Classic Poem

Horinn o ho irir io,
Horinn o ho irir io,
Horinn o hiri uo,
'tis my homeland I deserted.

Though we have been settled
with Lowlanders for a season,
'tis my country I think of,
nor would I wish to disown it.
Horinn o ho irir io, &c.

Though we must be resigned
to everything that befalls us,
yet to visit the Brae
would be better than the lowlands.

Smooth though the streets be
'twere better far to be at shieling,
in the forest of the high bens
and of cosy pastures.

For some time harsh English
has assailed our ears daily:
'twas our natural bias,
from our sires, to speak Gaelic.

Though the Lowlands are famous
for trading and fashion,
our earnest wish is to go home,
and be close to our friends;

to be in Kirkton of Dysart,
seeing our kinsfolk:
this land would delight us,
for 'tis it that has bred us.

'Twas not the way of those people
to be at strife or at variance,
but to take pleasure in life
and to be loving like brethren.

What time we sat in the inn,
enjoying ditties and music,
our songs would be tuneful
and frequent our drinking of toasts.

They were the men to climb crags,
bearing their dark-blue guns,
men who would fire the powder
against a veteran stag.

'Twas the desire of the lads
to fare forth with the rods,
to fix reins on the salmon:
'twas not usual for him to escape them.

For hunting the mountain,
or for fishing a current,
for every task demanding manliness
great is the Gaels' distinction.