³ This is the loveliest land under the
sun;
Robins sing from the ends of the
branches
And swallows happily frolic
together,
Their nests tucked under the
rafters.

⁴ At haymaking time, on an evening in
Autumn,
When the clouds would close in over
us,
Mounds of rolling ocean fog
Would settle like vapour on the
mountain tops.

⁵ When the sun would set in the
west,
When the dew would form on the
grass,
The voice of the birds was music to
me
As they eagerly sang from the
branches.

⁶ We would hear the clanging of
cow-bells
Worn by cattle on the side of the
glen,
The young calves would hide in the
thickets,
Tormented by ravenous flies.

³ Ait’s as maisich’ tha fo’n ghrein,
Smeoraich seinn air bharr nan geug;
Gobhlan-gaoithe cuichd ri cheil’
‘S an nead gleidhte fo na ceangail.

⁴ Feasgar foghair am an fheoir
Nuair a dhunadh oirnn na neoil,
Ceo na mara tighinn ‘na thorr,
‘S e ‘na sgleo air bharr nam
beannaibh.

⁵ Nuair theid a ’ghrian dha ’n aird’
an iar,
‘S a thig an dealt air an fheur,
‘S binne leam guth nan ian
Seinn cho dian air bharr nam
meangan.

⁶ Chluinnte “bellichean” le gliong
Air a ‘ chrodh ri taobh a ‘ ghlinn;
‘S na laoigh oga ‘stigh ‘s na tuim’
‘S iad fo chuing na cuileig sheanga.