| 17 | Ged a Sheòl Mi Air M'Aineol | 17 |
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Séist Ged a sheòl mi air m'aineol. Cha laigh smalan air m'inntinn, Ged a sheòl mi air m'aineol. 'S ann Boston a sheòl sinn 'Dol air bhòidse chun na h-Innsean. Rinn sinn còrdadh ri caiptean Air a' bhàrc a bha rìomhach. Trì latha roimh 'n Nollaig Thàinig oirnn an droch shìde. Shéid e cruaidh oirnn le frasan, 'S clach-mheallain bha millteach. Cha robh ròpa 's robh òirleach, 'N uair a reòth' e nach robh trì ann. Chaill sinn craiceann ar làmhan. 'S bha ar gàirdeanan sgìth dheth. Trì latha is trì oidhche, 'S bha seachdnar 'n sìneadh. Ám na Nollaig, cha robh candaich Cha robh Sants anns an tìr seo. Dh'fhalbh 'n seòl-mullaich 'n a shròicean, Chan e spòrs a bhi 'g a ìnnse. |
Chorus Although I sailed to foreign countries, Sadness did not linger in my mind, Although I sailed to foreign countries. We sailed from Boston On a voyage to the Indies We came to an agreement with A skipper of a handsome ship. Three days before Christmas Bad weather descended upon us. The wind blew strongly with rain- Showers and stinging hail stones When the inch-thick ropes froze They became three inches in girth. We lost the skin of our hands, and Our arms were tired of the struggle. I spent three days and three nights At the wheel during the storm. It is Christmas, there isn't candy, There is no Santa in this place. The top-sail was torn to shreds; It is no fun to tell about it. |
| 17B | Ged a Sheòl Mi Air M'Aineol | 17B |
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Séist Ged a sheòl mi air m'aineol. Cha laigh smalan air m'inntinn, Ged a sheòl mi air m'aineol. |
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'S ann Boston a sheòl sinn 'Dol air bhòidse chun na h-Innsean. Rinn sinn còrdadh ri caiptean Air a' bhàrc a bha rìomhach. Thilg i, shéid i oirnn le frasan 'S clach-mheallain a bha millteach. Gun robh ròpa 's gun robh òirleach, 'N uair a reòth' e bha a trì ann. Chaill sinn craiceann ar làmhan. 'S bha ar gàirdeanan sgìth dheth. Trì latha is trì oidhche, Air a' chuibhle le droch shìde. |
'N uair sin thubhairt an caiptean "'Illean tapaidh na dìobraibh 'N uair a ruigeas sinn caladh Bidh ùr dram dhuinn cinnteach" Dh'fhalbh an "rigging" dhe'n "bhowsprit" Leis an tonn a bha dìreadh. Dh'fhalbh an "top-sail" 's a' "royal" Bochd an spòrs a bhi 'g a ìnnse. 'N uair a ruitheadh i gu fuaradh 'S ann an uairsin rinn sinn mìle Tha lionn dhubh air mo mhàthair 'S truagh an dùil nach dèan sinn tilleadh |
| 17C | Ged a Sheòl Mi Air M'Aineol | 17C |
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Séist Ged a sheòl mi air m'aineol. Cha laigh smalan air m'inntinn, Ged a sheòl mi air m'aineol. 'S ann Boston a sheòl sinn 'Dol air bhóidse chun na h-Innsean. Rinn sinn còrdadh ri caiptean Air a' bhàrc a bha rìomhach. Trì latha roimh 'n Nollaig Thàinig oirnn an droch shìde. Shéid e cruaidh oirnn le frasan, 'S clach-mheallain bha millteach. Cha robh ròpa 's robh òirleach, 'N uair a reòth' e nach robh trì ann. Chaill sinn craiceann ar làmhan. 'S bha ar gàirdeanan sgìth dheth. Bha còignear 'n an seasamh, 'S bha seachdnar 'n an sìneadh. Trì latha is trì oidhche, 'S mi ri cuibhl' ri droch shìde. Sin uair labhair an caiptean "'Illean tapaidh na dìobraibh." "'N uair a ruigeas sinn caladh Bidh ùr dram dhuinn cinnteach" Dh'fhalbh an "rigging" o'n "bhowsprit" Leis an tonn a bha dìreadh. Dh'fhalbh 'n seòl-mullaich 'n a shròicean, Chan e spòrs a bhi 'g a ìnnse. 'N uair a ruitheadh i gu fuaradh 'S ann a bhuanaicheadh i mìltean Tha lionn dubh air mo mhàthair Agus dùil aic' nach till mi. |
Chorus Although I sailed to foreign countries, Sadness did not linger in my mind, Although I sailed to foreign countries. We sailed from Boston On a voyage to the Indies We came to an agreement with A skipper of a handsome ship. Three days before Christmas Bad weather descended upon us. The wind blew strongly with rain- Showers and stinging hail stones When the inch-thick ropes froze They became three inches in girth. We lost the skin of our hands, and Our arms were tired of the struggle. Five of the crew members were standing And Seven were prone. I spent three days and three nights At the wheel during the storm. That is when the skipper said, "Do not yield stout-hearted lads." "When you reach port Your dram will be certain." The rigging and the bowsprit were washed With the wave that was rising. The top-sail was torn to shreds; It is no fun to tell about it. When the ship would veer to windward She would gain many leages. My mother is dejected because She does not expect me to return. |
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Courtesy of
An Cliath Clis
www.ancliathclis.ca