Thoir mo shoraidh thar Ghunnaidh
Gu Muile nam mòr-bheann.
Hug òrann o-rò hù-bha hò,
Mo nighean donn bhòidheach.
Hug òrann ò-ro hù-bha hò.
Far an cluinnear a’ chuthag
Air gach bruthach ro Bhealltainn.
Chì mi ’m bàta ’s i tighinn
Is Iain ga seòladh.
Stiùir dìreach i Iain
Cùm tioram i Dhòmhnaill.
’S i an ciste chaoil chumhaing
Air a dùnadh ’s a gròbadh.
’S truagh nach robh mi san fhiabhras
Mun do chuir mi riamh eòlas.
Hug óireann o ró hu bha hó,
My beautiful, brown haired girl,
hug óireann ó ro hú bha hó.
Take my farewell across Gunna Sound to Mull of the high mountains,
Hug óireann o ró hu bha hó . . .
Where the cuckoo is heard on every brae before Beltane
Hug óireann o ró hu bha hó . . .
I see the boat coming, with John steering her.
Hug óireann o ró hu bha hó . . .
Keep her steady, lain, keep her dry, Donald.
Hug óireann o ró hu bha hó . . .
She lies in a narrow coffin, closed over and sealed.
Hug óireann o ró hu bha hó . . .
I wish I had succumbed to the fever before I ever made your acquaintance.
Hug óireann o ró hú bha hó . . .
