Description
A Chraoibhín Aoibhinn Álainn Ó
(O Beautiful, pleasant, little branch!)
Review:
I had last come across this wonderful Irish Gaelic singer some 25 years ago, and was delighted of this opportunity to revisit Seoirse’s songs with this new release, which is a collection of songs recorded between 1988 and 2013. Seoirse has a unique warm and gentle voice; listening to his singing is like wrapping a cosy blanket around you. His singing is subtly accompanied by guitar, piano or a second voice. The songs are exclusively in Gaelic, as are the sleeve notes – but this music speaks for itself even if you do not understand a word. The Donegal singer is also an artist, which is showcased in the sleeve design – yet his songs paint their very own comforting pictures. A wonderfully relaxed album.
© Michael Moll “Folkworld#70”
SONG LYRICS & TRANSLATIONS
Scroll down further for details re the musicians involved.
This a compilation from various albums released 1988-2013.
A Chraoibhín Aoibhinn Álainn Ó (An Crann Úll)
Tiocfaidh an Samhradh
Máire Bhruinneall
Tráthnóna Beag Aréir
Lá Breá Te Sa tSamhradh
Cúl na Cruaiche
Eoghan Búrcach is an Deoch Bhuí Cheoigh
Cuaichín Ghleann Neifín
Thíos i dTeach a’ Tórraimh
Éirigh ‘s Cuir Ort Do Chuid Éadaí
‘S Ambo Éara
Seoladh na nGamhna
‘S Fhada Leam an Oidhche Gheamhraidh
Lúb an bhFáinní Óir
Neansaí ‘Mhíle Grá
Níon an Fhaoite Ón nGleann
Le Do Thaobh
Turas go Tír na nÓg
Má Théid Tú ‘un Aonaigh
A Chraoibhín Aoibhinn Álainn Ó (An Crann Úll)
O Beautiful, pleasant, little branch! (The Apple Tree)
(In the memory of my Dutch friend, Cissy Bonnet, who died recently. It was played at her funeral. An Crann Úll was her favourite song of all time.)
(Le Pommier/Der Apfelbaum)
Ó tá crann úll i gcoirnéal a’ ghairdín
Is súifimid síos nó go gcuire siad an fál air,
Ar eagla go dtitfeadh a’ bunadh óg i ngrá leis.
(Curfá)
Nuair a bhogfas tusa bogfaidh mise
Is bhogfas muid le chéile,
Is a chraoibhín aoibhinn álainn ó.
Ó b’fhearr liom-sa an gabha `tá ag obair sa cheartan,
Ag buaileadh an oird go lúfair is go ládir,
A shaothrú na scilling is a d’ófadh i dtoigh a’ tábhairne í.
Ó b’fhearr liom-sa an feirmeoir `tá seoladh amach go haerach
Maidin deas san earrach le seisreach agus péire,
Ag cromadh ar an oibir `s ag tionntú na créafóig’.
Ó b’fhearr liom-sa an t-iascaire amuigh ina bháidín
Ag cur a chuid eangach is ag breith ar na bradáin,
Ag troid leis na tonnta ó oíche go maidin.
A Chraoibhín Aoibhinn Álainn Ó (An Crann Úll)
O Beautiful, pleasant, little branch! (The Apple Tree)
Many years ago, in a marathon music session in the house of Clannad, Dore, Co Donegal, Ciarán Ó Braonáin and myself went through virtually what was then my whole repertoire of songs in Irish. Three of these went on to a Clannad album shortly afterwards, including this one, “An Crann Úll”.
The folksong collector Séamus Clandillon heard this particular song at the turn of 1900 from a group of women who happened to be mending nets in a garden near Bunbeg, Gweedore. In the song, three girls sit under the tree talking about the kind of men they would like to marry; one a blacksmith, one a farmer and the third a fisherman. Above them in the tree, sitting on the branches, the birds whisper a chorus:
When you move, I’ll move,
And we’ll all move together –
Beautiful, pleasant, little branch!
Tiocfaidh an Samhradh
(Summer Will Come)
Tiocfaidh an samhradh agus fásfaidh an fear
Tiocfaidh an duilliúir glas ar bharr na gcraobh
Tiocfaidh mo rúnsearc le bánú an lae
Agus buailfidh sí tiún suas le cumha i mo dhiaidh
Scairt mé aréir ag an doras thall
Scairt mé aríst an raibh mo rún le fáil.
‘Sé dúirt a dadaí liom nach raibh sí ann
Nó gur éalaigh sí aréir leis an bhuachaill donn.
Brón ar an fharraige mar is í tá mór
Is í tá dhul idir mé ‘s mó mhíle stór
Siúlfaidh mé na bailte seo agus siúlfaidh mé an ród
Agus dheamhan ban a phósfas mé go dtéim faoi fhód
Is óg ‘s is óg a chuir mé dúil i ngreann
Nó go ndéanfainn súgradh le mo rún ar fáil
Níl baile cuain ar bith a ngluaisfinn ann
Nach bhfaighinn maighdean óg deas shiúlfadh liom
Summer Will Come
Summer at last and the grass grows green
And the leaves grow fast at the top of the trees
My love will come by the morn’s first light
And play sweet music to my heart’s delight
I called last night at yonder door
I called again but my love was no more
Her daddy said that she’d upped and fled
And eloped in the dark with the brown-haired lad
My sorrow on the sea for she is so vast
She goes between me and the love of my breast
I’ll walk these lanes and I’ll walk these roads
And devil the one I’ll marry till they cover me in sods.
O, I was young, so young, when I rambled for fun,
Coaxing the girls at every turn.
There was one from Carndonagh and one from the Isle
And another from Urris my heart had beguiled.
Translation by Seoirse Ó Dochartaigh © 2009
I learned this song while teaching in Coláiste Bhríde, Rann na Feirste, in the late 1970s. It was a fine singer called Sailí Ní Ghallchóir whom I first heard singing it although she had a few more verses than this. My English translation here is fairly literal but I added some Inishowen place-names to the fourth verse to give it (for me) a more localized setting. However, the Gaelic version I sing is more or less as Sailí sang it.
Máire Bhruinneall
(Lady Luminosity)
Orú ‘Mháire ‘Bhruinneall ‘Bhláth na Finne
I ndiaidh mé do leanúint aniar anall
Ó ba bhinne liom do bhéal ná na cuacha ‘seinm
‘S tú d’fhág mise i ndealraí ‘n bháis
A mhéid é mo thuirse níor léar domh an choinneal
Deir siad gur mise (a) mheallas na mná
Mharaigh tú go deo mé
Lagaigh tú go mór mé
Is gach a bhfuil beo domh bhris tú mo chroí
Bhí a tríphointe óir léi síos go troigh
Gus í ag carnú ar gach taobh
Mharaigh tú go deo mé
Lagaigh tú go mór mé
Is gach a bhfuil beo domh bhris tú mo chroí
Bhí mé lá go ceolmhar insan ród
Tharla domh-sa ‘n óig-bhean chiúin
Mharaigh tú go deo mé
Lagaigh tú go mór mé
Is gach a bhfuil beo domh bhris tú mo chroí
Orú ‘Mháire ‘Bhruinneall ‘Bhláth na Finne
I ndiaidh mé do leanúint aniar anall
Ó ba bhinne liom do bhéal ná na cuacha ‘seinm
‘S tú d’fhág mise i ndealraí ‘n bháis
A mhéid é mo thuirse níor léar domh an choinneal
Deir siad gur mise (a) mheallas na mná
Mharaigh tú go deo mé
Lagaigh tú go mór mé
Is gach a bhfuil beo domh bhris tú mo chroí
Ó ba bhinne liom do bhéal… cuacha ‘seinm
Ó ba bhinne liom do bhéal… cuacha ‘seinm
Ó ba bhinne liom do bhéal… cuacha ‘seinm
Ó ba bhinne liom do bhéal… cuacha ‘seinm
Máire Bhruinneall (Lady Luminosity)*
A man finds himself in a seachrán sí, a trap made by the fairies in a lonely wooded place. He falls in love with one of the fairy women – golden hair in ringlets tumbling down around her snowy-white breast, voice more melodious than the call of the cuckoo… He follows her everywhere like a man possessed. But she disappears… into thin air…
Na Foinsí: (i) amhránaí: Gráinne Nic Mhonagail (Raidió na Gaeltachta, 1977)
(ii) Clannad, leagan a cappella (Ogham, 1978)
(iii) na focail: Ceolta Uladh II (1973) (leagan as Oileán Thoraí)
(iv) scéal: Séamas de Búrca, Na Cruacha Gorma (taifead, 1992)
*Not a literal translation but closer to the meaning than Mary, white-breasted lady.
Tráthnóna Beag Aréir
(Late Yesterday Evening)
Ceol agus focail le Séamus Ó Grianna [“Máire”]
Thíos i lár a’ ghleanna
Tráthnóna beag aréir
Agus a’ drúcht ‘na dheora geala
Ina luí ar bharr an fhéir
‘Sea casadh domh-sa an ainnir
b’áille gnúis is pearsa,
Is í sheol mo stuaim ‘un seachráin
Tráthnóna beag aréir.
Agus a Rí nár lách ár n-ealaín
‘Gabháil síos a’ gleann aréir
Ag éaló fríd a’ chanach
Agus ciúnas ins a ‘spéir
Órú, rún mo chléibh’ nár mhilis
Ár súgadh croí ‘s nár ghoirid
Ó’s a Rí na Glóire Gile,
Tabhair ar ais an oíche aréir.
Dá bhfaighinnse arís cead pilleadh
‘Gus labhairt le stór mo chléibh’
Nó dá bhfaighinnse bua ar chinniúint
Cérbh mhiste liom fán tsaol?
Shiúlfainn leat fríd chanach
A’s fríd mhéilte ar chiumhas na mara
Agus dúiche Dé dá gcaillinn
Go bpógfainnse do bhéal.
Late Yesterday Evening
Image after image of extraordinary beauty emanate from the poem: the amorous feelings of the poet and the loveliness of the landscape intermingle effortlessly and bring us along down through the glen, through the dewy grass, through the bog-cotton, under the glorious evening sky, over the sand-dunes and down to the water’s edge. In this dreamy atmosphere he briefly meets and kisses the radiant young girl he adores so much, the one whose beauty could drive a man to near distraction. After this momentary encounter, they then go their separate ways. The morning comes and all he can say is: “O King of the Brightest Glory! Bring me back last night! ”
Na Foinsí: [I] Ceol agus focail le Séamus Ó Grianna [“Máire”], scríbhneoir as Rann na Feirste.
[ii] an t-amhrán ó Albert Fry agus Máirtín Mac Grianna as Béal Feirste.
Lá Breá Te Sa tSamhradh
(One Fine Hot Summer Day)
[focail: Seaghán Bán MacGrianna]
Go raibh slán don am a raibh mise óg
Ba sin an uair arbh fhiú bheith beo
Bhuail mé suas le cailín óg deas
Lá breá te sa tsamhradh
Ar inseán ghlas ar bhruach na trá
‘S mé meabhrú liom ar chúrsaí grá
Cé chasaí ann ach spéirbhean álainn
Lá breá te sa tsamhradh.
Bhí a gruaig mar fháinní ‘crochadh anuas
Bhí dealramh solasta ina gruaidh
‘S ba bhinne guth a béil ná an chuach
Maidin aoibhinn shamhraidh
Shuigh sí síos ar inseán féir
Is chuaigh mé féin chun súgraidh léi
‘S nár dheas a’ dealramh ‘bhí sa ghréin
Lá breá te sa tsamhradh
Dhruid mé leis a chailín óg
‘S bhain mé dithe cúpla póg
‘S a Dhia anocht, nár dheas ár ndóigh
Lá breá te sa tsamhradh
Mo bhrón! fá dheireadh thit an oích’
Is d’éalaigh sí, mo spéirbhean chaoin
Ach gheall sí domhsa ‘theacht arís
Go gcríochnaimís a’ cleamhnas
Chuaigh mé féin abhaile a luí
‘S níor chodail mé ar feadh na hoich’
Ach ag meabhrú liom ar stór mo chroí
A bhí ghabháil in mo chleamhnas;
Chuaigh mé síos an dara lá
Is dhearc mé thart fá bhruach na trá
Ach ní raibh mo stóirín óg le fáil
Bhí gruaim ar ghrian a’ tsamhraidh
Thiontaigh an aimsir fliuch is fuar
‘S tháinig feochán fuar ó thuaidh
Is mise bocht liom féin faoi ghruaim
‘S ba chosúil é le geimhreadh
Phill mé féin abhaile arís
Is luí mé síos ar feadh thrí mí
‘Mo chraithleán bhreoite bhocht gan bhrí
‘S mé smaointiú ar an tsamhradh
Nuair a théim amach ar shliabh an tsín
‘S mé reaite caite ag buaireamh an tsaoil
Théid a’ fuacht ‘s a’ t-anró fríd mo chroí
In ndúlaíocht a’ gheimhridh
Nuair a smaointím ar na laetha breátha
‘Chaith mé thart fá bhruach na trá
‘S gur thit mé ‘dtús mo shaoil i ngrá
Lá breá te sa tsamhradh
Lá Breá Te Sa tSamhradh (One Fine Hot Summer Day)
The Ranafast poet Seaghán Bán Mac Grianna describes here an encounter, sometime during his youth, with a beautiful girl one balmy summer’s day. She had all the attributes of an aisling – a stunning apparition created by 18th century Gaelic poets representing usually the soul of Ireland. She had long flowing tresses, cheeks a-glow, sweet, tuneful voice, etc, etc. But this aisling was a real person… or was she?
Unfortunate for the poet, she never returned to Ranafast and the weather changed for the worse, metaphorically at least, and the poet was left with nothing but the memory of that pleasant day. Now an old man, he wanders alone on the dunes thinking about the young, enchanting woman who brought him a brief, dreamy moment of happiness so long ago.
Na Foinsí: (i) amhránaí: Hughie Phádaí Hiúdaí (taifead, 1975)
(ii) amhránaí: Aodh Óg Ó Duibheannaigh (Raidió na Gaeltachta, 1979)
(iii) focail: Máirtín Mac Grianna, (Béal Feirste, 1973)
agus tuilleadh ó “Ceolta agus Seanchas” (1976)
(iv) Vivaldi – Largo (Guitar Concerto in D)
Cúl na Cruaiche
(Behind the Haystack)
Bhí mé i gcúl na cruaiche an uair údaí mé ‘gus í;
Cuireadh Ó! ní bhfuair mé ‘s nach truaillith’ mar rinneadh an
gníomh.
Goidé an gar a bheith da lua liom níl suairceas le fáil mar ‘bhí
Ó’s ort-sa a cuireadh an chluain ó ní bhfuair tú do chailín saor.
Nach mór a’ cúrsaí bróin domhsa dólais is tuirse croí
Mo chailín a bheith dá pógadh ag smóilín a’ bhrollaigh bhuí,
Ó cuirim-se dith bróin ar an óig-mhnaoi nár fhan mar bhí
‘S gur mise ‘ghabhfadh an ceol dí san fhómhar má b’fhada an
oích’.
Is deas a’ bhean mo ghrá-sa ‘s ró-dheas a cos ‘s a ceann,
A súil ghorm, a gáire ‘s a dhá cích bhí corra cruinn;
Ó thug sí an “sway” ar mhná deas’ ó Árainn go Dún na nGall
‘Sa dá mbínn-se ‘gabháil thar sáile is í Máire ‘bhéinn ‘iarraidh liom.
Ó thug mé grá don óig-mhnaoi ‘s níor éirigh liom á fáil go fóill,
A’ dara grá dá béilín ‘s a cúl buí ar dhath an óir.
A’ tríú grá níor fhéad mé gan mo ghruaidh a bheith ‘ sileadh deor;
Nach é mo léan a chéad-searc gan mé ‘gus tú seal ag ól.
This song, as far as I am aware, has not been heard anywhere outside the Gaeltacht of Ranafast, an area extraordinarily rich in folk and literary traditions. It lies on the rugged north-west coast of Donegal.
I heard the song from the singing of Hughie Phadaí Hiúdaí (Aodh Ó Dhuibheannaigh) who died tragically after a road accident in 1986 – go ndéanaí Dia trócaire air. Hughie had an outstanding memory and a vast store of songs and stories but couldn’t recall where he heard this particular one. It’s a love-song of unusual intensity; words and music, to quote the well-known phrase, “melt into one another”.
Nuair a d’fhiafraigh mé do Hughie an raibh an t-amhrán seo á cheol ag seandaoine Rann na Feirste anois, dúirt sé “Cé hiad na seandaoine anseo ach mise!”
I dedicate this song to the people of Ranafast whose songs touch the very soul of Ireland. Go raibh fada buan sibh!
Eoghan Búrcach is an Deoch Bhuí Cheoigh
(Owen Burke and the Misty Yellow Terrain)
1
A mháithrín dílis, nach trua mo scéal é,
M’ Eoghan uasal insa deoch bhuí cheoigh.
A mhná na caointe ó uaigneas sléibhe,
Druidigí thart nó go n-instear mo scéal.
2
Chuir mo mhuintir chun na coillidh cnó mé;
Bhain siad díom-s mo chlóca bruthach,
Hata ‘gus bróga is mo stocaí síoda,
Gan oiread le n-ól ach an deoch bhuí cheoigh.
3
‘Sé dúirt Eoghan Óg de bhunadh Búrcach
Ag seoladh na ngamhna sa choillidh chnó:
“Cad chuige do leithéid a’ piocadh sméara
Ar mhín a’ tsléibhe insan choillidh chnó?”
4
“Nach léar do chách mo chás a dhéanamh,
Lá ‘gus oíche insa’ choillidh chnó
Gan oiread le n-ithe ach na sméara dubha,
Caite gan dóigh insan deoch bhuí cheoigh”
5
“Phósfainn thú, mo spéirbhean álainn;
Thógfainn teach dúinn thíos sa ghleann,
Bia ‘gus dí go leor ar bord dúinn,
Báinín brocach ar do chorp geal bán.”
6
Pósadh Eoghan orm maidin Dé Domhnaigh,
Báinín brocach ar mo chorp geal bán –
Ach tuairim mo mhuintir’ gur bhocht mo
scéal é
Ar shiúil gan dóigh leis an bhuachaill bó.
7
Thug siad Eoghan i lár Loch an Fheoráin,
Mo dheartháir Aodh is an Chailleach Bhuí.
Bháigh siad Eoghan ina chulaith phósta,
D’fhág siad Eoghan insan deoch bhuí
cheoigh.
8
A mhná na caointe, tá mo chroí-se brúite –
Mo chleamhnas déanta le bodach an óir –
Culaith bhreá shíoda orm síos go féar glas,
Ach m’ Eoghan bocht uasal sa deoch bhuí
cheoigh
© Seoirse Ó Dochartaigh
Tá an t-amhrán seo bunaithe ar bhlúire de
sheanamhrán / seanscéal as Rann na Feirste,
Co. Dhún na nGall, a balaíodh in 1937. Téama
an-ársa é .
Insan tseanaimsir, duine ar bith a mbeadh teaghlach á thógáil aige, chaithfeadh sé duine acu a chaitheamh uaidh don “Deoch-Bhuidhe”. De ghnáth, b’ é an páiste sin an deichiú girseach nó an deichiú gasúir. Deirfí le páiste dalba ag caoineamh gan a dhath: “Mur stadfaidh tú den chaoineadh bhearfaidh mé thú don Deochbhuidhe.” “Bearfaidh mé don Deochbhuidhe é” a deirtí fa rud ar bith a bhí caillte nó briste thar leasú. Is dóiche gur ionann “rud a thabhairt don deochbhuidhe” agus éiric íobairteach a thabhairt do dheamhan nó ainspiorad éigin a raibh eagla orthu roimhe.
Níl tuigbheáil iomlán againne ar an nós sin na laetha seo ach caithfidh go raibh daoine meascaithe idir an focal deichiú agus ann focal deoch-bhuí.
In the olden times, anyone raising a family had to send one of their children away to the “Yellow- Terrain”. Usually, it was the 10th girl or boy. It used to be said to a bold child crying for nothing: “If you don’t stop your crying I’ll take you to the Yellow-Terrain. “I took it to the Yellow-Terrain”, it used to be said of anything that was lost or broken beyond repair. It’s possible that “to bring to the Yellow- Terrain” was the same as a sacrificial payment to a demon or some evil spirit that they were afraid of.
We don’t have a full understanding of this custom these days but it must be that people were confused about the word “tenth” and the word “yellow-terrain “ – because they sounded the same in Irish.
Eoghan Búrcach is an Deoch Bhuí Cheoigh
(Owen Burke and the Misty Yellow Terrain)
an scéal / the story
Bhí duine uasal ann an uair sin, agus b’eigean dó girseach as a theach a thabhairt don “Deochbhuidhe”. D’fhág sé istigh insan choillidh í gan amharc ina diaidh a choíche, ach fad is bheadh sí féin beo ag piocadh duilliúr na gcrann.
Bhí buachaill darbh ainm Eoghan Búrcach fostaithe ag an duine uasal seo, agus dúirt a mhuintir leis, aon lá amháin, an t-eallach a thabhairt chun na coilleadh — go raibh féar maith ann. Thug, agus chonaic sé an cailín ag léimnigh tríd na crainn, gan mórán eadaigh uirthi, agus gan fios aici cibé bhí nó nach raibh. Anois agus arís, gheobhadh sé corramharc tríd an choillidh uirthi, ach bhíodh sí i gcónaí ag teicheadh uaidh.
Lá amháin, thug sé leis spád ó theach an duine uasail agus rinne sé teach beag dó féin istigh sa choillidh. Bhí arán leis, agus nuair a bhíodh sé ag ithe a dhinnéir thiteadh giota beag anseo agus ansiúd. Nuair a d’imeodh sé ag ceapadh an eallaigh, thiocfadh sise agus rachadh sí ag piocadh an bhídh. Bhí trua aige di nuair a chonaic sé sin, agus d’fhágadh sé níos mó aici. D’itheadh sí uilig é, ach ní labharadh sí ar chor ar bith, agus ní labharadh seisean léi ar eagla go n-imeodh sí. Dar leis, dá mbeadh sópa agus tine agus uisce aici, nighfeadh sí í féin agus thiocfadh sí ‘na bhaile leis.
Ag dul ‘na bhaile dó an oíche sin, d’inis sé an scéal dá máthair agus dá hathair go dtiocfadh an cailín chuige agus go n-itheadh sí an t-arán. Dúirt sé dá mbeadh gléas aici — tobán agus pota a théifeadh uisce — nó dá mbeadh a dhath aici a bhainfeadh di an dóigh a bhí uirthi, go raibh sé ag déanamh go nglanfadh sí í féin agus go mbeadh sí ina bean bhreá.
Cuireadh leis sópa agus pota agus tobán uisce agus trí cinn de chultacha éididh; agus is é an rud a dúirt a hathair agus a máthair leis go bhfuíodh sé í le pósadh ar son an tsaothair a bhí déanta aige, dá n-éireodh leis í a thabhairt ‘na bhaile leis. Chuaigh sé chun na coilleadh, agus thaispeán sé na cultacha deasa di, agus dúirt sé go dtabharfadh sé na cultacha di dá níodh sí í féin sa tobán, agus go mbeadh siad iontach deas uirthi. Dúirt sí go nglanfadh sí í féin mar gheall ar an eadach deas a fháil, agus go mbeadh sí leis ‘na bhaile an oíche sin.
Bhí sí leis agus pósadh iad. Bhí seisean i bhfabhar léi chomh mór is bhí sí leis. Ach nuair a bhí siad tamall beag pósta, chonacthas dá muintir go raibh sé ró-íseal acu í a thabhairt do bhuachaill bó agus é bheith á chaitheamh suas leo. Dar leo, dá mbeadh an Búrcach marbh, b’fhuras fear eile ní b’fhearr ná é a fháil. Rinne siad féin suas eatarthu, i nganfhios don chailín, go rachadh an dá dhearthár amach i mbád leis an Bhúrcach, agus go mbáifeadh siad amuigh san fharraige mhóir é.
Chuaigh an triúr amach agus cha raibh fhios ag Eoghan Búrcach cad é bhí siad ag dul a dhéanamh leis. Nuair a tháinig an tráthnóna, chuaigh scéal tríd an bhaile gur bádh an bád agus fear de na fir. Chuaigh an mháthair ag caoineadh a beirt mhac féin (bhí sí ag ligint uirthi nach raibh fhios aici cé acu ar bádh é) agus chuaigh an iníon ag caoineadh a fir:
(an t-amhrán anseo)
Bhí an scéal seo agus an ceol ag Meadhbh Tharlaigh Mhóir in 1937.
There was a nobleman one time and he had to send a daughter in his house to the “Yellow-Terrain”. He left her in the wood without looking after her as long as she could fend for herself picking the (edible) leaves of the trees.
A boy by the name of Owen Burke was employed by the nobleman and one day he asked him to take the cattle to the wood where there was good grass growing.He did that and he saw the girl leaping through the trees with hardly a stitch on her and she didn’t seem to know what was what.Now and again he would take an odd look at her in the wood but she only shied away from him.
One day he took a spade with him from the nobleman’s house and made a little house for himself in the wood.He had bread with him and when he was eating his dinner little crumbs of bread would fall here and there. When he would go off hearding the cattle she would go picking up the crumbs.When he saw that he felt sorry for her and left more for her. She would eat this but would never speak at all. He wouldn’t speak to her in case she’d run off.He thought that if she had soap, a fire and water she could wash herself and come home with him.
Going home that night he told the story to her mother and her father that she used to come to him and eat the bread.If she had the means – a basin or a pot that would heat water – or if she had anything to remove the (dirty) way she was that he was thinking that she could clean herself up and make a fine wife.
He was sent soap and a pot and a basin of water and three bits of clothes and the mother and the father said that he could get her to marry him because of this work he had done and succeeded in bringing her home.He went to the wood and showed her the nice pieces of clothing and told he would give her them if she cleaned herself up in the basin and they’d be very nice on her.She said she would clean herself because of the nice clothes on offer and that she’d be home with him that night.
She was with him and they married.He favourer her as much as she favoured him. When they were married awhile it seemed to her parents that it was too low-standard of them to give her away to a cattle boy and have to put up with him. They thought that if Owen Burke was dead it would be easier for her to get a better man. They contrived between them, without consulting with their girl, that her two brothers would go out in a boat with Burke and drown him in the ocean.
The three of them went out and Burke did not know what they were going to do.When evening came the word went out through the village that the boat sank with one of the men. The mother went lamenting her own two sons (she was letting on she didn’t know which of them was drowned) and the daughter went lamenting her husband.
(the song here)
The song and the story were written down in 1937 from the telling and singing of Maeve, daughter of Tarlach Mór of Ranafast. I set the song to a different tune to the one transcribed which I didn’t particulalty like. In place of it I chose an American air which may have been Irish or Scottish originally. It was the melody of a song called “I Was Born in East Virginia”. I thought the menacholy quatity it had suited the subject of the story. Maeve’s song lyrics had to be re-written to fit this tune but I kept to the essence of the narrative, changing only a few things and giving a name to one of the girl’s brothers – Aodh – and adding the mistchievous Cailleach Bhuí (Yellow Hag) to the company.
Cuaichín Ghleann Neifín
(The Little Cuckoo of Glen Nefin)
Ó éireoidh mé amárach le fáinne an lae ghlé ghil
Agus déanfaidh mé mo dhea-rás amach faoi na sléibhte
Agus fágfaidh mé mo bheannacht ag mná deasa an tsaoil seo
Agus dheamhan an pilleadh abhaile domh go labhraí an chuach i mbarr na gcraobh ann.
Tá mo ghrá mar bhláth na n-airní a bíos a’ fás i dtús a’ tsamhraidh
Nó mar nóiníní bána a bíos ag snámh insna gleannta
Nó mar a bheadh grian os cionn Carna insan tsráid ag gabháil síos domh
Is mar siúd a bíos mo ghrá bán ag déanamh rámhailte trí m’intinn.
Nach aoibhinn don áiléar a mbíonn mo ghrá geal ag gabháil air
Nach aoibhinn don talamh a shiúlann a bróg air
Nach ró-aoibhinn don óigfhear a gheobhas mo stóirín le pósadh
‘Sí réalteolais na maid’ne í agus drúcht an tráthnóna.
The Little Cuckoo of Glen Nefin
© Translation S. Ó Dochartaigh
O I will arise tomorrow at the dawn of the bright day
And make my passion-dash out to the mountains
And heap all my blessings on the fair women of the world
And the devil take me if I return before the cuckoo-call of first foliage.
The blossom of the sloe is like my own true love
It does be in full flower at the start of summer
She’s also like the little white daisies swimming in the deep glen –
It’s just like that my love puts my mind in a whirl.
Isn’t it pleasant for the boards where she treads her dear feet?
Isn’t it pleasant for the ground that graces her delicate shoe?
But isn’t even more pleasant for that young man who wins her hand in marriage?
She’s the star of knowledge of morning and the sweet dew of evening!
Thíos i dTeach a’ Tórraimh
(Down in the Wake-House)
Thíos i dteach a’ tórraimh
Chuir mise eolas ar mo chailín donn
Bhí a gruaidh mar na rósaí
‘S bhí a béilín mar an siúcra donn
Bhí mil ar bharraí géag ann
Is céirbheach ar bhun na gcrann
‘S bhí iasc na Finne a’ léimnigh
Le pléisiúr mar bhí sí liom
Bhí mé lá go ceolmhar
Ar mo sheol agus mé i gceann a’ tí
A síorghabháil don (a) cheol
‘S a’ cur na mbréag in iúl do ghrá mo chroí
Ní chreidfeadh sí mo ghlórthaí
Mar shíl sí gur dá mealladh bhínn
Tá mé óg go leor i gcónaí
‘Gus ní phósfaidh mé ach mian mo chroí
Is binn agus is ceolmhar
A labhras ‘ach éan i dtom
Nach deas an uile sheort ann
Is is ró-dheas mo chailín donn
Is aici fuair mise eolas
Ar mhórán ‘s ar thuilleadh grinn
Nach deas a’ rud sú na heorna
Bheith dá ól agus a’ teannadh linn
Bhí mé lá breá samhraidh
‘Gus mé ‘labhdaireacht go mór le mnaoi
Faoi bhruach na coilleadh ‘cluanaí
‘s gan rún agamsa pilleadh choích’
Más de chinniúint cluanaí do lua liom
‘S gan d’fháil mar mhnaoi
Seo beannacht a’ Rí go buan duit
Bí ar cuairt agam ‘ach áit a mbím
Bhí mé lá gan amhras
I ngleanntán sléibhe is mé ag seoladh bó
Tharla domhsa an spéirbhean
A’s í gléasta san éididh chóir
Bhí hata os cionn a clóca uirthi
Gus buclaí ina bróga thíos
Mo chúig chéad slán go deoigh
Leis an óigmhnaoi a bhí i mBaile Uí Bhaoighill
Thíos i dTeach a’ Tórraimh (Down in the Wake-House)
The song reflects the state of mind and the state of heart of a very amorous man – a sort of Don Giovanni na Gaeltachta! Apparently, he is in love with several women.
In the first verse he is drooling over his lovely brunette whom he meets in a wake-house. Her lips are as sweet as brown sugar and fish leap for joy when he kisses her (I wouldn’t mind meeting her myself). The next day he is with another woman singing to her as he works on his loom but she is not taken in by his sweet words.
He loves life and the juice of the barley. But things start to get out of hand later in the song when he finds himself in the company of several women in a secluded wooded place. In his confusion he makes a dramatic exit saying “Visit me – anywhere I happen to be.”
It’s not so much that this man is fickle; I think it’s more a case of him finding the company of women irresistible, but this makes life complicated. The last encounter is with a real stunner in a
little mountain glen dressed somewhat like Naomi Campbell, according to his description. He certainly knew how and where to find them.
Na Foinsí: (i) amhránaí: Hughie Phádaí Hiúdaí (taifead, 1974)
(ii) amhránaí: Caitlín Bean Uí Dhomhnaill (1993) (bhéarsa V)
(iii) focail: “Amhráin Chúige Uladh” (1937)
(iv) “Tango to Evora” from “The Visit”, Loreena McKennitt (Quinlan Road, 1991)
Éirigh ‘s Cuir Ort Do Chuid Éadaigh
(Rise Up and Put on Your Clothes)
Éirigh ‘s cuir ort do chuid éadaigh
Go mbearraidh mé féin do chúl
Go dtéidh muid soir Easbog na hÉirne
Go gceangaltar mé ‘gus tú
Tá grá ‘gus cion agam féin ort
A chuid den tsaoghal éaluigh liom
‘S nach daoiní dona gan chéill óró
‘Sgarfadh ó chéile sinn.
Aisling a chonnaic mé ‘réir
Ar mo leabaidh ‘gus mé ‘mo luighe
Go dtáinig sí chugam mar fhéirín
Ainnir na gciabh-fholt buidhe
Bhí a h-ór-fholt snoighte go féar léi
‘S níl tuile ‘a mhéid nach gclaoidhfeadh
Ó’s a Rí cé’r mhisde den chléir é
Go gcodlochainn aréir le mnaoi.
‘S truaigh gan mise ‘s an niamh bheag
Na léice mílte ó chuan
I n-oileán a’ Chlochair Bhig Chraobhaigh
Mar ‘thuiteas na néallta ‘un suain
An áit a mbíonn nead ag an éanlaith
An t-iolar, a’ ghéag ‘s a’ chuach
Is go gcuirfinn-se geasa ‘r an éan bheag
Solas a’ lae ‘thabhairt uainn
Nuair a théim-se chun aifrinn Dé Domhnaigh
‘Sé d’fhiafraigheas na stócaigh díom
“A Chormaic, an bhfuil tusa pósta
Nó an aithnigheann tú d’óige a chlaoidh?”
‘Sé dúirt mé ‘s deirim féin leobhtha
Go n-aithnighim go mór, faraor
Is a’ méid agaibh atá gan phósadh
Is agaibh tá spórt an tsaoghail
Cúradh mo chroí ar a’ phósadh
Is ar bhuachaillí óg’ an tsaoghail
Is go mb’ fhearr daobhtha cailín beag óg deas
Ná bean is na puntaí léi
An oíche mhór fhada sa gheimhreadh
Nár dheas a bheith súgradh léi
Is neamh-ionann ‘s an chailleach bhuidhe ‘ srannfaigh
Is í ‘tarraingt an phlaincéid léi!
Éirigh ‘s cuir ort do chuid éadaigh
Go mbearraidh mé féin do chúl
Go dtéidh muid soir Easbog na hÉirne
Go gceangaltar mé ‘gus tú
Tá grá ‘gus cion agam féin ort
A chuid den tsaoghal éaluigh liom
‘S nach daoiní dona gan chéill óró
‘Sgarfadh ó chéile sinn.
Rise Up and Put on Your Clothes
© Translation S. Ó Dochartaigh
Rise up and put on your clothes and I’ll trim your hair
And we’ll go over to the Bishop of Erne
To make the bans between me and you.
I love you more than words can tell,
My joy of the world! Won’t you elope with me?
But there’s bad folk, folk without sense,
Trying to pull us apart.
A vision appeared to me last night in bed as I lay asleep.
That she came to me as a gift
That maid of the golden tresses
Her hair fell in coils on the grass at her feet
In floods and filigree that wouldn’t stay put
O King! I wouldn’t give a rap for the clergy
If I slept last night with such a maid!
It’s a pity that me and my little radiance
Can’t be in some stony retreat miles from harbour
In the island of the little branchy stone fort
As the clouds fall asleep
Where there are nests for the wild fowl, the eagle, its chicks and the cuckoo.
I would put a spell on the little bird
To take the light of day away from us.
When I go to mass of a Sunday the lads all corner me and ask:
“Cormac, are you married yet,
Or do you feel that your youth is depleting?”
I answer them simply by saying:
“I feel that greatly, alas.
Those of you who aren’t married
Enjoy the pleasures of the world.”
Marriage is the bane of my life
And likewise the boys of the world
That they would prefer a pretty young girl
To a woman of substance.
During the big long winter’s nights
Wouldn’t it be nice to be cuddling in there?
Not the same as the yellow hag
Snoring and pulling the blanket into her.
‘S Ambó Éara
(untranslatable)
curfá:
‘S ambó éara bhuileabó éara
Gabh siar is gabh aniar agus faigh domhsa
céile
‘S ambó éara bhuileabó éara
‘S ambó éara bhuileabó éara
Máirtín Ó Lopáin do dhóthain de chéile
‘S ambó éara bhuileabó éara
‘S ambó éara bhuileabó éara
Ní bhainfidh bun m’iongan ná barra mo mhéar leis
‘S ambó éara bhuileabó éara
‘S ambó éara bhuileabó éara
Pádhraig Pheaits Mhurchú do dhóthain de chéile
‘S ambó éara bhuileabó éara
‘S ambó éara bhuileabó éara
‘shean-léinteoigín scartha ar sceacha na hÉireann
‘S ambó éara bhuileabó éara
‘S ambó éara bhuileabó éara
Tomáisín Chite bheas a’ msa mar chéile
‘S ambó éara bhuileabó éara
‘S ambó éara bhuileabó éara
Fuip óir ina lámh is é ‘na mháistir ar Éirinn
‘S ambó éara bhuileabó éara
S’Ambó Éara (untranslatable)
This is a lively verbal exchange between a group of young women on a topical subject: marriage. In the chorus they all sing: “Go west and go east and find me a partner.”
It’s a common song-type in the west of Ireland. This one, in jig time, was sung traditionally while spinning, perhaps with groups of spinners.
Various eligibles are mentioned by name in the song but they are all, in the end, unsuitable in one way or another. Pauric Pats Murphy’s old shirt is in tatters hanging on every bush in Ireland. Who would have him! In the final part of the song a possible match is found in little Thomas, son of Kitty. The singer says: “With a gold whip in his hand he’s the master of all Ireland.”
The little tyrant!
Na Foinsí: (i) amhránaí: Máire Áine Ní Dhonnchadha (Ceirníní Cladaigh, 1970)
(ii) amhránaí: Johnny Mháirtín Learaí (Cló Iar-Chonnachta 1993)
(iii) focail: “Cas Amhrán I” (1975)
(iv) “An Tonn Reatha”, Seán Ó Riada agus Ceoltóirí Cualainn (Gael-Linn, 1967)
Seoladh na nGamhna
(Driving the Calves)
1
Tráthnóinín déanach ar thaobh an ghleanna,
‘S mé ‘seoladh na ngamhna faoin bhfásach,
Sea dhearcas taobh liom an spéirbhean chailce
Chiúntais bhanúil náireach;
D’fhiosríos féin go séimh den ainnir,
An éinn’ í thar lear do tharla;
“Ag lorg na ngamhna ‘s ea d’fhágas an baile
‘Gus ceann ní bhfaighead go lá ‘cu”.
2.
Tá crainnín cumhra i lúib na coille
Is ragham araon go lá ann
Mar a mbeidh ceol na n-éan dár síor-chur a chodladh
Is gheobhaimid na gamhna amárach;
Gheobham cead saor ó mhaoraibh na coille
Féar a thabhairt go lá dhóibh
‘S le fáinne an lae beam araon ‘nár seasamh
Ag seoladh na ngamhna faoin bhfásach.
3.
“Dá mbeadh a fhios ag mo mhámaí is dá mbeadh a fhios ag
mo dheadaí
Mise ‘gus tusa a bheith in éineacht
Fiche buile de mhaide a thabharfaí domh ar maidin
Is a Dhia, cad a dhéanfaimís an lá sin?”
“Fóill, fóill, a chailín, ní mise a dhéin dada ort
Ach a’ rud a dhéanadh cheanna le do mháithrín
Seo barr mo chúig méar duit, a ghrá agus a chumainn,
‘S a chéad searc mo chúig chéad slán leat”.
Driving the Calves
A beautiful young woman wandering alone on a hillside late one evening is, apparently, lamenting the straying of her herd of calves. She meets a young man who pledges to sort everything out for her down to the last detail, including a cosy little hollow under the shade of a fragrant tree where they might spend the night together. She regrets her actions the next morning and wonders what her parents might say or do. “Twenty whacks of the rod I’ll surely get”, she cries. But the cocky young shepherd tells her that such is the stuff of life. “I had your own mother in exactly the same way”, he boasts, “so, my five hundred farewells to you, my dear!”
Na Foinsí: [I] Máire Ní Scolaí – véarsaí 1& 2.
[ii] Hughie Phádaí Hiúdaí – véarsa 3.
[iii] Cornphíopa “Walshe’s”
‘S Fhada Leam an Oidhche Gheamhraidh
(Long to Me is the Winter’s Night)
[focail: Murchadh Mac Phàrlain]
‘S fhada leam an oidhche gheamhraidh
‘S fhada ‘s fhada ‘s fhada leam i
‘s o chan fhaic ach préiridh lom ann;
Chan chluinn tonn a tigh ‘ann gu tràigh mi
Séisd:
Fáili, fáili, fáili óro
Fáili, fáili, fáili óro
Fáili, fáili, fáili óro
‘s cian nan cian bho dh’fhàg mi Leódhas
‘Nàm don fheasgar bhith ri ciaradh
‘S tric a bhios mo chridhe cianail
Cùimhneachadh g’eil cian nan cian uam
Far ‘m bu mhiann leam dhol a chéilidh
Ach càite càite nochd an téid mi?
Chan ‘eil céilidh air a’phréiridh
‘S o chan fhaic mi ‘n àm dhomh éirigh
‘N àirde ‘g éirigh ceò na mònach
Is Fhada Leam an Oidhche Gheamhraidh
(Long to Me is the Winter’s Night)
The poet Murdo Mac Farlane (1901-1982) left his native Lewis on the west coast of Scotland and emigrated to Canada – according to the song that is. He finds the winter nights on the prairie cold, long, lonely and uneventful. Looking for solace he imagines that he can hear the ebbing tide on his island shore. Tears flood his eyes when he thinks of old friends, of good company, of the céilís and the music. “Where, where can I go tonight?”, he says in the last verse, “there’s no céilí here on the prairie. I can’t even see the mist rising at the dawning of the day.” The last line of the chorus translates as: “Sorrow of all sorrows since I sailed from Lewis.”
Na Foinsí: (i) Na hÒganaich (“Gael Force 3”)
(ii) focail: “Eilean Fraoich” (1938)
Lúb na bhFáinní Óir
(Girl with the Ringlets of Gold)
(La Fille auxcheveux de Lin/Das Mädchen mit dem Ringlein aus Gold)
Tá cailín óg ar m’eolas is taitníonn sí go mór liom
Is tá a fhios ag Rí na Glóire gur bhreoigh sí mo chroí,
`Sí lúb na bhfáinní óir í gur thugas gean go hóg dí
Is mura dtiocfaidh sí is mé a phósadh `sé mo
lóistín an chill.
(Chorus)
Tá row-dal ow-dal éró tiedal eidal éró
Tá row-dal ow-dal éró recs fal dí dí
`Sí lúb na bhfáinní óir í gur thugas gean go hóg di
Is mura dtiocfaidh sí is mé a phósadh `sé mo
lóistín an chill.
“A Mháire, ná bí id’ oinseach ach gabh go ciúin an bóthar
N’fheadar mé den tseort thú nó an posta do bhís,
Ach thabharfainn féin na móide gur maighdean ar siúl fós thú
Is mura dtiocfaidh tú is mé a phósadh `sé mo lóistin an chill.”
“A Bhacaigh bhuí na liege, lig dod ráite béil liom,
Faighse bean duit féineach a chéillfidh dod`shlí;
Cuir dhá mhála is téad uirthi anuas ar cheann a chéile,
Seasamh fada réidh léi ag doras gach aon tí.”
Do chuireas mo lámh im’ phóca ní raibh agam ach feoirling,
Thugas do bhean an ósta é mar chunamh chun na dí,
Chuir sí ina póca é ach shíl sí gur ghiní óir é.
Bhogas féin an bóthar `s nach treórach a d’imíos!
Lúb na bhFáinní Óir
(Girl with the Ringlets of Gold)
A song in the unusual time of 12/8. It tells of a beggar who drowns his sorrows in drink.
He is love-sick and rejected. He says that if Mary doesn’t marry him his lodgings will be in the cold grave. But she scorns him and tells him to find another woman – on whom he could tie back-packs and who could stand at every house begging. After playing a coin-trick on the tavern owner for more drink he staggers off into the night. The music has a strange nocturnal feel to it, I think.
A Nansaí ‘Mhíle Grá
(Nancy, My Thousand Loves)
A Nansaí, ‘mhíle grá, a bhruinneal ‘tá gan smál
Go bhfeice mise an t-ádh ‘gus an séan ort
Ba ghile do dhá lámh ná cubhar geal na trá
Ná an eala ‘s í ag snámh ar an Éirne
Ba ghlaise liom do shúil ná braon beag den drúcht
‘S ba bhinne liom-sa thú ná na téadaí
Mura n-éalóidh tusa liom-sa, titfidh mise i lionndubh
Is cuirfear insa chill i do dhiaidh mé.
Is iomaidh sin guth mná a chluinim ins gach áird
I bhfus agus taobh thall den Éirne
Ó Chorcaigh na gCuan ‘s go Béal Átha na Sluaighe
‘S í Nansaí ‘thug buaidh ar an mhéid sin
A Mhuire ‘gus a Dhia, nárbh aoibhinn é ár saol!
Dá mbéinn-se ‘gus í le chéile
Tráthnóna aoibhinn ciúin – Ó mise ‘gus mo rún!
Ag cogarnaigh ar uaigneas sléibhe.
Beir litir uaim-sa suas chuig Nansaí chaoin na gcuach
Is aithris dí gur buartha atá mé
Aithris aríst nach gcodhlaím féin aon oíche
Le harraing atá fríd mo thaobh dheis
Aithris dá súil, aithris dá cúl
Aithris dá méin mhaith chéillí
Aithris dá ceann is dá béilín ‘tá binn
‘S gur ghiorraigh sí go cinnte mo laetha.
Nancy, My Thousand Loves
© Translation S. Ó Dochartaigh
Nancy, my thousand loves, o damsel without blemish!
I bestow upon you good luck and prosperity!
Your two arms are whiter than the white foam of the waves,
And whiter than the swan as she swims on Lough Erne
Your eyes are greener to me than (light shining through) a tiny drop of dew
Sweeter to me you are than the (sound of harp) strings.
If you don’t elope with me, I’ll fall to the black beer
And I’ll be put in my grave in your wake.
It’s many a woman’s voice I hear in every place,
Far and near and on the other side of Lough Erne.
From Cork of the Harbours to Ballinasloe,
Nancy is the one who tops them all.
O Mary, O God! Wouldn’t our life be simply bliss!
If she and I could be together – a quiet pleasant evening,
Me and my heart’s desire,
Whispering on the loneliness of the mountain.
Take a letter to gentle Nancy of the Loves
And recite to her that I am deep in sorrow
Recite to her again that I get no sleep at night
With arrows piercing sharply through my left side
Recite it to her eyes, recite it to her curls,
Recite it to her brilliant mind so full of wisdom,
Recite it to her head, to her little mouth so calm,
That she has diminished my days for certain.
Iníon an Fhaoit’ón nGleann
(White’s Daughter of the Glen)
(La Fille de White de la vallée/White’s Tochter aus der Schlucht)
Siúil, a chuid, bí ag gluaiseacht gan scíth gan stad gan fuaradh,
Tá an oíche ghairid shamhraidh ann is beam araon a’ siúl.
Mar a bhfaigh’ muid radharc ar chuanta, ceol, aoibhness, bailte móra,
Is a Dhia, nach ró-bhreá an uain í, Iníon an Fhaoit’ ón nGleann.
Táim-se lán de náire trí gach beart dá ndearrna,
Mar is buachaill bocht a crádh mé póg `gus d’imigh uaim mo ghreann
Ní beo mí ná ráithe mara bhfaighe mé póg `gus grá uait,
Agus fáilte chaoin ó d’ chairde, a `níon on Fhaoit’ on nGleann.
Níl aon chailín spéiriúil nach ngluaisfeadh seal liom féinig
Tríd Na Gleannta Méithe `s thar Ard na Sléibhte ó thuaidh.
Dá mbeimis i gceann a chéile ag ól i nDúrlas Éile,
Mo lámh faoi cheann mo chéad-searc do bhréagfainn í chun suain.
Dá mbéinnse lá breá gréine im shuí ar bhinn a’ tsle’ `muigh
Mar`bheadh a’ londubh is an chéirseach ag seinm os ár gcionn;
Is deas do scríobhfainn véarsaí `s níos deise ná mar a labhairfinn
Stair ad’ mholadh féinig, a `níon an Fhaoit’ on nGleann.
Iníon an Fhaoit’ ón nGleann
(White’s Daughter of the Glen)
A passionate outburst from a young man who calls on his loved-one to come walking with him in the short summer night…down to the harbour. Listen to some music… see the sights. His heart aches with such unfulfilled longing. All he wants is to be with her in Thurles in the County Tipperary to drink a pint with her…to whisper sweet nothings in her ear…to place his hand beneath her head…
If only they could be out on some mountains slope on a fine sunny day, sitting on a rock…the blackbird and the thrush singing above their heads…Then he would write a poem for her, praising her merits one by one…
Le Do Thaobh
(By Your Side)
[Focail: Áine Durkin Ceol: Seoirse Ó Dochartaigh]
Is iomaí lá a chaithim i mo shuí
Ag tóraíocht, ag machnamh ‘s ag guí
Ag cuartú faoisimh áit ar bith
Don chrá, don bhriseadh croí
A tháinig le d’imeachtsa a dhil
Tá an saol ag dul i ndonacht chuile lá
Ó d’imigh tú níl boladh ar an mbláth
Níl nádúr cothrom mar a bhí
Sa ngaoth tá sioscadh sí
Ag caoineadh mar nach mbeidh tú linn arís
Curfá
Is fada liom go mbeidh mé le do thaobh
San áit sin ina mbeidh mo spiorad saor
Dá mbeadh deireadh le mo shaol
Ba chuma liom a chroí
Mar bheinnse ar mo shuaimhneas le do thaobh
Cloisim-se faoi chogadh chuile lá
Níl síocháin ná níl faoiseamh ann le fáil
Tá luach na beatha curtha amú
‘S’tá chuile ghné faoi bhrú
Gan am ag daoine labhairt le chéile fiú
Deir daoine nach bhfuil dóchas ann do chách
Nach bhfuil rud ar bith i ndán dúinn ach an bás.
Féach an bochtanas, an ganntan,
An gorta ‘is an phlá
Is nach aoibhinn anam saor ó sin, a ghrá
Tá áilleacht achan áit is fíor le rá
Ach tá deora bróin ‘mo dhalladh ‘s mo chrá
Gan aon fhocal ó do ghlór
Níl rudaí mar ba chóir
Ó, is láidre buairt ná dóchas fós, a stór
Is iomaí uair a bhím ag smaoineamh ort
Ó d’fhág d’anam dílis áit na gcorp
Níl nasc ná ceangal cuí
Ach amháin an ceangal croí
Rud nach mbrisfidh leis an mbás ar feadh mo shaoil
Curfá
Is fada liom go mbeidh mé le do thaobh
San áit sin ina mbeidh mo spiorad saor
Dá mbeadh deireadh le mo shaol
Ba chuma liom a chroí
Mar bheinnse ar mo shuaimhneas le do thaobh
Turas go Tír na nÓg
(Journey to the Land of Eternal Youth)
(Voyage au pays de la jeunesse éternelle / Reise ins Land der ewigen Jugend)
Tá gaoth na tíre ag séideadh `s tá na heanlaith `dhul chun suain;
Tá an dubhar a’ dhul chun síneadh ar an bhán,
Ó éadán ruaidh a’tsléibhe tagann méileachán na n-uan,
Agus fuaim na caise ag caoineadh ar an trágh.
Tá uaigneas ar m’anam `s is fada liom an oíche,
Ba mhian lem’ spiorad gluaiseacht leis an ghréin
Ón bhuairt seo tá ar m’ aigne is ó chealg rún an tsaoil
Go tír a bhfaighinnse fuascailt ar mo phéin.
Agus glaoitear orm aniar `s is aoibhinn liom an glór
Mar bheadh leoithe chaoin ag cogar thar an chuan,
Is raghad-sa chun mo loinge, nó go scaoilfidh mé mo sheol
Is go ndeonaítear mo shroicheadh slán anonn!
Ní tír go n-iomad soilse, ná laoithe liom abfhearr
Ach tír bheith lán de charthannacht im’ chóir
Mar a maireann féile croíthe idir saoithe Inse Fáil,
Is ann atá mo thriall – go Tír na nÒg!
Turas go Tír na nÓg
(Journey to the Land of Eternal Youth)
The air of this song is traditional but the words were written by a poet called “Conall Ceárnach”, whose real name was Feardorcha Ó Conaill. “Turas go Tír nÓg” tells of the start of Oisín’s famous journey to the land of eternal youth. The wind is stirring… the birds are going down to rest…darkness falls…there is a bleating of lambs from the russet hillside and the sound of water trickling in the current along the shore.
His soul is lonely, the night long…his spirit wishes to rise with the sun and escape from the troubles of the world…A voice beckons him away and on a gentle breeze, he sails off, on hoisted sail, to Tír na nÓg – the land of light and poetry and friendship.
Má Théid Tú ‘un Aonaigh
(If You Go to the Fair)
Má téid tú ‘un aonaigh bíodh a’ chaora leat, a holann is a huan,
Má bhíonn tú díomhaoin bíodh do mhian leat ar thoiseach a’ tslóigh
Ó bí aoibhiúil geanúil caomhúil agus molfar as sin thú –
Ní hí a’ mhaoin a bheafas i dtír thú agus ná mealtar léithe thú.
Óró annsacht cérbh’ annsa leat fear eile agat ná mé,
‘S gur tú an plannda beag a shanntaigh mé i dtoiseach mo lae,
Thug mé fancy duit gan amhras mar bhí mé óg gan chéill
‘S focal cáinte ná raibh ins an cheann údaí a mholfadh duit ach mé.
Teacht an Earraigh ceannochód talamh is dhéanfad fáras beag domh féin –
Beidh mo mhuintir ‘á shíor-mholadh domh gur críonna rinn’ mise é.
Níl ach moladh ar mhná an domhain agus beidh bean agam féin –
Ní hí an mhaoin atá mé a shanntú ach a cáilíocht ‘s a méin.
Óró a chéad searc an féidir go gcodlann tú san oích’
An é rud nach léir duit na saighde ‘tá polladh in mo chroí ?
Tá ní éigin a mo bhuaireadh is an arraing a mo chloí
Agus mé ag éisteacht le héanacha na coilleadh ‘ ghabháil a luí.
If You Go to the Fair
If you go to the fair be sure to be there with your sheep, her wool and her lambs,
If you’re a single man you should make your plan for the very best at hand
Be fun-loving, peasant, eager to please, and you’ll make friends on the day –
It’s not your wealth that will berth you safe so don’t be easily led.
O beloved girl, why do you prefer the other man to me?
Weren’t you the flower from that little bower that I nourished tenderly?
I saw your face and delicate grace and was smitten from the start
I praised your flawless beauty then but never won your heart.
With the coming of spring I’ll be the king of my little house and plot –
My folks will say I built it well and bless the chosen spot.
The girls of the land will praise my hand and soon I’ll find a match
But it’s not their goods that I would choose but qualities that last.
Oh, my first and only love, do you sleep soundly in the night?
Can’t you see the arrows of death doing mischief in my heart?
You left me truly shattered, my body weak and wan
As I listen to the woodland birds a-slumbering one by one
Translation by Seoirse Ó Dochartaigh © 2009
The song Má Théid Tú ‘un Aonaigh – If You Go to the Fair – is a very old song, probably centuries old. No-one today knows much about it but I did hear a little story once concerning it:
An old woman in Ranafast was very ill – she was dying. She was related to the Ó Dochartaigh family there called Seán Mhicí Óig. A neighbour called in one morning to find out how she was and asked her if she’d slept well the previous night. She quoted him the last verse of the song in its entirety.
D’foghlaim mé an t-amhrán (agus údaras an amhráin) ó Aodh Ó Duibheannaigh (Hughie Phadaí Hiúdaí) as Carraig a’ Choill, Rann na Feirste in 1978. Bhí Hughie muinteartha leis an tseanbhean.
Cheol mise agus Eibhlín Ní Earghaile an t-amhrán seo don Chairdinéal Tomás Ó Fiaich nach maireann oíche amháin in dTeach na Coláiste, Rann na Feirste – amhrán nár chuala sé ariamh roimhe. Chuaigh sé i bhfeidhm go mór air agus sula i bhfad bhí sé féin in áit na fírinne.
MUSICIANS TAKING PART IN THIS COMPILATION
Seoirse Ó Dochartaigh, lead vocals, harmony vocals, guitar, whistle, percussion
Marie Askin, piano, keyboards
Brian Hughes, tin whistle
Damien Quinn, percussion
Paul O’Driscoll, upright bass
Laura Thomas, harmony vocals
Neasa Ní Dhochartaigh (Neassa Thérèse Doherty): vocal harmonies
Greg Scanlon, keyboards
Heather Innes, harmony vocals
Máirtín Ó Murchú, guitar
Steáfán Ó hAnnagáin, bodhráns, uilleann pipes, flute, whistles,
various North African & Asian percussion
Aodh Mac Ruairí, harmony vocals
Mike Cosgrave, keyboards, piano accordion, guitar
Luke Daniels, button accordeon
Laurence Doherty, percussion
Lorna McLaughlin (Henry), vocal harmonies
Joleen McLaughlin (Henry), piano, harp
Karen McLaughlin (Henry), viola, violin
Aidan McLaughlin, upright bass
An Cór Craiceáilte
Rónán Mac Aodh Bhuí
Alastar Mac Aindreasa
Adrienne Ní Cheallaigh
Dara Ní Cheallaigh
Caoimhín Mac Giolla Chatháin
Áine Seoighe
