Girl of the red-gold hair

Girl of the red-gold hair,
far from you, o love, my aim;
girl of the red-gold hair,
far from you my sorrow.

Tonight on the Sound of Raasay
my hand is on the helm,
listlessly the wind shakes the sail,
my heart is dumb, aching for your music,
today and tomorrow indifferent to my expectation.

Grey is the mist that creeps over Dun Caan,
fretful the coarse moor grass and bog cotton,
the west wind touches the surface of the sea,
my hopes are gone, gloom overshadows me.

A white cleft to the bottom of the wave,
the wind skirls round the tip of the mast,
but let it blow, I am indifferent
to a battle awakening on a bare sea.

Girl of the red-gold hair,
far from you, o love, my aim,
girl of the red-gold hair,
very far from you my sorrow.