8. Cànan nan Gàidheal | Lyrics

Coronatus - Cànan nan Gàidheal

Cha b'e sneachda 's an reóthadh bho thuath

Cha b'e `n crannadh geur fuar bho `n ear

Cha b'e `n t-uisge 's a'ghaillionn bho `n iar

Ach an galair a bhlian bho `n deas

Blàth, duilleach, stoc, agus freumh

Cànan mo threubh 's mo shluaidh

[Chorus:]

Thig thugainn, thig cò'ruim gu siar

Gus an cluinn sinn ann cánan nam Féinn

Thig thugainn, thig cò'ruím gu siar

Gus an cluinn sinn ann cànan nan Gáidheal

Nuair chithear fear-féilidh'sa ghleann

Bu chinnteach gur Gáidhlig a' chainnt

Nuair a spion iad a threumh as an fhonn

`N àite Gàldhlig tha cánan a ghoill

`S a Ghaidhealtachd creadhal-nan-sonn

`S tir "Mhajors" is "Cholonels" `n diugh innt'

[Chorus]

"Thoir a nuas dhuinn na coinnleirean òr

'S annt caraibh na coinnlean geal cèir

Lasaibh suas iad an seòmair a'bhròin

Tigh-aire seann chànan a' Ghàidheil"

'Se siud o chionn fhad' thuirt an námh

Ach fhathast tha beò cànan a' Gàidheal

[Chorus]

Ged theich i le beath' às na glinn

Ged na cluinnear a-nis muigh i's an Dùn

O Dhùthaich MhicAoidh, fada tuath

Gu an ruig thu Druim-Uachdar nam bò

Gidheadh, anns na n-Eileanan Siar

'Si fhathast ann ciad chàinnt an t'sloigh

[English translation:]

Tha Language of the Gael

It was not the snow and the frost from the north

It was not the sharp, cold blasts from the east

It was not the rain and the storms from the west

But the disease from the south that has starved

The bloom, foliage, stalk and root

Of the language of my race and my people

Come with us, come with me to the west

Until we hear the language of the Fein

Come with us, come with me to the west

Until we hear the language of the Gael

When a killed man was seen in the glen

It was certain that Gaelic was his language

But they have torn his roots from the ground

In place of Gaelic is the Lowlander's language

And the Highlands, cradle of heroes

Today is the land of majors and colonels

"Bring us down the golden candlesticks

And place in them candles of white wax

Light them in the chamber of sorrow

The wake-house of the Gael's old language"

That's what the enemy has long been saying

But the language of the Gael still lives

Although she escaped with her life from the glens

Although she's not heard in the castle

From Mackay's county in the far north

As far as Drumochter of the cattle

Nevertheless in the Western Isles

She is still the mother tongue of the people