Hiuraibh o, gráidh an tig thu? Hiuraibh o, an tig thu, 'gráidh? Hiuraibh o, an tig thu'm bliadhna? Nan tig thu gu siorraidh bráth? Mo chúl ri beanntan na Hearadh, M‘aghaidh ri fearann na Pairc'; Cianalas a'tigh'nn air m'aire, 'S gaol mo leannain a'dol bás. Chunnaic mis' thu as mo chadal, A'tigh'nn dhachaigh ás a' bhlár, Le do chlaidheamh caol a' lasadh; Cha b'ann gam'iarraidh-sa bha. Nam biodh dúil ri do litir Air an t'Sheila oidhche Mháirt, 'S mi nach sgriobhadh sios le ionca- Fuil mo chridhe, 'si bu bhláith'.

Hiuraibh o, Will you come? Hiuraibh o, oh will you come, darling? Hiuraibh o, oh darling will you come? Will you ever come? My back to the mountains of Harris, my face towards the parklands; a longing has come over me, and my sweetheart's love is fading. I saw you in my sleep, coming home from battle, with your slender sword shining, but you weren't looking for me. If I expected you letter to arrive on board the Sheila on Tuesday evening, I would not write in ink- but in the blood of my heart, for it would be warmer.

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