Fàgail Bhornais
(Leaving Bornish)


Song by Donald MacDonald (Domhnall Ruadh macDomhnaill Ruadh). 1923.

He wrote this song in 1923 when hundreds of emigrants left the Western Isles in Scotland for Alberta in Canada on the SS Marloch (April 15th 1923) and SS Metagama (April 23rd 1923). Among them on board the SS Marloch were several families and his neighbours Alan MacDonald and Donald Mòr Macpherson from Bornish, South Uist.


Gur mi bha gòrach a' fàgail Bhòrnais,
An t-àite as bòidhche tha an-diugh fon ghrèin,
Ged tha clach ri faotainn is geugan fraoich
Tha talamh maoth ann is e farsaing rèidh.
A' chruit is brèagha air an deàlraich grian
Is Loch an Iasgair 's e shìos fo ceann,
Am breac cho lìonmhor dol dhan lìon
'S gach gnè de eunlaith mu a chladach thall.

Gur ann Didòmhnaich a dh'fhàg mi Bòrnais,
Bha m' inntinn brònach 's mi sileadh dheur,
Mi fhìn 's mo phàistean cur cùl rir n-fhàrdaich
Far am faighte tàmh agus cadal rèidh.
'S ann tha mi 'n-dràsta aig iomall fàsaich,
'S tha m' inntinn cràiteach 's cha dèan e feum.
Gur bochd an saoghal mar nì e caochladh
'S a tha mise nam aonar an seo leam fhìn.

Gur tric mi smaoineachadh air na caoraich
Air na maolaidhean dh'fhàg mi thall,
Aig Cnoc na Fèilleadh bidh iad nan treudan
'S an cìobair gleusta gan cumail ann,
'S iad fhèin 's na h-ògain dol suas gu Bòrnais,
B' e 'n sealladh bòidheach e aig an àm.
'S aig àm an rùsgaidh bidh airm gan tionndadh
'S a' chlòimh na dùnan air gach taobh den fhang.

Gur sinn bhiodh sunndach aig àm bliadhn' ùire
A' dèanamh sùgradh leis na gillean òga,
Mi fhìn 's mo chàirdean gu cridheil, bàidheil
Ag òl deoch-slàinteachan dhaoine còir.
San eilean uasal gun teas gun fhuachd ann
Ach gaoth a tuath nach dèan coire mhòr
Gun caidlinn suaineach an lagan luachrach
Gus an dùisginn suas anns a' mhadainn òig.

An àm bhith 'g èirigh sa mhadainn Chèitein
Bidh ceò air slèibhtean 's air bhàrr nam beann;
Bidh ciorrach mìn anns na glinn as ìsle
Is dealta mhìn a' toirt a-mach an fheòir.
Bidh crodh air cruaichean nam beanntan uasal
Gun sileadh fuar na gun reothadh mòr,
Gus an tig am buachaille bhios gan uallach
'S gun tog e suas iad ri bonn a' cheò.

Chan ionnan àite sa bheil mi 'n-dràsta
Bidh an teas gam chnàmh fhad 's bhios mi beò.
Bidh am fuachd gam chiùrradh an àm na Dùbhlachd
Le clogaid dhùbailt mar bhian a' ròin.
Cha tèid mi air chèilidh, cha dèan e feum,
Ach 's fheudar gèilltinn an seo rim bheò,
Mi dol bhom smaointinn 's an doras dùinte,
'S nach faigh mi null far bheil Dòmhnall Mòr.



Leaving Bornish

I was foolish leaving Bornish,
The most beautiful place under the sun,
Although it’s rocky and heathery
The land is flat and easy to work.
The most beautiful croft on which sun has shone
With Loch an Iasgair at its foot,
The salmon so plentiful
With varied birds down by the shore.

It was on Sunday that we left Bornish,
My mind was heavy as I shed some tears
Me and my children leaving our home
Where we lived and slept peacefully.
I am now on the edge of wilderness,
My mind is tortured and it does me no good
How unfortunate our world with its changes
And I’m now here all alone .

I often think of the sheep
The white faced I left behind
At Cnoc na Fèilleadh they would be huge flocks
With the quick shepherd keeping them together
The sheep and lambs heading up to Bornish
A grand spectacle at the time
At the time of shearing armies would be involved
With forts of wool stacked around the sheep-fold.

We would be jolly at New Year
Having fun with the younger boys,
With my relatives, affectionately and heartily
Raising toasts to kind people
In this noble island without heat nor cold
But a north wind that doesn’t cause much offense
I could sleep soundly in a hollow of rushes
Until I wakened in the early morn.

Awakening in the May morning
Mist on the moorland and top of hills.
A light drizzle in the lower glens
A sweet dew giving life to the grass.
The cattle on the noble hills
No cold rain or freezing frost
Until the herder who is responsible
Leads them up out of the mist.

Unlike the place where I now am
The heat erodes me as long as I live.
In December the cold is torturous
And I need to wear a hat made from seal fur
I can’t go for a cèilidh, it will do no good,
I have to accept that this is where I will live,
I’m with my thoughts with the door closed
I cannot go over and visit Dòmhnall Mòr.