CHUALA mi guth binn nan eala,
Ann an dealachadh nan trath,
Glugalaich air sgiathaibh siubhlach,
Cur nan cura dhiubh gu h-ard.
Ghrad sheas mi, cha d’ rinn mi gluasad,
Suil dh’an tug mi bhuam co bha
Deanamh iuil air an toiseach?
Righinn an t-sonais an eala bhan.
Bha seo air feasgar Di-aona,
Bha mo smaontan air Di-mart--
Chaill mi mo chuid ’s mo dhaona
Bliadhn o’n Aona sin gu brath.
Ma chi thu eala air Di-aona,
Moch ’s a mhaduinn fhaoilidh, agh,
Bidh cinneas air do chuid ’s do dhaona,
Do bhuar cha chaochail a ghnath.
I HEARD the sweet voice of the swans,
At the parting of night and day,
Gurgling on the wings of travelling,
Pouring forth their strength on high.
I quickly stood me, nor made I move,
A look which I gave from me forth
Who should be guiding in front?
The queen of luck, the white swan.
This was on the evening of Friday,
My thoughts were of the Tuesday--
I lost my means and my kinsfolk
A year from that Friday for ever.
Shouldst thou see a swan on Friday,
In the joyous morning dawn,
There shall be increase on thy means and thy kin,
Nor shall thy flocks be always dying.