While you're learning the Gaelic, you need to be learnin' the Scots as well...I dinna ken if the lass you were talking with mostly had slangy speech, but there are some that still speak some dialects of Scots that are pretty far away from the English we speak. Not quite modern English...It's more than just a dialect, too...it's relationship to English is sort of sisters, both descended from Middle English...
But, now, after the talk o' food sent me to do some cooking, I give you anither bit o' song:
Hark when the night is falling
Hear! hear the pipes are calling,
Loudly and proudly calling,
Down thro' the glen.
There where the hills are sleeping,
Now feel the blood a-leaping,
High as the spirits
of the old Highland men.
Towering in gallant fame,
Scotland my mountain hame,
High may your proud
standards gloriously wave,
Land of my high endeavour,
Land of the shining river,
Land of my heart for ever,
Scotland the brave.
High in the misty Highlands,
Out by the purple islands,
Brave are the hearts that beat
Beneath Scottish skies.
Wild are the winds to meet you,
Staunch are the friends that greet you,
Kind as the love that shines
from fair maiden's eyes.
Towering in gallant fame,
Scotland my mountain hame,
High may your proud
standards gloriously wave,
Land of my high endeavour,
Land of the shining river,
Land of my heart for ever,
Scotland the brave.
.
Far off in sunlit places,
Sad are the Scottish faces,
Yearning to feel the Kiss
Of sweet Scottish rain.
Where tropic skies are beaming,
Love sets the heart a-dreaming,
Longing and dreaming
for the homeland again.
Towering in gallant fame,
Scotland my mountain hame,
High may your proud
standards gloriously wave,
Land of my high endeavour,
Land of the shining river,
Land of my heart for ever,
Scotland the brave.
Far off in sunlit places,
Sad are the Scottish faces,
Yearning to feel the Kiss
Of sweet Scottish rain.
Sigh. I have to make do with Seattle, until I can return again.
I'm told that the sad song "Chi Mi Na Morbheanna" ("I See the Great Mountains"), of a longing to return home, was written by an emigre during the Clearances. When his boat, full of displaced Scots, neared Nova Scotia, the mountains reminded them so much of home they were all reduced to tears.