Jealousy
It is I that have got a sore start; there is a loch of tears under my pillow.
Though I go to my bed, it is not sleep I am likely to get,
While yon woman in Islay maketh me ever more jealous,
Who took from me my sweetheart, whom I'd choose before a hundred.
Nay, if I were before her, there would kertches be torn off.
Over yonder I see Fiunary, without wealth of any sort therein,
Though I have seen the day when nobles thronged thy greensward.
Some part of them would go to the hunting-hill, some of them to kill the fish,
On the Pool of the Coffin where the trout will be leaping.
The gay youth hath my love, a brisk soldier art thou beneath a shield.
When thou comest to the castle, thou'lt take home thy first love.
Though I be in a strange land, far from home and dejected,
It beseemeth not the Islay woman to strive with me for thy sake.
Though I go to my bed, it is not sleep I am likely to get,
While yon woman in Islay maketh me ever more jealous,
Who took from me my sweetheart, whom I'd choose before a hundred.
Nay, if I were before her, there would kertches be torn off.
Over yonder I see Fiunary, without wealth of any sort therein,
Though I have seen the day when nobles thronged thy greensward.
Some part of them would go to the hunting-hill, some of them to kill the fish,
On the Pool of the Coffin where the trout will be leaping.
The gay youth hath my love, a brisk soldier art thou beneath a shield.
When thou comest to the castle, thou'lt take home thy first love.
Though I be in a strange land, far from home and dejected,
It beseemeth not the Islay woman to strive with me for thy sake.
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