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MY chree-lesh seaghyn tooillit,
My algney trimshey lane,
My klone jeh cadley spooillit,
Gyn saveen cheet er m'ayrn.
My lhie er ynnyd cheddin,
Yeearree aash ayns fardail,
Son naght myr ta ny tonnyn,
Ta m'aigney foast rouail.
Yn muir lesh goanlys caggey,
Ta craa ny creggyn foym,
As sneih lurg sneih er m'aigney
Cur eh my chree ve trome.
Ny brooinyn syrjey lhaggit,
Lesh tonnyn sheer chleih foue,
T'an cheeayll ain mennick mollit,
As mooads nyn jerkal mow.
My ta yn sterrym troggal,
'Sny bodjalyn dyn seiyt,
T' an aer gaase dhoo as gobhal
Yn soilshey hed neese veih.
Myr bleayst goll fo ny lhongyn,
Ga t'ad jeh darragh jeant,
Ta'n sehill as mooads ny croneeyn,
Cur er my chree ve falynt.
Myr shoh er chroshyn smooinaght,
Jeh'n creg cloaie mee skee,
Foast er my lhong veg smooinaght,
Te aker ayns my chree ;
Son cheeayll rnee red myr sonnish,
Dy bee ain laa caghlaa,
Bee'n sterrym dew'l shoh harrish,
As voue mayd sollys hraa.
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MY heart with troubles vexëd,
My mind with grief fillëd,
My head of sleep despoilëd,
No slumber comes to me.1
On this same place reclining,
Desiring rest in vain,
For just like unto the billows,
My mind is still roaming.
The sea, warring with malice,
The rocks beneath me shake,
And pang on pang in my mind
Cause my heart heaviness.
The highest cliffs are loosened,
By waves quite undermined,
Our sense is often deceived,
And our hopes brought to nought.
Before the storm arises,
And the clouds are unbroke,2
The air grows dark, and hinders
The light from coming down.
Like shells the ships go under,
Though they are made of oak,
The world and all its troubles.3
Make my heart to be faint.
Thus on my crosses musing,
Of the stony rock I 'm tired,
Still on my small ship thinking,
Its anchor in my heart ;
I heard 4 as by a whisper,
That we will have a change,
When this fierce storm is over,
We'll have a brighter time.
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MY mind with troubles vexed,
My heart with grief annov'd,
My head with cares perplex'd,
My all of comfort void,
Upon this stony pillow
I seek my rest in vain,
And, just like yonder billows,
My thoughts do swell again.
These rocks below are shaken,
And torn as well as I,
Our strength is all mistaken,
And we are found a lie.
The waves with often beating
Have eaten into stone,
Whilst ills with oft repeating
Have made my heart to groan.
When by a storm are muster'd
The waters and the sky,
And all to ruin muster'd,
But this poor rock and I.
Our ships, like shells, are sinking,
For all their oaken sides
O then shall I be thinking,
Of all deceitful tides.
And thus my harms recounting,
Upon this cliff I rest ;
My ship no longer mounting,
My anchor in my breast,
Which when it came in hither,
Methought I heard one say,
We shall have change of weather,
And see a fairer day.
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