O fair-headed lad, if you say the word
Yours is my right hand, right away, if you come with affection
Isn't it a pity that you and I did not meet
On an island without ebbtide, without oar, without coracle, without rudder
If you go to sea, love, have a guinea in your pocket
And drink my health in every place that you sit at table
With your bright, light, joyous, high-spirited, young heart
How I do like the mouth from which music comes most sweetly!
I love the teeth, and the mouth that would not grumble
How I wish that you would come to me and stretch out by my side
If it were not for the gossips, my love and I would surely be
With the blessing of the clergy, together in a firm bond
Oh, if you and I were on a mountain, hill or shady slope
Or on a white beach, in a place where no-one has ever been
Seven days, seven nights, without rest, without sleep, without food
But with you, love, your fair arm freely round me
Heard from Penelope Morrison (South Uist); additional text from the MacDonald Collection
of
Gaelic Poetry (Angus & Archibald MacDonald, ed 1911)