Skye Boat Song

Sir Harold Boulton, Bt. (1859-1935)

Translated into Latin by Timothy Adès

Speed bonny boat, like a bird on the wing,
    Onward! the sailors cry:
Carry the lad that’s born to be king
    Over the sea to Skye.
Loud the winds howl, loud the waves roar,
    Thunderclaps rend the air,
Baffled our foes stand on the shore,
    Follow they will not dare.
Many’s the lad fought on that day
    Well the claymore could wield,
When the night came, silently lay
    Dead on Culloden’s field.
Though the waves leap, soft shall you sleep,
    Ocean’s a royal bed:
Rocked in the deep, Flora will keep
    Watch by your weary head.
Burned are their homes, exile and death
    Scatter the loyal men:
Yet ere the sword cool in the sheath,
    Charlie will come again!
i, ratis, i, velut ales avis,
    porro cient nautae:
per mare fer, qui rex iuvenis
    spes Caledoniae.
saevit hiems, unda stridet,
    fulmine flent caeli:
hostis haerens litus habet,
    pavidus insequi.
plurimus vir, Marte sollers,
    nisus erat ferro:
venerat nox, iacet iners
    mortuus in solo.
spuma salit, lassus dormit,
    cubat in gurgite:
una sedet, fida manet
    vigil pro capite.
igni suos, exilio,
    morte sparsos queror:
ense tamen non tepido
    reveniet victor!
Translation: Copyright © Timothy Adès

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