CAPE BRETON ANTHEM - ÒRAN DO CHEAP BREATAINN
Midi

GAELIC

'S e Ceap Breatainn tìr mo ghràidh,
Tìr nan craobh, 's nam beanntan àrd';
'S e Ceap Breatainn tìr mo ghràidh,
Tìr is àillidh leinn air thalamh.

'S bho'n a tha mi anns an àm,
Còmhnaidh ann an tìr nam beann;
'S ged a tha mo Ghàidhlig gann,
Ni mi rann do thìr nan gleannan.

Chan urrainn dhomhsa chur air dòigh
No chur sios le briathran beoil;
Na tha do mhaise agus do ghlòir,
Comhnaidh ann an tìr nam beannachd.

Àit' as maisich' tha fo'n ghréin,
Smeòraich seinn air bhàrr nan geug;
Gobhlain-gaoithe cluich ri chéil',
'S an nead' gléidhte fo na ceangail.

Feasgar foghair ám an fheòir,
'N uair a dhùnadh oirnn na neòil;
Ceò na mara tighinn 'n a thòrr,
'S e 'n a sgleò air bhàrr nam beannan.

'N uair théid a' ghrian dhan àird an iar,
'S a thig an dealt air an fhiar;
'S binne leam guth nan ian,
Seinn cho dian air bhàrr nam meangan.

Chluinnte "bellichean" le gliong,
Air a' chrodh ri taobh a' ghlinn'
'S na aoigh òga stigh 's na tuim,
'S iad fo chuing na cuileig seangaich.

Anns a' gheamhradh, ám an fhuachd
Ám nam bainnsean, ám nan luadh;
Chluinnte gillean air cléith-luaidh,
'S gruagaich' le guth' cruaidh 'g an leanaid.

'N uair bhiodh am fùcadh ulamh réidh,
Chuirt' an fhidheall sin air ghleus;
Dhannsamaid air ùrlar réidh,
Gur e "Cabar Féidh" bu mhath leinn.

Chìte cailleach ghasda, chòir
Tighinn mu'n cuairt a thomhas a' chlò;
An cromadh aice air a dòrn.
'S cha robh dòigh ac' air a mealladh.

'S e chuir mise nochd fo bhròn,
Cuimhneachadh air làithean m'òig;
Feadhainn a bhiodh leinn ri spòrs,
Gu bheil cuid diubh nach'eil maireann.

'S ged a dh'fhalbh a' chuid sin bhuainn,
Chaithis iad dhan dachaidh bhuan;
Ann am pàileas Rìgh an t-sluaigh,
Far'eil sòlas, buan bhios maireann.

Am Framboise fhuair mi m'àrachd òg,
Ann an nàbachd Chloinn Mhic Leòid;
'S tric bha sinn ri mir' is spòrs,
Làithean sòlasach nach maireann.

Chan urrainn dhomh-sa leth dhuibh ìnns'
Na tha mhaisealachd 's an tìr;
Stadaidh mi bho'n tha mi sgith,
Beannachd leibh, is oidhche mhath leibh.
ENGLISH

Cape Breton is the land that I love,
Land of trees and high mountains;
Cape Breton is the land that I love,
For us it is the most beautiful land on earth.

I was residing at the time,
In the land of the mountains;
And though my Gaelic is not too good,
I will compose a verse to the land of the glens.

I cannot easily attempt
To put down by word of mouth;
All the beauty and bliss
To be round in the land of the hills.

The most beautiful land under the sun,
Where thrushes sing on top of the branches;
Swallows fitting around together,
And their tidy nest under the rafters.

On an autumn evening in the mist,
When the skies would close in on us;
The sea fog drifting in,
Shrouding the tops of the mountains.

When the sun sinks in the west,
And the dew comes down;
Sweet to me is the bird song,
Continuously heard in the bushes.

We hear the sound of the bells
On the cattle in the glens;
The young calves close beside them,
Restricted by the noisy lowing.

In the winter, the cold time
Time for weddings, time for waulkings;
The young men are heard at the milling board,
And the girls singing along with clear voices.

As we got used to the cold,
The fiddle would be played;
We would dance on a cleared floor,
Caber Feidh (Solo Piper)was our favourite tune.

We would see the good kindly old woman
Coming round to measure the tweed;
She would measure it with the full length of her fist.
There was no way to deceive her.

What has left me sad tonight,
Is remembering my young days;
Those who passed the time with us in Scotland,
Some of them are not alive.

Though some of them have left us,
They have everlasting life;
In the paradise of the King of Hosts,
Where there is joy forever more.

I spent my youth in Framboise,
In the neighbourliness of the MacLeods;
Many a time we had lots of fun,
In the long happy days.

I cannot recount half my thoughts
On the beauties of the land;
I shall finish as I am tired,
Farewell and goodnight to you.

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