Rest, Warrior! War is over,
Sleep your sleep, nothing shall wake you,
Do not dream of the wild fight,
[Not]1 of days and nights filled with terror.
 
In the magical halls of the island
Shall a soft slumber song
Waft about your weary head,
To the sounds of the magical harp.
 
Fairies with invisible hands
To your resting place shall
Send lovely slumber-blossoms
That bloom in the land of magic.
 
Rest, Warrior! War is over,
Sleep your sleep, nothing shall wake you,
Do not dream of the wild fight,
Not of days and nights of terror.
 
Not the wild beating of the drums,
Not the commanding word of war,
Not the blaring of the horns of death
Shall chase away your slumber.
 
Not the stamping of wild horses,
Not the fearsome cry of the watch,
Not the image of the day's hardships
Shall disturb your quiet night.
 
But the morning songs of the larks
Shall gently waken your slumbering ear,
And the sounds of the swamp birds
That rise from the reeds and rushes.
 
Rest, Warrior! War is over
Sleep your sleep, nothing shall wake you,
Do not dream of the wild fight,
Not of days and nights of terror.

Huntsman, rest after the hunt.
May gentle sleep settle over you,
Do not dream, when the sun awakens,
That hunting horns are rousing you.

Sleep. The deer is resting in the cave,
Your hounds are keeping watch by you,
Sleep, do not let your soul be disturbed
By the fact that your noble horse has died.

Huntsman, rest after the hunt.
May gentle sleep settle over you,
When the young day awakens,
No hunting horn is going to wake you up. 

Triumph, he is approaching, hail to the hero,
Ever green spruce, take our blessing!
Long, long may you blossom in his bright shining banner,
Oh tree, you protector and jewel of our line!
Heaven, pour your dew on it,
Earth, give it new sap,
So that it will bud with joy, and spread out wide!
And let every valley in the Highlands
Echo with the exultant cry:
Long live Sir Roderigh, Clan Alpine's hero!

This is no sapling sprouting up by a spring
That blossoms at Beltane and withers in winter.
When the storm has blown off all of the foliage from the mountains,
Clan Alpine exults in its shade.
Anchored firmly in the hard rock,
Storms rage around it in vain,
It is more firmly rooted the more violently the wind buffets it.
Menteith and Breadalbane
Re-echo his praise:
Long live Sir Roderigh, Clan Alpine's hero!

The pibroch has sounded proudly in Glen Fruin,
And Banochar's groans have replied to the slogan,
Glen Luss and Ross-dhu, they are smouldering in ruins
And Loch Lomond's heroes have been visited by the sword.
The Saxon maiden,
The widow, they are loudly lamenting,
They think of Clan Alpine with fear and with woe;
Lennox and  Leven-glen
Shake when the call rings out loud:
Long live Sir Roderigh, Clan Alpine's hero!

Beat the flowing waters for the pride of the Highlands!
Row with strength for the evergreen tree!
Oh, may that rose over there on the island
Blossom and entwine herself around him to make a fragrant garland!
Oh, may a noble sprig,
Worthy of such a noble stem,
Grow up joyfully in his shade!
Loud let Clan Alpine
Call from the deepest gorge:
Long live Sir Roderigh, Clan Alpine's hero!

He has left us
He has gone from the mountain and the forest,
Like a dried-up spring
When we were facing an emergency.
The spring will flow,
Nourished by the rain,
But no more joy will shine on us,
There is no tomorrow for Duncan.

The hand of the reaper
Takes ripe ears of corn,
Our song of mourning
Bewails blossoming youth,
The autumn wind drives leaves
That are yellow, that have withered,
But our flower was in bloom
When mildew withered it.

You swift feet,
You counsel in distress,
You arm in battle,
How deep is your slumber!
Like dew on the mountains,
Like foam on the river,
Like a bubble on the spring - 
You have left for ever.

Night is soon going to fall, then I shall lie down to rest,
The heath is my bed, the bracken will cover me,
The watchman's steps will lull me to sleep:
Oh, I have to be so far from you, Mary, you beauty!

And when tomorrow evening comes and bleak times have arrived,
Then perhaps this blood-red plaid will be my bed,
My evening song will fall silent, you will creep around gloomy and anxious.
Mary, oh, even your funeral lament will not wake me up.

So have I had to leave you, you beautiful, sweet bride?
However much you call after me, however much you cry aloud,
Oh, I should not think about your bitter pain,
Oh, I should not think about your faithful heart.

No, tender, faithful longing is something that Norman should not feel,
When Clan-Alpine breaks into the enemy like storm and hail,
Therefore let his courageous heart by like a drawn bow,
Let his foot, Mary, be as swift and free as an arrow!

The hour is definitely coming when the sun will not shine,
You are staggering towards your Norman, your beautiful eyes are weeping.
But if I fall in the battle and the horror of death covers me,
Oh, believe, Mary, that my last sigh was for you.

But if I return victorious from this bold battle of men,
Then we shall greet the approach of quiet night with such joy,
The bed has been prepared, sweet rest is beckoning to us.
The linnet will sing beautiful bridal songs for us, Mary.

Ave Maria! Gentle virgin,
Listen to a virgin's prayer;
From this rock so solid and wild
May my prayer rise towards you.
Allow us to sleep safely until the morning,
Even though people can be so cruel.
Oh virgin, look on the cares of this virgin,
Oh mother, hear a begging child!
Ave Maria!

Ave Maria! Unsullied!
When we sink down onto this rock
To sleep, and we are covered by your protection,
This hard rock will seem to us to be soft.
If you smile, the fragrances of roses will waft
Into this gloomy cavern in the rock.
Oh mother, hear a child's prayer,
Oh virgin, a virgin is calling!
Ave Maria!

Ave Maria! Pure maid!
The demons of earth and air,
Chased away from the grace of your eyes,
They cannot live here with us.
We wish to submit quietly to fate,
Since you are bestowing your blessed consolation;
May you be willing to stoop down to this virgin,
To this child who is praying for her father.
Ave Maria!

My horse is so weary of standing in his stall,
My hawk is so tired of the hood and perch,
My idle greyhound is off his food,
And the solitude of this tower is making me ill.
Oh if only I were now where I used to be,
Hunting deer would be just right for my nature,
With the bloodhound free, the bow drawn:
Yes, such is the life that is suitable for me.

I hate the drowsy sound of the tower clock,
I cannot bear to see how time is passing,
When inch by inch across the wall
The sunbeam creeps so slowly.
At one time the lark used to bring in the morning,
The dark jackdaw used to sing me to sleep;
In the royal halls of this castle,
There is no spot that can please me.

Early in the morning, when the lark's song rings out,
I do not sun myself in Ellen's eyes,
I do not follow the fleeing deer through the forest,
And I do not return when dew falls in the evening;
Her cheerful welcome does not ring out for me,
I can no longer lay the game at her feet,
No longer is evening going to float by blissfully for us:
Love and life are over, over!