GF119i02 ÒRAN A' CHORD WOOD



Beulaiche: Dòmhnall Nìll Eòin Mhóir | Dan Neil MacNeil
Bàrd: Am Bàrd Ruadh , Lachlann MacMhuirich | Lachlann Currie



'S ann toiseach an earraich
Thòisich gearradh a' chord wood
'S bheir e [chain nan gallon?]
Gus a tharraing na lòdan
Sin far robh obair na dunaich
Bha i buileach is reòdhta
'S gann gun dh'amaisichinn [dh'amaisinn] buille
Leis na dh'fhuiling mi [dh'òl an déidh/dh'fhàilinn?] 
Le fuachd mo chas.



It was on Saturday morning
It was cold I can tell you
When I started alone
Across the old rocky barren
When I came to the cord wood
Through my soul it was terror
Snow shining like silver
Over the hills and the valley 
With all the frost.



This is the coldest season
That you never seen in this island
So frosty and windy
The hills are so icy
When traveling the roads
You are always in danger
Slipping, cursing, and squealing
Catching trees to defend you
Or break your neck.



[?] courage, my boys, don't mind the cold weather
When the summer returns
We always feels better
We got cash in abundance
To buy us tea and tobacco 
And plenty grog.



But wait just a minute. This is—this—seo agaibh Dòmhnall MacNìll. Tha e trì fichead 'sa dhà dheug a dh'aois.