Latha dhomh 's mi 'm Beinn a' Cheathaich,   Ruagail nan caorach, is 'gam faighinn,   Cha b'e caigeann an dà pheathar,   No caigeann beag ceann an rathaid!   'S ann agam fhìn a bha an t-aighear   Faicinn do bhàta bhith 'ga gabhail,   A' bhiurlainn dubh, 's i seòladh aighearach,   Toirt a cinn o'n seana-chuan domhain.   Mach a dùthaich Mhic 'ill' Eathain,   Steach gu dùthaich Mhic 'ic Ailein,   Steach gu Ciosamul Am Barraidh   Far am faicte cuirm 'ga gabhail,   Fìon 'ga òl o oichdh' gu latha,   Sìoda fionn 'ga chur air mnathan,   Pìobaireachd nam feadan laghach;   Thug i 'n latha an diugh gu frasan,   Ma chaidh bàta Cloinn Nill seachad,   'S i gun stiùir, gun stagh, gun bheairt rith',   Gun cheann-cumail air a h-astar,   Bhrist i'n cabul 's dh'fhàg i 'n acair',   Bhrist i gach nì a b'fheàrr a bh'aice---   B'aithne dhomh fhìn fìr do bhaile,   Niall Gruamach mac Ruairi an Tartair,   Gill'Eóghanain mór an an gaisgeach,   Dà mhac Iain 'ic a' Phearsain,   Domhnall Donn o Ghleann nan Dearcag,   Murchadh Ruadh a ceann a' chlachain,   Murchadh Beag, céile Ni Lachlainn,   Ruairi òg an t-oighre maiseach,   Fearchar air stiùir 's a làmh ri tapadh.   Nam bithinn 'nam nighinn fo lighe mo ghruaige,   Cha rachainn dham' thaobhadh ri taobh bhalach suarach,   B'annsa liom agam fear geal nach biodh gruaim air,   Fear buidhe donn àluinn gun àrdan, gun uabhar,   A dhìreadh am mullach 's a ghunn' air a ghualainn,   A dh'fhàgadh a' mhaoiseach air a taobh air a' chruadhlach,   Sealgair dhamh chabrach 'san lag am bi luachair,   Sealgair a' choillich 's na h-eilide ruaidhe,   'S na circeige duinne dheanadh gur anns an fhuarniod   'S nach gabhadh mar mhasladh an deachamh thoirt uaiche.

One day on the Misty Mountain,   Rounding up the sheep, gathering them,   Not the pair of the two sisters,   Nor the small pair at the end of the road!   It was I who felt joyful,   Seeing your ship her way making   The black Galley, sailing joyful,   Turning her bow from the deep old ocean,   Away from the MacLean country,   Towards the country of Clanranald   Towards Kismul Castle at Barra   Where there could be seen feasting,   Wine being drunk from night to day break   White silk being worn by women,   Bagpipes played, with pleasant chanters;   The day today has turned squally,   If the Clan MacNeil's ship has gone by   Without helm or stay or tackle.   Without head way on her passage,   She's broken her cable and lost her anchor,   She's broken every best thing about her.   I know myself the men of your township,   Gloomy Neil son of Rory the Noisy   Gilleonan the great hero,   The two sons of Ian, son of the Parson   Brown-haired Donald from the glen of berries,   Red-haired Murdo from the end of the village,   Little Murdo, spouse of Lachlan's daughter,   Young Rory, the handsome heir,   Farquhar the clever active steersman.   Were I a girl with beautiful tresses,   I would not go in the company of trivial striplings,   I would much sooner have a fair man who's not gloomy,   A handsome dark yellow-haired man, wihtout touchiness   Who'd climb to the summit with his gun on his shoulder,   Who'd leave the roe lying on its side on the hard ground,   A hunter of antlered stag in the dell of the rushes,   A hunter of red hind and of blackcock,   And of the brown grouse which breeds in a cold nest   And feels it no shame if her tenth egg is taken