Mo Mhaigdean Òg
’S a’ mhadainn moich mun èirich grian,
Mun liath i air na neòil,
Mun cluinn mi ceilearadh nan eun,
Mun crom iad beul gu ol;
Bi mise falbh gu socair, balbh
A’ shealbhachdadh ar loin;
Gur gann gun dùin mi ’n dorus lium
Mun dùisg mo mhaighdean òg.
Nuair bhios mi coiseachd sìos an t-sràid
Air madainn shàmhach reòt,
Nuair bhios mi deas fu dol an sàs,
’S a’ gheibh mi ‘n spàinn ‘s an t-òrd,
Nuair bhios mi shuas guh-àrd san stuaidh
‘S am breige ruadh nam dhòrn,
’S e fàth mo shunnd, mo chuspair ciuil,
Mo rùn, mo mhaighdean òg.
Mur shòbhrach bheag ri taobh an uillt,
A-stigh fochruim nan sgòrr,
Mar neòinean mìn-gheal, caoin-gheal grin, A’ fàs an luib an fheòir,
Mar ghucag-uisg’ as gile lìth
Tha muineal mìn na h-òigh;
’S le fuil mo chuim gun sgrìobhainn ruin,
Air blàth mo mhaighdinn òig.
Translations of this Poem
Mo Mhaigdean Òg
Translator: Bill Innes
Early morn ere sun has dawned
To touch the clouds with light
Before the birds begin their song
Or dip their beaks to drink,
I creep out silent, quiet
To earn our daily bread,
Afraid to close the door behind
Lest I wake my little maid.
When walking down the street
On peaceful frosty morn,
When about to start my work
With trowel and hammer set,
When I’m up on gable high
With red brick in my hand.
My source of joy, my music’s theme
My love, my little maid.
As little primrose by the stream
Under the curve of cliff
As pure white daisy, neat and pale
Growing among grass,
As water lily of whitest hue
Is the smooth throat of my girl;
With breast’s blood I’d write a verse
On the bloom of my young maid
About this poem
Part of a longer song of love for his second daughter, Catherine.
Learn more
Donald Macintyre
Donald Macintyre lived through two world wars. He was one of Gaelic’s finest traditional bards from an era when Dr James Delargy of the Irish Folklore Commission spoke of South Uist as
