I learned this as a child from my
Aunt Beanto, who later taught it to
Ann. It is a translation of a Gaelic
song from the Hebrides, and even the
surviving Gaelic in the chorus has
suffered some grammatic misfortunes
over the years.
Thanks to Jean Redpath for additional
words, and thanks to the various people
who have, at one time or another, sent
me their written versions of the song.
This version is a compilation of all
of the above. (GB)
The chorus, as translated by Lachlan
MacBean in Alfred Moffat's The Minstrelsy
of the Scottish Highlands, may be sung:
O, my boatman,
na horo aila;
O, my boatman,
na horo aila;
O, my boatman,
na horo aila,
May joy await thee,
where'er thou sailest. (SP)
Fear a' bhata, na horo aila,
Fear a' bhata, na horo aila,
Fear a' bhata, na horo aila,
Mo shoraidh slan dhuit's gach
ait a teid -thu.
Forever haunting the highest hilltop,
I scan the ocean, thy sails to see.
Wilt come tonight, love, wilt come
tomorrow,
Wilt ever come, love, to comfort me?
They call you fickle, they call you
false-one;
They seek to change me, but all in
vain,
For thou art with me throughout the
dark night,
And every morning I watch the main.
There's not a hamlet but well I know it
Where you go walking or stay awhile,
And all the old folk you win with
talking,
And charm its maidens with song and
smile.
From passing boatmen I would
discover
If they had heard of or seen
my lover.
I'm never answered; I'm only chided
And told my heart has been sore
misguided.
(chorus sung twice at end)