Ghairm an fhairge sìoth-shaimh rinne
Air crois Chaol Ile;
Gun d’fhuair a’ garbh-ghaoth shearbhghlòireach
Ordugh sìnidh.
Thog i uainn do dh’ionadaibh
Uachdrach an adhair,
’S chinn i dhuinn na clàr rèidh mìn-gheal
An deidh a tabhainn.
Thug sinn buidheachas don Ard-Rìgh
Chùm na dùilean
Deagh Chlann Raghnaill a bhith sàbhailt’
O bhàs brùideil.
An sin bheum sinn na siùil thana,
Bhallach, thùilinn,
’S leag sinn a croinn mhìn-dearg, ghasd’
Air fad a h-ùrlair.
Chuir sinn a-mach ràimh chaol
bhaisgeant’
Dhathte, mhìne
Den ghiuthas a bhuain MacBharrais
An Eilein Fhìonain.
Rinn sinn an t-iomradh rèidh tulganach,
Gun dearmad,
’S ghabh sinn deagh longphort aig barraibh
Charraig Fhearghais.
Thilg sinn acraichean gu socair
Anns an ròd sin;
Ghabh sinn biadh is deoch gun airceas
’S rinn sinn còmhnaidh. |
The sea proclaimed peace with us
At the fork of Islay Sound
And the hostile barking wind
Was ordered off the ground.
It went to the upper places of the air
And became a quiet
Glossy-white surface to us there
After all its riot,
And to God we made thanksgiving
That good Clanranald
Was spared the brutal death for which
The elements had wrangled.
Then we pulled down the speckled canvas
And lowered
The sleek red masts and along her bottom
Safely stored,
And put out the slender well-wrought oars
Coloured, and smooth to the hand,
Made of the pine cut by MacBharais
In Finnan’s Island,
And set up the right-royal, rocking, rowing,
Deft and timeous,
And made good harbour there at the top
Of Carrickfergus.
We threw out anchors peacefully
In that roadstead.
We took food and drink unstinting
And there we stayed. |
