Bonaparte
O gu sunndoch mi air m'astar
Falbh gu siubhlach le bheag airtneul
Dol a chomhrag ri Bonaparte,
'S e bha bagairt air Righ Deors'.
.'Illean chridheil, bitheamaid sunndach,
Seasaibh onoir ar duthcha,
Fhad's a mhaireas luaidh is fudar,
De rud chuireadh curam oirnn?
Chan eil faillinn ann ra chunntas
Anns na h-armainn nach diultadh,
Chan eil gealtachd nan gnuis-san,
Cha toir iad grunnd do luchd a'bhosd
Luchd nan osan gearr's nam feileadh,
Cota sgarlaid orr' mar eideadh
Gum bu ghasd' iad an am eirigh
'S iad nach geilleadh an deidh an leon.
Ann am Bruxelles a chaidh innse
Gun robh Frangaich tigh'nn nam miltean:
'S cha bhreug bhhuam gur h-i an fhirinn,
'S iomadh fear bhois sint'gun deo.
Nam biodh againn, mar bu dual dhuinn
Lann Chuinn-Ilich air ar gualainn,
Sgoilteamaid an cinn gu'n cluasan,
Gam bualadh le smuais nan dorn.
(Translation)
I'm happy on my journey
Traveling swiftly without flagging
Heading off to do battle with Bonaparte
He it was who threatened King George
Brave lads, let's be merry
Stand for the honor of your country
As long as lead and powder last
What could worry us?
There is no weakness to be descibed
In the young heroes who never retreat
Cowardice is not in their countenance
They will never give ground to the boasters
Men of the short hose and the kilts
With their uniforms of scarlet coats;
Splendid they were in attack
The would never yield though wounded.
In Brussels it was told
That the French were coming in their thousands
I tell no lie but the truth
Many a man will be stretched out without breath of life
If only we had, as was hereditary to us
The great broadsword with Islay-wrought hilt on our shoulders
We'll split their heads to their ears,
Pounding them with the smashing of our fists.
CC
apr96
Thanks to Mudcat for the Digital Tradition!