Eilean buadhmor nam fuarbheann àrda

 
An t-Eilean Muileach ~Dugald MacPhail~

An t-Eilean Muileach, an t-Eilean àghmhor, 
An t-eilean grianach mun iath an sàile 
Eilean buadhmor nam fuarbheann àrda 
 Nan coilltean uaine, 's nan cluaintean fàsail.
B'fhallain, cùbhrach 's bu rèidh an t-àilean, 
Le blàthan maothbhog bu chaoine fàileadh; 
Bu ghlan na bruachan mun d'fhuair mo m'àrach, 
An Doire-chuillin aig bun Beinn Bhàirneach

B'e 'n sòlas-inntin leam bhith ag èisteachd 
Ri còisir bhinn-ghuthach, ghrinn a'Cheitean 
A'seinn gu sùnndach an dlùths nan geugan - 
A'choill fo liath-dhealt, 's a'ghrian ag eiridh.

Chlaon gach sòlas dhiubh siud mar bhruadar, 
'S mar bhristeadh builgein air bhàrr nan stuadh-thonn; 
Ach soraidh sl`n leis gach loinn is buaidh 
A bh'air eilean àghmhor nan àrd-bheann fuara.

An t-Eilean Muileach (The Isle of Mull) ~trans Malcolm MacFarlane~

The Isle of Mull is of isles the fairest
Of ocean's gems 'tis the first and rarest,
Green grassy island of sparkling fountains,
Of waving woods and high tow'ring mountains.
 
How pleasant 'twas in the sweet May morning,
The rising sun thy gay fields adorning;
The feathered songsters their lays were singing,
While rocks and woods were with echoes ringing.
 
The Isle of Mull is of isles the fairest,
Of ocean's gems 'tis the first and rarest;
Green grassy island of sparkling fountains,
Of waving woods and high tow'ring mountains.
 
But gone are now all those joys for ever,
Like bubbles bursting on yonder river:
Farewell, farewell, to thy sparkling fountains,
Thy waving woods and high tow'ring mountains.
 
The Isle of Mull is of isles the fairest,
Of ocean's gems 'tis the first and rarest;
Green grassy island of sparkling fountains,
Of waving woods and high tow'ring mountains.