duisgibh a bhoireannaich

De tha dol agaibh? Fhuair mi fiosrachadh an de gu bheil nobhail Gaidhlig eile a-mach, fon ainm Dacha mo ghaol, sann le Tormod Macgilleain a tha e, agus tha e coltach gu bheil e fior eirmseach. Ach cha do chord an da a thainig a-mach aige roimhe rium cho mor, ach tha mi'n dochas gu bheil am fear seo buileach nas fhearr. Cha bhi mi leughadh na naidheachdan cho tric, ach mhothaich mi gun do bhot na frangaich agus na Duitsich an aghaidh bun-reachd na h-Eorpa. De bh'ann ach plana airson cumhachdan priobhaideach nan companaidhean mora a' sgaoileadh air feadh gach raon dhen seirbhisean poblach a th'againn a-nise, airson's gun deanadh spuinneadaran a' chalpachais barrachd prothaid na tha iad a' deanamh mar-tha asainn. Ach co-dhiu gheibh iad doigh tarsainn air na bhotan na aghaidh, agus bidh iompaireachd ainn-chinnealtach neo-chothromach na h-Eorpa a' sgaoileadh a freumhan a-steach nar coimhearsnachdan bho seo a-mach. Gun ach na fir fearas-riaghlaidh agus luchd na grain-cinnidh a' cur taic ris.

Seo dan eil dhuibh;

The ugly phase of life it seems
Has come upon us all at last
We've withered from its earthly touch
Disfigured now, and in the past
To rot, to mould, to putrefy
Is all in all a worthy fate
For those of us who can't begin
To claw at fortune, make too late
For love or money, fame or choice
Democracy is a great disguise
To hide the sickness there within
My elephantine looks surprise
And hearts embittered by the rush
For the golden idol of betrayal
Still speak as though they understood
What happiness was before the fail
Of all man's grand schemes of hope
Largesse is not the mark of sanity
But resignation surely is
In this land of happy vanity
So bleach your minds, and gel your thoughts
In time for reason's paupers
The eunuch-loving politicos
Who branded all your daughters

Nach robh sin eirmseach fhein?