Ossian Collection > Songs of the Gael

6-MOnAG-JACOBITE SONG.
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M Mhorag chiatach a chuil dualaich I 'Sa do luaidh a tha air m 'aire, /
Morag with th« trcssei flovin;, I will praise thee with d« • vo-tion.
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MAgua O Mhor - ag, I ho - ro 'sna horo gheallaidh.lAgue o Mhor - ag.
Thenhoro, Moif • ag, h* • to, the lovely lady, Thenhoro^ Mor - cf.
IS ma dh' imlch thn null thar chuim i
6u ma luath a thig thu thairis.
'S cuimhnich, their leat bannal ghraagach
A luaidheas an cloth ruadh gu daingeann.
O cha leiginn thu do'n bhuaUidh
Obair thruaillidh sin nan cailean.
Gur h-i Morag ghrinn mo ghuanag
Aig am bail an cuailein barr-fhionn.
'S gaganach, bachlagach, cuachacb
Ciabhag na gruagaich glaine,
Do chill peucach sios 'na dhualaibh
Dhalladh e uaislean 1« lainnir,
Sio8 'na fheoirneinean mu'd ghuailnean,
Leadan cuaicheineach na h-ainnir.
'S iomaJh leannan a th' aig Morag
Eadar Mor-thir agus Arrainn.
'S iomadh gaisgeach deas de Ghaidheal
Nach obadh le m' ghradh-sa tarruing,
A rachadh le sgiathan 's le clkidhean
Air bheag sgath gu bial nan canan,
Chunnartaicheadh dol an ordugh
Thoirt do chorach mach a dh'aindeoin.
A righ, bu mhath 's an luath-laimh iad
Nuair a thkirneadh iad an lannan.
H-uile cloth a luaidh iad riamh dhuibh
Dh' fhag iad e gu ciatach daingeann.
Teann, tiugh, daingeann, fighte, luaidhto
Daitk ruadh air thuar na fala.
Greas thairis le d' mhnathan luadhaidh
'S theid na gruagaichean so mar-riut.
Agus o Mhorag, horo, '■ na horo gheallaidh.
Far too soon has been thy going ;
Soon come back across the (
Bring a band of maida for spreading
And for dressing cloth of scarlet.
Thou shalt not go to the steading,
Leave vUe work to loon and varlet
Oh, my Morag is the sweetest,
With her lovely locks in cluster.
Coiled and curled in folds the sweetest,
Gleaming bright with golden lustre ;
Glowing ringlets, golden gleaming.
Dazzle nobles who behold her ;
Yellow tresses round her streaming.
Fall in cascades on her shoulder.
Many a lover has my lady,
In the mainland and the Islands ;
Many a man with sword and plaidie
She coidd summon from the Highlands,
Who would face the cannon's thunder
Armed and for her honour plighted.
Driving hostile bands asunder
Bound to see our lady righted.
Certes, but our maids are clever
When they get their weapons ready,
Many a web they 've sorted ever
Firmly handled close and steady,
Thick and close and firm in pressing.
Bloody-red, a dye unfading;
Come then ^vitb thy maids for dressing,
We are ready here for aiding.
Then horo, Morag, horo, the lovely ladj.
Author- ALBXANDEB HACDONAID.
Morag repressata Friacs CharU*.