O young Charles Stewart, your cause is the reason of my sorrow An ataireachd bhuan, cluinn fuaim na h-ataireachd ard You took from me everything I had, in the war on your behalf Tha torann a chuain mar chualas leamsa 'nam phaisd, I am not mourning cattle and sheep, but my partner Gun mhuthadh gun truas, a' sluaisreadh gainneamh na tragh's Since I am left alone with nothing but my shroud! An ataireachd bhuan, cluinn fuaim na h-ataireachd ard Ach siubhlaidh mi uat, cha ghluais mi tuilleadh 'nad dhail Tha m'aois is mo shnuadh toirt luaidh air giorrad mo latha 'San am dhomh bhith suaint' am fuachd 's an cadal a' bhais Mo leabaidh dean suas ri fuaim na h-ataireachd aird.
I am torn apart, and although I say it, it is no lie My joy turned to sorrow, since you will not return from death One of your wisdom and understanding was not easy to find And not one stood at Culloden, of your appearance and bravery