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Oh mo dhúthaich' stu th'air m'aire Uibhist chúmhraidh úr nan gallan Far a faighte na daoin' uaisle Far'm bu dual do Mhac 'ic Ailein Tir a' mhurain, tir an eorna Tir 's am pailt a h-uile seorsa Far am bi na gillean óga Gabhail òran's g`ól an lionna Thig iad ugainn, carach seólta Gus ar mealladh far ar n-eólais; Molaidh iad dhuinn Manitoba, Dúthaich fhuar gun ghual, gun mhóine. Cha leig mi leas 'a bith 'ga innse, Nuair ruigear, 'sann a chithear, Samhradh goirid foghar sitheil, Geamhradh fada na droch-shide. Nam biodh agam fhin de storas Da dheis aodaich, paidhir bhrogan Agus m'fharadh bhith 'nam phóca' Sann air Uibhist dheanainn seóladh. |
Oh my country, you are on my mind Fresh fragrant Uist of the saplings Where the noble men are found Who gave their hereditary allegiance to Mac ic Ailein. Land of seabed, land of barley Land of abundance of every kind Where the young lads will be Singing songs and drinking beer They will come to us cunning and wily In order to entice us from our homes They will praise Manitoba to us A cold country with no coal and no peat I don't need to say that when we reach it we'll see it A short summer and a peaceful autumn A long winter of bad weather If I had riches A change of clothes and a pair of shoes And my prayer in my pocket It is to Uist I would be sailing | ||