|
MY sailliu geaistagh
Gys my arrane,
Singyms diu dy meeley:
Va mraane y jiass,
Bunnys roit ass,
As cha der ad bee da ny deiney.
Moghrey Jyluain,
Va'd cheet veih y thie,
My saillish daue cheet voish Ronnag,
As wheesh my goarn jeh arran oarn,
Ayns derrey corneil jeh'n wallad.
Moghrey Jymayrt,
Tra va'd ayns phurt,
Dy vroie un warp* jeh skeddan;
Va Madge boght roie,
Choud's va'n phot cloie,
As chionnee feeagh ping dy arran.
T'eh feer drogh chliaght
Ta ec "Weedyn " y jiass
Barrail yn cosney'n season;
Ny feedjyn jeh
Ta adsyn coyrt
Son turnipyn as cakyn.
Ny keayrtyn yoghe shiu voue
Jyst veg phraase,
Keayrtyn elley peesh dy hoddag;
Agh ny 'smennick foddey
Yiow shiu eh Youe,
Lesh maidjey'n phot 'sy vollag.
Yn blein shoh cheet,
My vees y chirrym as fit,
Un peesh vees ayns nyn phoggad
Bee'n wallad liauyr
Ocsyn nyn gour
Dy chur lesh thie ny aanyn gobbak.
Ec yn 'Eaill,-Vaayl,
Bee ad cheet dys Pheel,,
Gra "vel baatyn eu dy hoiagh;"
As my ver shiu
Ny baatyn daue,
Cha yiow shiu ping son juys ny darragh.
|
IF you will listen
Unto my song,
Softly I'll sing to you:
The Southern wives,
They were.run out,
And would'give no meat to the men.
On Monday morning,
They were leaving home,
Should it please them to come from Ronnag,
My fistful of Barley bread
In each corner of the wallet.
On Tuesday morning,
When they were in port,
To boil one warp of herring;
A poor Madge ran,
While the pot boiled,
And bought a pennyworth of bread.
'Tis a bad custom
Of the Southern "Weeds
To spend the season's profits;
The scores of it
They were giving
For turnips and for cakes.
Sometimes you'dst get from them
A small dish of praties,
At others a piece of bannock;
But far oftener
You'lt get it from them
With the pot stick upon the head.
This coming year,
If 'tis dry and fit,
There'll be one piece in their pocket; There'll be the long
Wallet for them
To bring home the gobbags* livers.
On Michael's Feast Eve.
They will come to Peel,
Saying I Have you boats to hire out ?
And if you give
The boats to them,
You'll not get paid for fir or oak.+
|
