Saddest of Scottish songs

Mo chràdhghal bochd
mar a tha mi nochd
's mi gun tamh, gun fhois, gun sunnd.

Gun sùrd ri stàth,
gun dùil ri bhith slàn,
chaidh mo shùgradh gu bràth air chùl.

Mu dheagh mhac Ruairidh nan long,
làmh a libhrigeadh bhonn
's a bha measail air fonn luchd-ciùil.

'S e bhith smuaineachadh ort
a chràidh mi am chorp
is a chnàmh na roisg bho m' shùil.

Mi ri smuaintean bochd truagh
is ri iomradh baoth buan,
's mi gad ionndrainn-sa bhuam, 's tu b'fhiù.

Deagh shealgair am frìth
bha gun cheilg do thaigh rìgh,
agus seirbheiseach dìleas crùin.

Tha do chinneadh fo ghruaim
's gach aon fhine m'an cuairt
o'n la ghrinnicheadh d'uaigh 's a' chrùist.

Mu 'n t-sàr-ghaisgeach dheas threun
ann am batail nan ceud
cha bu lapach 's an leum od thu.

Làmh churanta chruaigh
ann an iomairt 's gach buaidh;
chan urrainn domh d'uaisle, rùin.

Do thaigh-talla fo ghruaim
's e gun aighear gun uaill
far 'm bu mhinig a fhuair sinn cuirm.

My sad, tormented weeping -
I am weeping before you;
I cannot rest, I have no peace, no joy.

I cannot make myself do anything,
I cannot imagine being healthy,
All the pleasure I used to take in life has gone.

For Ruairidh son of the great ships,
a man generous to singers,
who respected our songs, is no more.

It is thinking of you
which has tortured my flesh.
It has chewed the eyelids from my eyes.

My thoughts are sorrowful and wretched.
I think of you, I miss you, it's no use
but you are worthy of such thoughts.

Skilled hunter in the deer-park
and loyal to the royal house,
an honest-hearted servant of the Crown.

Your family are in mourning,
as is everyone around you,
since your coffin was made ready in the vault.

First among heroes
in the battle of hundreds,
you were never one to fumble or to falter.

Your hand stern and brave,
in every battle winning victory -
I will get no more support from your gentlity.

Now your great house is in gloom,
with no pomp and no merriment.

Once we were feasted there.


This song has a piercing tune to accompany it, sung in falsetto before sinking into a mournful tenor. It takes immense control to sing it, which is one of the paradoxes of the song - discipline and abandonment, words of deep personal loss combined with the formal compliments of courtly elegy.