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Cenn Escrach of the orchards, a dwelling for the meadow bees, there is a shining thicket in its midst, with a drinking-cup of wooden laths.
Spring of Traigh Dha Bhan, lovely is your pure-topped cress; since your crop has become neglected your brooklime is not allowed to grow.
Your trout out from your banks, your wild swine in your wilderness; the stags of your fine hunting crag, your dappled red-breasted fawns.
Your nuts on the crest of your trees, your fish in the waters of your stream; lovely is the colour of your sprigs of arum lily, green brook in the wooded hollow!...
The calm green lakes are sleeping in the mountain shadow, and on the water's canvas bright sunshine paints the picture of the day.
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