Julie Fowlis - A Mhic Dhùghaill 'ic Ruairidh (Son Of Dougal, Son Of Ruairidh) lyrics

A Mhic Dhùghaill 'ic Ruairidh A chuir am buaireadh fo m' chèill-sa A chuir an tainead mo ghruaidhean 'S dh' fhàg mo ghruag air dhroch ghrèidheadh Mo mhìle mallachd dha m' phiuthar Nighean bhuidhe a' chùil stèidhtich 'S gura diombach mi dha m' mhàthair Ged is màthair i dhòmhsa 'S gura buidheach mi dha m' athair 'S e nach cuireadh droch-sgeul orm 'S mo mhìle mallachd dhan bhuachaill A bha 'g uallach na sprèidhe Mac bodachain shuaraich Dha 'm bu dual bhith an gleann geugach Chaidh a dhùsgadh nam balach Moch sa mhadainn man èirich Air thoiseach bha triùir ann 'S air thùs bha dà-reug ann Thuirt mo bhràthair bu shine Ligibh na balaich gu chèile Thuirt mo bhràthair a b' òige Chan e chòir ach an eucoir 'S ann a' dìreadh a' ghàrraidh A' leig thu ghràidh a cheud èigh às 'S ann a' teàrnadh a' bhruthaich A fhuair thu am bruthadh a lèir thu 'S gu robh fuil do chom chùbhraidh A' sruladh troimh d' lèinidh 'S ged a dh' òl mi ghaoil pàirt dheth Cha do shlànaich do chreuchdan O nach robh mi 's tu m'eudail Am Baile Pheairt na Dùn Èideann Na 'n tìr nam fear dubha Nan Còigeamh Mumhann na h-Eirinn Man do chuir mi riamh ùidh annad Lùb ùr a' chùil cheutaich. Son of Dougal, son of Ruairidh, who greatly challenged my senses You thinned my cheeks and left my hair unkempt My curse on my sister, yellow haired girl of wavy hair I am resentful of my mother although she is my own I am thankful to my father, he that would not put a bad tale on me A thousand curses on the cow-herd, who was watching the cattle Son of a diminutive mean man, that should be in a glen of branches Who went to waken the boys early morning before rising At first there were three, then at last there were twelve My older brother said, let the boys go together? My younger brother said, it is not right but unjust It was climbing the garden, you gave the first shout darling It was descending the slope, you got the fatal blow And your blood on your lovely chest, pouring through your shirt Although I drank, my love, some of it, it did not heal your wounds O that I and you my love were in Perth or Edinburgh Or in the land of the black men, or Munster of Ireland Before I ever showed interest in you, smart young fellow of the beautiful rear!