‘S ged a bhiodh i a’ togail a’ ghrian
bhò brù mhi-thorrach, bhalbh nan caileach,
cha d’tèid an t-earrach gun pian mhòr
dhan duthaich fuadaichte seo
‘S ma bhios aon òran a-mhain na beul,
cha phòs mi idir;
‘s diùlt mi ‘nseo suas a’ falach
craidhnichean ar càinnt
fo còta de teangan gallda.
Though she would raise the sun
from the barren, silenced womb of the crone,
the spring would not come without great agony
to this banished country
of my people.
And if there was but one single song resting in her mouth
I would never marry her;
From now on, I refuse to hide the skeletons of our language
under a coat made of foreign tongues.