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(Poem by Robert Louis Stevenson, Music by Sting and Mary Macmaster) |
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All day we fought the tides between the North Head and the South |
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All day we hauled the frozen sheets, to 'scape the storm's wet mouth |
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All day as cold as charity, in bitter pain and dread, |
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For very life and nature we tacked from head to head. |
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Thograinn Thograinn |
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Thograinn thograinn bhith dol dhachaidh |
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(I wish we were going home) |
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E ho ro e ho ro |
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Gu Sgoirebreac a chruidh chaisfhinn |
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(To Scorrybreck of the white-footed cattle) |
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E ho hi ri ill iu o |
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Ill iu o thograinn falbh |
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Gu Sgoirebreac a' chruidh chais-fhionn |
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(To Scorrybreck of the white-footed cattle) |
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E ho ro e ho ro |
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Ceud soraidh bhuam mar bu dual dhomh |
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(The first blessing from me, as is my right) |
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We gave the South a wider berth, for there the tide-race roared; |
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But every tack we made we brought the North Head close aboard: |
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We saw the cliffs and houses, and the breakers running high, |
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And the coastguard in his garden, his glass against his eye. |
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The frost was on the village roofs as white as ocean foam; |
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The good red fires were burning bright in every 'longshore home; |
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The windows sparkled clear, and the chimneys volleyed out; |
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And I vow we sniffed the victuals as the vessel went about. |
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The bells upon the church were rung with a mighty jovial cheer; |
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For it's just that I should tell you how (of all days in the year) |
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This day of our adversity was blessed Christmas morn, |
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And the house above the coastguard's was the house where I was born. |
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And well I knew the talk they had, the talk that was of me, |
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Of the shadow on the household and the son that went to sea; |
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And O the wicked fool I seemed, in every kind of way, |
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To be here and hauling frozen ropes on blessed Christmas Day. |
