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Uspag

cuide ri Rachel Walker

Written by Marcas Mac an Tuairneir and Rachel Walker

Produced by Adam Holmes

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Uspag

Bu bhròn do naidheachd chluinntinn

is breòthadh dòchais bha na cois,

oir b’ esan fiuradh gaoith’ dì-bheathte,

’s do ghnùis gu sois an sloc a’ bhois.

 

Na biodh d’ aire air na chaill thu,

ach d’ aghaidh ris na thig,

oir nuair sgapas uspag-shamhraidh

’s dathan-fhoghair bhios beò air cnuic

 

Agus ’s tu mhair slàn tron iùnnrais,

ged bu rag a’ ghèil’ aig Deas,

mar sin guidheam do dhùil ri aiteal

’s air ais gu aoibhneas, bheir e thu suas.

 

Bu dhiùid mi naidheachd innse

air na shir mi fad nam bliadhn’,

ged as mòr do shonas fialaidh

ron ghàire gràidh a shoillsich m’ fhiamh.

 

Na biodh cuimhne air a mhì-rùn

ach airson leasan dhèanamh dheth

is tuigs’ nas fheàrr air fuachd a’ Gheamhraidh,

bheir mealadh ’n Fhoghair ’s a’ chagailt teth,

 

Oir is tu mhair slàn tron iùnnrais,

ged bu rag a’ ghèil’ aig Deas,

mar sin guidheam do dhùil ri aiteal

’s air ais gu aoibhneas, bheir e thu suas.

 

Diùlt ionndrainn uspaig-shamhraidh,

am measg gaothan ’s fèath na fàir’,

a shèideas ’s chrìonas rè na h-aimsir,

oir gèillidh tìde crannaidh do bhlàths.

 

Nàile ’s tu mhair slàn tron iùnnrais,

gus fathan saoirse fhaighinn mud chridhe.

’S gach plathag ’s oiteag tha nad chomas

is seann slìgh’ fhàgail le deagh ghuidhe.

I was sad to hear your news,

the rotten hopes that came with it,

he’d been a welcome balmy zephyr,

with your face snug in the hollow of his palm.

 

Pay no heed to that you lost,

but turn to face that which surely comes,

because when summer breezes dissipate

autumnal hues come alive on the hills

 

And you made it through the tempest,

despite the stubborn southern gale,

so I hope you expect a swell to return you,

lifted to elation.

 

I was shy to tell my news

of what I’ve sought for many years,

though your goodwill was so generous,

seeing the smile on my love-drunk face.

 

Keep your memory from his tempers

unless it offers you a lesson,

it’s in understanding winter chills

you enjoy Autumn, and the hearth’s heat,

 

Because you made it through the tempest,

despite stubborn southern gales,

so I hope you expect a swell to return you,

lifted to elation.

 

Refuse to long for summer breezes,

amongst the winds, the horizon’s calm,

which billows and withers with the seasons,

as biting weathers succumb to warmth.

 

Indeed, you made it through the tempest,

finding fair wind freedom in your heart.

Each gust and squall at your command,

leaving an old path with all the best.