Luadh An Toraidh - Karen Matheson

Uair a bha an tir mar fhàsach

Cha robh bròg a thogadh danns ann

‘s gann am beul a sheinneadh duan ann

Smior an dream mar ath-sgal tuamach

Creid ar nàimhdean is an cumhachd

Iad a dh’iarr ar muchadh buileach;

Ann an lagh is ann am foghlam

Dhiùlt iad dhuinn ar cliù 's ar còirean

Seòlta mar a chaidh ar mealladh

Gu bhi measadh faoin ar teanga

Gus an robh i cnàmhte 's anfhann

An impis a bhi suaint san anairt —

Thog sinn strì 's cha b’ann le fòirneart

Ach le fonn is ruighl' is òran

Cha b’e caismeachd tromh na sràide

Ach tromh a buadhan grinn, a Ghàidhlig

Seinn is seinn, O seinn a nàbaidh, mireadh chasan, o hi

Seinn as ùr i, ar seann chànan, binneas bhilean, o ho

Once the land was a desert

There was no dancing shoe

There is hardly a mouth that could sing a verse in it

The marrow of the tribe as a tombstone

Believe in our enemies and their power

They demanded our complete suppression;

In law and education

They denied us our reputation and our rights

Clever as we were deceived

That our language was esteemed

Until she was exhausted and weak

The imminent snoring of the linen -

We fought not with violence

But with melody and reel 'and song

It was not a parade through the streets

But through her graceful virtues, her Gaelic

Sing and sing, O sing of thy neighbor, play of feet, o hi

Sing it anew, our old language, sweetness of lips, o ho