Dhachaidh do Mhuile

John Angus MacLeod

Dhachaidh do Mhuile nach taitneach an smuain sin,

Dhachaidh do m’ Eilean an cabhaig a’gluasad;

Criomag de’n Chruinne na’s fhaisge air Nèimh leam,

Na Eileanan draoidheil an luib a’ Chuain Sèimh.

Mhuile, èisd rium an dràsd’.

Dhachaidh gu fàilte is furan an leòrachd,

Dhachaidh gu sàmhchair bho bhreislich nan ròidean;

Dhachaidh gu m’ chànan ‘s Mòd Ionadach Dhreòlluinn,

Gu ceòl agus ‘chòmradh an Gàidhlig na Fèinn.

Mhuile, èisd rium an dràsd’.

Deich bliadhn’ is tri fichead o’n Mhòd a bhi tùsail,

‘S iomadh neach ealanta sheas air d’ àrd-ùrlar;

‘S shiubhail Caol Muile a’croladh do chliù-sa

Fada is farsainn nar dùthaich ‘s thar chuain.

Mhuile, èisd rium an dràsd’.

Deagh àitean, chleas tràighean Chalgaraidh ‘s Chàrsaig,

Sreapan tha fallainn air d’ fhuar-bheannaibh àrda;

Sgith’s-cadail as eughmhais tulgadh no tàladh,

Seach ceòlraidh a’ Chuain uair a ghluais Mendelssohn.

Mhuile, èisd rium an dràsd’.

Rugadh an Ulbha an sàr-laoch MacGhuaire,

Cliù agus urram chaidh càrnadh mu ghuailnean;

Mòr-Thir Astràlia mheas e mar Uachd’ran,

‘S gu maireannach buan bidh luaidh ac’ air ainm.

Mhuile, èisd rium an dràsd’.

Ann am Bun Easan deagh chuimhne air Màiri,

Is a Laoidh luchdmhòr mu’n leanabh ‘san stàball;

Chluinnear ga seinn ann an iomadach àite,

Fhad’s a bhios anail san neach a tha beò.

Mhuile, sin dhut mo dhàn.

Home to Mull, what a wonderful thought,

Making haste, going home to Mull;

A little piece of Earth a little closer to Heaven for me,

Than any of the magical Pacific isles.

Mull, listen to me now.

Home to a warm welcome,

Home to peace away from the madness of the highways;

Home to my language and the Mull Local Mòd,

To music and to converse in the Gaelic of the Fingalians.

Mull, listen to me now.

Seventy years since the Mòd began,

Many’s the talented soul that has stood on your stage;

And who crossed the Sound of Mull on the strength of your reputation,

From far and wide, from home and abroad.

Mull, listen to me now.

Beautiful places such as Calgary and Carsaig beaches,

Good climbing to be had on your cool, high mountains;

A sound sleep without need of rocking or lullaby,

Just the music of the sea that once captivated Mendelssohn.

Mull, listen to me now.

The great man MacQuarrie was born in Ulva,

Many’s the honour was heaped on his shoulders;

He was granted governorship of Australia,

And he will be praised for ever.

Mull, listen to me now.

Mairi is well-remembered in Bunessan,

And her precious carol of the child in the manger;

To be heard sung in many places,

As long as there is breath in a body.

Mull, here’s my song for you.