We’d a life that many would envy,
Though like innocent children, then we knew it not.
The land gave us life and we served it in turn,
Till the landlords sent men, our houses to burn.
Driven from our ancient homelands,
Forced to eke a living from a hostile sea,
They’ve taken our meagre possessions,
But they cannot take away our memory.

                    For every field I will remember,
CHO            Every flower that grew on every hedge,
RUS             Every herb that could cure every ailment,
                     Every sound made by the wind.

They burned our muir pastures and haystacks,
Our cattle, raw ribbed, fell to pestilence or starved,
Potatoes and kale, they allowed to spoil,
Leaving to their sheep, the fruits of our toil.
Forbid us to take our roof timbers,
Made of them a bonfire the whole valley could see;
Sent us to shiver on the shoreline,
Of a barren land with hardly a tree.    (CHORUS)

Our ministers offered us guidance,
Said we should obey those who God had made our judge.
Promised to follow us down to the coast,
But I do not know of one who made good that boast.
Told us to fish for the herring,
Like the disciples did upon Galilee,
Sent out in boats many highlanders,
Who sweated in terror at the sight of the sea.   (CHORUS)

The young will nae brook their new slavery,
And for America they’ll begin to leave,
But I think I’m too old to make such a trip,
And I’m damned if I’ll set foot on any English ship.
I’ll die here an exile from the valleys,
That once rang with laughter, but where I learned to weep,
Far from the mountains of my childhood,
That emptily echo now, the bleating of sheep.  (CHORUS)
 

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