Lieder , opus 23

There's a ship lies off Dunvegan,
An' she longs to spread her wings,
An' through a' the day she beckons,
An' thro' a' the nicht she sings!

"Come awa', awa', my darlin',
Come awa', awa', wi' me, and fly
To a land that is fairer, kinder,
Than the moors and the hills o' Skye.

Oh, my heart! My weary, weary heart!
There's ne'er a day goes by 
But it turns hame to Dunvegan,
By the storm-beat hills o' Skye.

I hae wandered miles fu' many,
I hae mark'd fu' many a change,
I hae won me gear in plenty,
In this land sae fair, but strange.

Yet at times a spell is on me,
I'm a child, a child once again to rin
On the hills aboon Dunvegan,
An' the kind sea shuts me in.

Oh, my heart! My weary, weary heart!
There's ne'er a day goes by 
But it turns hame to Dunvegan,
By the storm-beat hills o' Skye.

Wenn zwei von einander scheiden,
So geben sie sich die Händ',
Und fangen an zu weinen,
Und seufzen ohne End'.

Wir haben nicht [geweinet]1,
Wir seufzten nicht Weh und Ach!
Die [Tränen und die Seufzer]2,
Die kamen hinten nach.

Oft when two fond hearts must sever
 . . . . . . . . . .

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