Mur b'e thusa bhiiodh an Cuilithionn

'na mhur eagarra gorm

ag crioslachadh le bhalla-criche

na tha 'nam chridhe borb



Mur b'e thusa bhiodh a' ghaineamh

tha'n Talasgar dumhail geal

'na clar biothbuan do mo dhuilean

air nach tilleadh an run-ghath



'S mur b'e thusa bhiodh na cuantan

'nan luasgan is 'nan tamh

a' togail cair mo bhuadhan

'ga cur air suaimhneas ard



'S bhiodh am monadh donn riabhach

agus mo chiall co-shint'

ach chuir thusa orra riaghladh

os cionn mo phianaidh fhin



Agus air creachainn chein fhasmhoir

chinn blathmhor Craobh nan Teud

'na meangach duillich t'aodann

mo chiall is aogas reil



The Blue Rampart





But for you the Cuillin would be

an exact and serrated blue rampart

girdling with its march-wall

all that is in my barbarous heart



But for you the sand

that is in Talisker compact and white

would be a measureless plain to my expectations

and on it the spear desire would not turn back



But for you the oceans

in their unrest and their repose

would raise the wave crest of my mind

and settle it on a high serenity



And the brown brindled moorland

and my reason would co-extend

but you imposed on them an edict

above my own pain



And on a distant luxuriant summit

there blossomed the Tree of Strings

among its leafy branches your face

my reason and the likeness of a star