| 1. 'S ioma hoidhche f hliuch is thioram, Sìde na seachd sian, Gheibheadh Griogal dhomhsa creagan Ris an gabhainn dìon.
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4. B'annsa bhi le Griogal cridhe Teàrnadh chruidh le gleann, Na le Baran mór na Dalach, Sìoda geal mu m' cheann. (Ch.)
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Chorus Òbhan! Òbhan! Òbhaniri! Òbhaniri ò Òbhan! Òbhan! Òbhaniri! 'Smór mo mhulad 's mór.
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2. Dhìrich mi dh 'an t-seòmar mhullaich, 'S theirinn mi'n tigh-làir, 'S cha d'fhuair mise Griogal cridhe 'Na shuidhe mu'n chlàr (Ch.)
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5. Cha n 'eil ùbhlan idir agam, 'S ùbhlan uil' aig càch, 'S ann tha m'ùbhlan-s' cùbhr' ri caineal 'S cùl an cinn ri làr. (Ch.)
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3. Eudail mhóir, a shluagh an Domhain, Dhòirt iad t'fhuil o'n dé, 'S chuir iad do cheann air stob daraich Tacan beag bho d'chré. (Ch.)
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6. 'Nuair a bhios mnàthan òg a'bhaile, 'Nochd nan cadal sèimh, 'S ann bhios mis' air bruaich do lice, 'Bualadh mo dhà làimh. (Ch.) |
Translation:
1. Many a night of rain, or fair, or tempest raging wild,
Gregor would find for me a rock, and shelter from the storm.
(Chorus: Òbhan, etc.
Great is my grief, and great!)
2. I climbed to the room above and searched the room below, but did not find Gregor, beloved, sitting at the board.
3. Most loved of all men in the world, they shed thy blood since yesterday; on oaken stake they set they head, near where they body lay.
4. Far rather would I be with Gregor; herding down the glen, than with the great Baron of Dull, and white silk round my head.
5. No apples now be mine, such as the others have, yet fragrant are mine as cinnamon, their heads low on the ground.
6. When other women lie to-night, in peaceful slumber still, beside thy grave there shall I lie, smiting my two hands.
From Frances Tolmie's 105 Songs of Occupation from the Western Isles of
Scotland.