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Capercaillie Beautiful Wasteland Am Mur Gorm 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 |
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