Nuair thriallas bhuainn na bliadhnaichean
   Thig iargain oirnn is gruaim,
Bidh imcheist air ar n-inntinnean
   Is iomachruth air ar snuadh;
Bidh dòigh is beachdan ùr' againn,
   'S ar cùrs' air tighinn mun cuairt
Na rubhaichean thug riasladh dhuinn
   'S chum sìos sinn air ar cuairt.

Cha tàinig e don t-saoghal seo
   'S cha tig a h-aon gu bràth -
Cho goirid 's gum bi 'n ùin' aige
   Ma chì a shùil an là -
Nach fiosraich trioblaid thalmhaidheach
   Measg soirbheachaidh is bàidh,
Cho aithghearr 's gum bi chuairt againn
   Tha duais dhuinn anns a' bhàs.

Ma gheibh sinn àireamh bhliadhnaichean
   Mun iarrar sinn a-null,
Bidh iomaluaisg agus deacaireachd
   Is dearmail tighinn dhuinn dlùth;
Bidh meirg a' tighinn le màirnealachd
   'S théid mànranachd air chùl -
Ar n-inntinn fàsaidh riaghailteach,
   Is riaspach gun chus sunnd.

Air ais gur tric a' sealltainn sinn
   Mun gheall a fhuair sinn òg
(A chosg ar n-ùin' a' geòbraich)
   Gun gheamhradh ri tighinn òirnn:
Bha buailtean gorma 's raointean
   Ann am faoineasan na h-òig'
Gun smaoin air gaoth an eara-dheas
   Far na fairge dol thighinn òirnn.

Na caistealan gun d'dhìrich iad
   Le stìopaill do na speur'
Gun stéidhe-bhuinn ro chinnteach
   Mar a dh'innseas dhuinn an sgeul!
An-diugh chan fhaic mi sgeul orra,
   Sann thuit iad sìos gu léir -
Ged b' iol-cheàrnach 'n cuid sheòmraichean
   Si chòinneach nach do thréig.

Nuair chì mi madainn bhòidheach
   Bheir i m' òig' thugam as ùr
'S mi cuimhneachadh nan sòlasan
   'S cho bòidheach 's a bha gach flùr;
Ach thàinig tuiltean geamhraidh
   A chuir loinn nan crann fo smùr
'S cha léir dhomh nis ach sìorraidheachd
   Is crìonadh anns an ùir.

An Uibhist ghorm nan stùcan
   Far 'm bu dùthchasach an ceòl
A dh'fhosgail mi mo shùilean -
   Toiseach dùdlachd madainn m' òig';
'S ged dh'fhàiltich sneachd' a' gheamhraidh mi
   Aig doras gleann nan deòir,
Bha slàn-lusan is cluarain ann
   Nach mill gaoth tuath no reòdh.

Soraidh leat, a leughadair,
   'S na ruith leat fhéin don chùil -
Cha teich thu air an t-sìorraidheachd,
   Si 'chrìoch agad co-dhiù;
Gheibh am bàs a chòirichean
   (Tha 'n t-òrdagh aig' on chrùn)
Nuair dh'àithneas Rìgh na Glòrach
   A tha còmhnaidh os ar cionn.

The Passage of Time

When the years start escaping us
   We grow worried and morose,
Anxiety preys on our minds
   And our looks begin to change;
We develop new ways and opinions,
   Because our course has come around
Those headlands that bedevilled us
   And held us back upon our voyage.

The man has never come into this world
   And nor will he ever come -
No matter how short his time may be
   Should his eye see the day at all -
Who suffers no worldly distress
   In the midst of success and love,
For no matter how swift be our voyage
   It's in death we receive our reward.

If we get a reasonable number of years
   Before we're asked to go over,
Difficulty and confusion
   And anxiety will affect us;
Rust will set in from paralysis
   And high spirits will be lost -
Our minds will be set in a groove,
   Confused and lacking in joy.

Often do we look back
   On the idea we had when we were young
(When we spent our time in blethering)
   That no winter would ever afflict us:
Such green pastures and fields
   Were but the vanities of youth
Without the thought of the south-east wind
   That would blow on us off the sea.

How those castles rose up
   With towers to the skies
Without too sure a foundation
   As we're told by the tale!
I see no trace of them today,
   For they have all fallen down -
Though their rooms had many corners
   The moss hasn't left them alone.

When I see a beautiful morning
   It brings me back to my youth
And I remember the pleasures
   And how lovely was each flower;
But the floods of winter arrived
   Which obscured the shape of the trees
And all I see now is eternity
   And rotting in the grave.

It's in blue-green Uist of the mountains
   Where music was in people's blood
That I first opened my eyes -
   Early doldrums the dawn of my youth;
And though winter snow was my welcome
   At the door of the valley of tears,
There were healing plants and thistles
   Which no north wind or frost can destroy.

Farewell to you, dear reader,
   And don't run to hide in a corner -
You can't escape eternity,
   It's your destiny whatever;
Death will obtain his rights
   (He has a mandate from the crown)
When the King of Glory commands
   Who dwells above our heads.