘S na tugaibh èisteachd do luchd a’bhost;
Na fàidhean breige a bhios gar teumadh
‘S gun aca spèis ach an dèidh ur n-òir

Ged bhithinn bliadhna 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


I am alone in the gloomy forest
My thoughts uneasy, I can’t sing a chorus
I this place so unnatural
That every talent in my head has gone from me
I can’t get around to creating a song here
Whenever I start, I become depressed
I’ve lost my Gaelic compared to the way it was
When I was back in the country over there.
I can’t get my thoughts in order
Though I was once so good at composing verse
It has made worse my misery and diminished my happiness
That there is no-one around for me to talk to here.
Every day and night, in everything I do,
I am always reminded
Of the land I left behind, bordered by the sea
Though now I live high above the valleys.

This is a country full of hardships
Undreamt of by those who have never been here
We’ve been conned by the fraudsters
Who drew us here with untrue stories
Whatever profit they make will not last them for always
Nor will it gain them advancement- and no surprise.
For they’re haunted by the curses of each poor soul
In whose head they sowed the thought of emigration.


They offer extravagant promises
Strengthened by the reputation of the place
They claim that your relatives
Are happy and wealthy and want For nothing
Each report of lies which you receive
Is aimed at making you want it for yourself
If you arrive safely, when you see them for yourself
You will find out that the States are no wealthier than you are yourselves.
I can’t begin to tell you in this poem
I am just not able to tell
The information I would like to give my relatives
In the land I left behind, the land of my youth
But believe my words, all you who read this
And do no listen to those of propaganda
The false prophets who wish to harm you with no other reason than to take your money
Even if I spent a year writing this
It would still take me another month or more
To finish everything that I am thinking on
And to convey it all to you in my words
I am filled with this secret pain
Forced to struggle here for the rest of my life
With sparse pleasure in this labyrinth of a forest
Where nobody asks me to sing my music.