Griogal Cridhe
(Beloved Gregor)

Scots Gaelic

Moch maduinn air Latha Lùghnasd
Mi sùgradh mar ri m'ghradh
Ach mu'n d’thàinig meadhon latha
Bha mo chridhe air a chràdh

'S iomadh oidhche fhliuch is thioram
Sìde nan seachd sian
Gheibheadh Griogal dhòmhsa creagan
Ris an gabhainn dìon

Òbhan, òbhan, òbhan iri
Òbhan iri ò
Òbhan, òbhan, òbhan iri
'S mòr mo mhulad, 's mòr


Nuair bhios mnathan òg a' bhaile
Nochd 'nan cadal sèimh
'S ann bhios mise air bruaich do lice
Bualadh mo dhà làimh

Chan eil ùbhlan idir agam
'S ùbhlan uil' aig càch
'S ann tha m'ubhal cùbhraidh caineal
'Cùl a' chinn ri làr

Dhìrich mi dhan t-seòmar mhullaich
'S theirinn mi 'n taigh-làir
'S cha d'fhuair mise Griogal Cridhe
Na shuidhe mun chlàr

Eudail mhòir a shluagh an domhain
Dhòirt iad d' fhuil an dè
'S chuir iad do cheann air stob daraich
Tacan beag bhod chrè

B'annsa bhith le Griogal Cridhe
Teàrnadh chruidh le gleann
Na le Baran mòr na Dalach
Sìoda geal mum cheann
Early morning on Lughnasa Day
I sported with my love
But before midday came
My heart was wounded

Many a night both wet and dry
Weather of the seven elements
Gregor would find for me a rocky shelter
Where I would take refuge

Obhan, obhan, obhan iri
Obhan iri o
Obhan, obhan, obhan iri
Great is my sorrow, great


While the young wives of the town
Serenely sleep tonight
I will be at the edge of your gravestone
Beating my two hands

I do not have any apples at all
While others have all the apples
But my apple is fragrant, spicy
The back of his head to the floor

I ascended to the topmost rooms
And I descended to the ground floor
And I did not find my beloved Gregor
Sitting at the table

Great sweetheart of all people of the world
They poured your blood yesterday
And they put your head on an oak stick
A short distance from your body

I would rather be with my beloved Gregor
Driving cattle down the glen
Than with the big Baron of Dall
With white silk around my head