Capercaillie
Crosswinds
The Brown Rhybe
Oh, my brown Rhybe,
I have left you in displeasure and my mind is heavy!
That it was fifty that made my lion,
And there will be no bed without my brown ribbon.
It's a pity that I wasn't a poet
To tune his clarion and sing songs
And let the virtues tell
The nasal maidens,
About' my thoughts are every night and day.
How beautiful, the curls of the wheat reed
The girl who has troubled my heart,
How sweet is the conversation
The voice of the thrush;
'S I am sad since she chose about.
Though my sun goes under a shadow,
I will shine like an ion forever.
The shade will rise
And she will shine
And that I get health every day of my life.
The Brown Haired Maiden
Alas and woe is me, my brown haired maiden
The cause of my discontent and my heavy heart!
It is her beauty which has left me grieving< br/>And I cannot survive without her.
Would that I were a bard
Who could tune a harp and sing a song
So that I might extol the virtues
Of that gentle maiden
Who feels my thoughts both night and day.
Beautiful and luxuriant is the delicate hair
Of the maiden who has wounded my heart;
Her conversation is sweeter
Than the singing of the thrush
And I am filled with sorrow since she left me.
When the month of May comes to the heathery glen
And all the plants of the meadow into full bloom
It reminds me of my loved one,
The comely little flower which grew so tenderly.

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