Searc Mo Chléibh Lyrics

Lyrics and literal English translations (by Rita Ó Siochrú)
1. An Goirtín Eornan (The Little Field of Barley)

Is buachaillín fíor-óg mé, go bhfóire orm Rí na nGrás,
Thug searc do chailín óg, i dtigh an ósta le cómhrá gearr.
Ni raibh hata uirthi na húda, ná búclaí déanta den phrás.
Ach téip i gcluais a bróigín, is í mo stóirín í go bhfaighidh mé bás.

Is móra dhuit, a éinín, ag léimnigh ó thor go tor.
Dá neosfainn brí mo scéil duit, ní féidir ach go ndéanfá rún.
Beir litir uaim faoi shéala, go cúlchraobhach an óir-fhult fhionn
Go bhfuil mo chroí a chéasadh, is nach féidir liom codhladh ciúin.

Ta gaoth aneas is tóirneach, is mórshruth le habhann na Laoi.
Sneachta ar na bóithre, is mórshioc a mheascadh tríd.
Ni fhanann fuaim ag róntaibh, ná ceol binn ag éan ar chraoibh
Ó chailleasa mo chéad-shearc, is í a thógfadh an ceo de m' chroí.

Is ní dod ghoirtín eornan, a stóirín, do thugas grá.
Ná dod cúpla coifrín den óir bhuí, dá mbeidíst lán
Dod chapaill na dod bhólacht, go deo, deo, ní chuirfinn i bfháigh
Ach blas do cúpla phóigin, sé is dóigh liom gurb iad ab bfhearr.

Ó amhránaíocht Eibhlín Ní Bheaglaíoch, Baile na bPoc, a d’fhoghlaimíos í seo.
 
1.      An Goirtín Eornan (The Little Field of Barley)
I am a very young boy, God help me.
I fell in love with a young girl, in a pub over a short chat.
She hadn’t a hat nor a hood on her, nor a brass buckle
But a lace on her little shoes, she is my little treasure until I die.
 
Good morning to you, little bird, leaping from bush to bush.
If I were to tell you my story, you’d have to keep a secret
Bring my letter from me, sealed, to the long tresses of the golden blond
That my heart is broken and I can’t sleep peacefully.
 
There’s a south wind and thunder and the river Lee is in spate
Snow on the roads, mixed with heavy frost.
Seals are silent now and there’s no bird song on the branches
Since I lost my first love, it was she would lift the mist from my heart.
 
And it wasn’t your field of oats that I fell for
Nor for the couple of barrels of golden oats, if they were full.
For your horses, nor your herd of cows, would never be in the reckoning
But the taste of a couple of little kisses I think would be the best.

2. Raghadsa is mo Cheaití
(I would go rambling the mountains with my Ceaití . . .)

Ó raghadsa is mo Cheaití bhálcaeireacht amach ar na sléibhte cuain.
Nó ar oileáinín mhara liom féinig mar a dtéann na héin chun suain.
Ansúd a bhíodh nead ag an bhfiach dubh, ‘s an fiolar ag éamh cois cuain
Agus mise á agairt chun Dé suas solas an lae bhreith uaim.

Ó’s a Cheaití, nach náireach mar scéal é, má imíonn tú in aon chor uaim.
Mar gur gheallais don sagart ná déanfá, mé a mhalairt go raghainn san uaigh.
Do cuireadh bocht dealbh sa tsaol mé, is mo charaid i bhfad uaim,
Ó is a Dhia, go mbeirir chugat féin mé, má imíonn mo chéad shearc uaim.

Agus ciach ar an sagart a phós mé, nár fhág sé mé i dtreo na mban.
Nó ag rinnce le cailíní óga, ag ithe ‘s ag ól ‘na measc.
‘S é an ní do shuaigh ‘s do bhreoidh mé, mé a cheangal go hóg le réic.
Nár fhág mise ag cnuchairt na móna, nó ag seoladh na mbó thar lear.

‘S tá sioc agus sneachta ar na sléibhte, is mise liom féin dá siúl.
Ag féachaint chá bhfeicfinn mo spéirbhean, a bhí bacalach, péarlach, fionn.
Ba ghile ar a com í ná Venus, is ba bhinne a béal ná an fhliúit.
Ó is dá bhfaighinnse mo chumann ina haonar, do phógfainnse a béal go dlúth.

This song comes to us from the Blasket Islands. These verses are part of a dialogue between a man and his unhappy wife who regrets having married him. 
Is ó Mháiréad Bn. Mhic Dhonnchadh a d’fhoghlaimíos é seo.

2.      Raghadsa is mo Cheaití   (I Would Go Rambling with my Ceaití)
I would go rambling with my Ceaití out to the quiet mountains
Or to a sea island alone, as the birds go to sleep
Here the black raven had a nest and the eagle screamed by the harbour
And I, pleading with God above, to take the light of day from me.
 
And Ceaití, isn’t it a shameful story, if you ever leave me?
Because you promised the priest that you wouldn’t swap me before I died.
I was brought poor, destitute into this world, and my friends far from me
And, Oh God, may you take me to you, if my first love leaves me.
 
And may the priest who married me get hoarse, that he didn’t
  leave me in the company of women
Or dancing with young girls, eating and drinking among them.
What crushes me and saddens me is that he tied me to a rake so young
That he didn’t leave me cutting turf or driving the cows.
 
There is frost and snow on the mountains and I walking alone
Looking out for my spéirbhean (fairy woman) who was pearly fair
She was fairer than Venus and her voice was sweeter than a flute
And if I found my love alone I would kiss her mouth firmly.
3. Cáit Bhán agus í Marbh (Táim Sínte ar do Thuama)
(I am Stretched on your Grave)

Táim sínte ar do thuama agus gheobhair ann de shíor mé
S' dá mbeadh barra do dhá láimh agam ní scarfainn leat choíche
A úilín, is a annsa, sé am domsa luí leat
Mar go bhfuil blath fuar na cré uait, dath na gréine is na gaoithe.

Nuair is dóigh le mo mhuintir go mbímse ar mo leabaidh
Is ar do thuama 'sea bhím sínte, ó oíche go maidean.
Ag cur síos ar gach crua-chás is ag crua-ghol go daingean
Sí mo chailín ciúin stuama do luadh liom 'na leanbh.

Tá na sagairt is na bráithre gach lá liomsa i bhfearg
I dtaobh a bheith i ngrá leat, a óigmhnaoi is tú marbh
Mar gur thug mo chroí grá duit, is go brách, brách ná scaipfidh
Nó go mbeidh an choróin deireannach orm, thíos ins an talamh.

Is tabhair mo mhallacht do do mháithrín, is ní áirímse t-athair,
Is a maireann dod do chairde, gach lá faid a mhaireann
Mar nár lig dom tú a phósadh, is tú beo agamsa id' bheathaidh,
Mar nach n-iarfainn mar spré leat, ach luí leat sa leabaidh.

In this 18th century song by an anonymous author, a distraught lover mourns his beloved in her grave and curses those who prevented him from marrying her. The English version "I am Stretched on Your Grave", translated by Frank O’Connor, and put to music by Philip King, has been popularised by Sinéad O’Connor.
D’fhloghlaimíos an t-amhrán seo ó Mháiréad Bn. Mhic Dhonnchadh ar dtús. Ní dóigh liom gur féidir an leagan sin a shárú. Seo leagan neamh-choitianta a d’fhoghlaimíos ó amhránaíocht Nell Keane ó Chlochar.

3. Cáit Bhán agus í Marbh   (Cáit Bhán and She Dead)
I am stretched on your grave and you will always find me there
And if I had the tips of your hands, I would never let you go.
My love, and my chosen one, it is time for me to lie with you,
Because the cold smell of earth is from you, the colour of the sun and the wind.
 
When my family think that I am in my bed
It is on your grave that I am stretched from night until morning
Going over every hardship and crying bitterly
She is my quiet, courteous girl who was betrothed to me as a child.
 
The priests and the brothers are every day in anger with me
For being in love with you, oh young woman and you dead,
Because my heart gave you love, and never, ever will separate from you,
Until the last rosary is said for me down in the ground.
 
And give my curse to your mother, and I won’t mention your father,
And all of your living friends, every day while they live,
Because they would not let me marry you, and you alive with me
Because I wouldn’t have asked a dowry but to be with you in bed.
 
4. Nach Cloíte an Galar an Grá (Lios Bhaile Dháith)
(Isn’t Love a Subduing Disease!)

‘Sé mo chreach is mo dhíth, is nach cloíte an galar an grá
Is mairg go mbíonn sé air mí, seachtain is lá
Do bhris sé mo chroí is do mhill sé an t-easnamh i’m lár
Is codladh ní bhfaighim ach ag taidhreamh ar mo dhian-ghrá.

Is é mo chreach is mo chás, nach gcáitheann sé sneachta ‘gus sioc
Mise is mo ghrá do bheith i lár na farraige amuigh
Gan loing, gan bád, gan árthach ná aon ní ar bith
Ach caite insa tsnámh is mo dhá láimh casta ina crios.

Is do casadh slua sí orm síos chun Lios Bhaile Dháith
Is d’fhiafraíosa díobh cé’n ní do leighisfeadh an grá?
Dúirt duine acu liom go ciúin, go taise is go tnáth
An rud a théann ins an chroí ná scaoiltear as é go brách.

Is a chailín bhig óig, ná pós an seanduine liath
Ná cuir do dhá láimh le grá dó thairis aniar
Mar tá’n tú beag óg is fós níor tháinig duit ciall
Is má mhaireann tú beo beidh mórchuid leanbh id’ dhiaidh.

This song was among those listed in Séamus Goodman’s collection. It is about the heart-break of love. In verse 3, the stricken lover asks the fairy people if there is a cure for love, but alas "that which goes into the heart is never released". Some of the verses are closely related to other songs, such as "Táimse i mo Shuí", but the place-name "Lios Bhaile Dháith" gives it a local flavour.
Is ó amhránaíocht Léan Bn. Uí Ghrainbhil, Feothanach (Léan Ní Dhálaigh ón gCom), a d’fhoghlaimíos an t-amhrán seo ó thaifeadadh a dhein a mac, Johnny Grainbhil, sna seachtóidí.

4. Nach Cloíte an Galar an Grá  (Isn’t  Love a Subduing Disease)
It is my ruin and my destruction and isn’t love a subduing disease.
It is misery by the month, the week and the day.
It broke my heart and it left a sickening emptiness in me
And I cannot sleep without dreaming about my true love.
 
It is my sorrow that it is not snowing and freezing.
My love and I, out in the middle of the ocean.
Without a ship, a boat , a vessel or anything at all,
But thrown in the swim and my two arms folded (around her).
 
I met a host of fairies near Lios Bhaile Dháth.
And I asked them what was the cure for love
One of them told me quietly, seriously and definitely
What goes into the heart is never released.
 
Now young girl, don’t marry an old, grey-haired man
Don’t stretch out your arms in love to draw him near
Because you are young and you have not got sense yet
And if you stay alive, you will leave a big family after you.
 
5. An Clár Bog Déil (The Soft Deal Board)

Do phósfainn thú gan bó, gan punt, gan áireamh spré,
A chuid den tsaol le toil do mhuintire, dá mb'áil leat é.
Is é mo ghalar dúch gan mé agus tú, a ghrá mo chléibh
I gCaiseal Mumhan is gan de leaba fúinn, ach an clár bog déil.

Siúil, a chogar, is tar i m'fhochair go dtéam on ngleann,
Is gheobhaidh tú foscadh ar leaba an fhlocais agus aer cois abhann,
Beidh na srutha ag déanamh torainn faoi ghéaga crann
Beidh an londubh inár bhfochair is an chéirseach dhonn.

Searc mo chléibh do thugas féin duit agus grá trí rún
Dá dtagadh sé de chor sa tsaol, go mbéinn féin is tú
Ceangal cléire bheith eadrainn araon, leis an bhfáinne dlúth
Is dá bhfeicfinn féin mo ghrá ag aon fhear gheobhainn bás de chumha.

Is ón gcéirnín "An Cíarraíoch Mallaithe" a d’fhoghlaimíos é seo an chéad lá. Táim go mór faoi chomaoin Mhuinitr Uí Bheaglaíoch as go leor amhrán a d’fhoghlaimíos uathu - Séamus agus Máire, ach go háirithe.
5. An Clár Bog Déil   (The Soft Deal Board or the Board of Bog Deal)
I would marry you without a cow, without a pound or dowry,
dear one, with the consent of your family, if you wish it.
It is my bitter woe that I and you are not
In Cashel of Munster, without a bed under us but a soft deal board.
 
Walk with me, love, to the valley
And you’ll get shelter on a bed of bog-cotton and the river-side air
The streams will be making noise under the branches of the trees
The blackbird and the song-thrush will be in our company.
 
Love of my heart, I gave myself to you and a pledge of love
Should it ever happen that you and I -
That the priest’s knot be between us both and the binding ring
And if I were to see my beloved with another man, I would die of sorrow.
6. Tá smúit ar mo chroí (There is Sorrow in my Heart)

Tá smúit ar mo chroíse 's ar m'intinn is ar m'aigne is léir
Is i gCuimín na Tíorach 'sea bhímse is gan éinne ach mé féin
Nuair a dhúisím istoíche bím ag smaoineamh 's ag machnamh, liom féin
Is go bhfuil mo ghrá sínte thíos i gCill Seanaigh im dhéidh.

D'fhág Cáit ansúd me go tinn dubhach is gan duine ach mé féin
Do chuaidh sí ar bord ón Spá Thoir le fairsinge an lae,
Do chuaidh sí siúd anonn mar a chuaidh an dúthaigh is an Daingean go léir,
Is ní thiocfaidh sí chugamsa le haon chúntas faid a mhairfidh mé, is baol.

Cuirfidh mé caint chuici go cúthail scríte i bpáipéar,
Is cuirfidh sí cabhair chugamsa go flúirseach, is nach bréag é mar scéal,
Mar ceannóidh sé sin an plúr dom, an siúicre, tobac agus tae,
agus bead-sa sa chúinne go súgach i ndeireadh mo shaoil.

A Cháit, a rúnaigh, ná lig mé ‘an Phoorhouse i ndeireadh mo ré
Nó mála ar mo ghualainn go buartha is nárbh fhairsing í an déirc
Ag lorg ionad chun suamhnis gan buannacht, nó luí amuigh féin spéir,
Is go dtugaidh Dia cúnamh, is ár gcionnta go maithidh dúinn go léir.

Ní chreidfinn ón saol ná gur bréaga go léir táid á rá,
Nach dtiocfaidh sí chugamsa fé ghúna 'gus airgead bán,
'S nach mbeidh aice aon bhólacht de bhuaibh óga agus fear álainn óg
Agus beid siúd am chaoineadh is mé sínte lag marbh ar bord.

This is a plaintive song of a father lamenting the emigration of his daughter. Left alone at home, he fears that he will end his days in the local Poorhouse.
Fuaireas an t-amhrán seo ó chnuasach Johnny Grainbhil. Pádraig Ó Conchubhair as Bhaile Dháth atá á rá. De réir an Duanaire Duibhneach, do chum Eoghan an Ghabha, fear de mhuintir Fhinn é.

 
6. Tá Smúit ar mo Choí.  (There is Sorrow in my Heart)
There is sorrow in my heart, in my mind and my whole brain,
And it is in Cuimín na Tíorach that I spend my time alone.
When I awake at night I keep thinking to myself
That my love is buried down in Cill Seanaigh away from me.
 
Cáit left me here, depressed and without anyone but myself
She went on board the Spá Thoir in the day time
She went, as did the district and all of Dingle,
And she won’t come with any message, as long as I live, I fear.
 
I shall shyly write to her on paper
And she will send help in plenty to me, and there isn’t a lie in it
Because it will buy the flour, the sugar, tobacco and tea
And I’ll be happy in the corner at the end of my life.
 
Cáit, my dear, don’t let me to the Poorhouse, at the end of my days.
Nor a sack on my back and the alms not good
Searching for a place of peace, without billeting nor to lie under the sky
And may God help and forgive us all.
 
I wouldn’t believe but that it is lies they are all telling
That she will not come to me with silver money
That she won’t have a herd of young cows and a lovely young man
And they will be mourning me and I laid out there.
 
7. Amhrán an tSagairt nó "An Sagairt a thit i ngrá le mnaoi óg"
(The Song of the Priest)

Ó is tráthnóinín aoibhinn ar faoidheachtaint na gréinne,
‘Sea do chonnacsa mo dhian-ghrá is í ag amhrán na h-aonar.
Ó do shuíosa cois tortáin agus d’éisteas léi tréimhse
Is gur bhinne liom bheith á pógadh ná ag ól fíon na Gréige.

Ar maidin Dé Domhnaigh agus deabhadh orm go dtí an tAifreann
Cuirimse orm mo léinne is an éide bhreá bheannaithe.
Nuair a chím chugam mo riúnach luíom súil uirthi i ngan fhios dóibh
Mar ní ar Mhuire a bhím ag cuimhneamh ach ar Bhríde, is í a chealg mé.
Nuair a thagann an oíche agus luíom chuig mo phaidire
Mo leabhartha a bhíonn im thimpeall is mo Bhíobla im aice.
Ní bhainim aon bhrí as, ná in aon chor aon tairbhe
Mar ní ar Mhuire a bhím ag cuimhneamh, ach ar Bhrídeach na mallan ghlas.

‘S a shagairt na n-aedh istigh, cuirim féinig suas feasta dhíot
Ó do ghabhaise i dtúis do shaoil chugat ó mar chéile Muire Bheannaithe.
Thugais leabhar éithigh ná déanfá go deo athrach
Agus cucól ní dhéanfad ar Éirinn do bhean in aithne

A Bhrídín dheas spéiriúil, ná déan sí sin ormsa,
Mar go n- imeoim ón saol seo, ní baoil duit Muire Bheannaithe.
In am lena chéile ó léar smacht na sagart súd
Agus ragham go dtí an Teampall, mar a labhrann na Protistínigh.

Agus éirigh i d’shuí a Bhrídeach agus cóiríg an leaba dhúinn
Agus fágaise rí-shlí bheag ó go luíodsa i’d aice-se.
Mar gur thréigeasa mo cháirdibh ó dtaobh máthar is athar dhom
Ó do thug suas i léinn mé ó go léifinn leabhair Laidine.

A most irreverent song, possibly from the Blasket Islands, about a young priest who falls in love with a local woman. He jauntily solves his dilemma by abandoning both family and church and joining the Protestant church "far from the control of those priests".
Tá mé fíor-bhuíoch do Roinn Bhéaloideas Éireann, Coláiste Ollscoile, B.Á.C., agus Cartlann Fuaime Raidió Éireann as an t-amhrán iontach seo. Bhí taifeadadh acu do Eilís Bn. Uí Chearnaigh ón mBlascaod (1969) á rá. Fuaireas roinnt dos na focail ón leagan a bhí i gCnuasach na Scol, a tógadh ó Mháire Bn. Uí Ailígheasa, Na Tuairíní, Uíbh Ráthach i 1935.

7 Amhrán an tSagairt  (The Song of the Priest)
One lovely morning as the sun was going down
I saw my true love and she singing all alone
Oh, I sat beside a ditch and listened a while
And it would have been sweeter for me kissing her than drinking Greek wine.
 
On Sunday morning, and I in a hurry to Mass
I put on my shirt and the Blessed Vestments
When I see my beloved I cast an eye on her unknown to them
Because it isn’t Mary I am thinking of, it is Bríde who pierced me.
 
When night falls and I start to say my prayers
My books all around me and my Bible beside me
It doesn’t make any sense to me nor is it any comfort
Because it isn’t Mary I am thinking of
But of Bríde of the fair cheeks.
 
And my dear darling priest, I challenge you this
You started life as Mary’s spouse
You swore falsely that you would never change
And you would never cuckold her whom you knew.
 
Oh beautiful Bríde, don’t do this to me
Because I will leave this way of life, Mary is no threat to you,
In time, we will be together, away from the control of those priests
And I will go to the temple, where the Protestants speak.
 
So rise up, Bríde, and dress the bed for us
And leave a small space for me to join you
Because I deserted my mother’s and father’s friends
Since I was brought up to learn to read Latin.
8. Beir Beannacht Ó Rí na hAoine
(The Blessing of the King of Friday on the island I am in . . .)

Beir beannacht o Rí na hAoine ar an oileainín ina bhfuilim ann.
Mar b'fhearr liom lá is oíche ann, ná blian ar an mbaile úd thall.
Mar is ann a bhíodh an ríl againn, ceol píob agus leann ar chlár.
Agus slán ag an gcorn bhuí úd, a bhíodh á líonadh den mbranda ab fhearr.

Is ar choinnleach ghlas an fhomhair bhuí, a stóirín, 'sea do dhearcas tú.
'S ba dheas do chois i mbróigín, 'S ba ró-dheas do leagan súil.
Do ghruaigh ar dhath an óir-bhuí, 'na cordaí go fite id lúb.
'S nach trua nach lánúin phósta sinn, ar bhord loinge ag dul anonn.

Is éireoidh mé amáireach gan spleáchas, le cúnamh Dé.
Mar ní fhanfad ins an áit seo go brách, brách ar feadh mo shaol.
Mar is é do chomhrá tláth lag, do chráigh is do mhairbh mé.
Is, a Dhia, nach olc an bás, atá in ann dom má scarfaim léi.

'S do chuireas litir scríobhta, go dtí í le cúntas cruaidh
‘S do chuir sí chugam aríst í, go raibh a croí chomh dubh le gual
A com ba bhinne 'na mhílseacht, ná síoda ná clúimh na n-éan
'S nach buartha, cráite a bhímse nuair a cuimhním ar ghrá mo chléibh.

Is thíos ar ché Phort Láirge, tá an t-árthach ag brath le comhair
A thabharfaidh mé thar sáile, is go brách, brách ní chasfaidh mé.
Beidh mo mhuintir is mo chairde, go cásmhar ag gol im 'dhiadh

'S anois o raghaim thar sáile, céad slán ag grá mo chléibh.

Said to be from the Blasket Island also, this is another song of emigration. The singer sadly takes his leave of the island, having suffered a cruel rejection by his beloved.
Chuala me an t-amhrán álainn seo á chasadh don chéad uair ag socraid Sheáin de hÓra ag Áine Uí Laoithe agus Éibhlín Ní Chearna. Is ó Shéamus Ó Beaglaíoch a d’fhoghlaimíos é. Bhí an ceathrú bhéarsa ag Mrs. Mary Kavanagh, Feothanach, i gcnuasach Johnny Grainbhil.

8. Beir Beannacht ó Rí na hAoine  (The Blessing of the King of Friday)
The Blessing of the King of Friday on the island I am in
Because I’d prefer a day and a night in it than in that town over there
Because it is there that we had the reel, piper’s music and beer on the slate
And goodbye to that gold cup that used to be filled with the best brandy.
 
It was in the green stubble of the golden harvest that I saw you
And your foot was dainty in the shoe, and your eyes were beautifully set
Your hair the colour of gold, the ringlets tied in a loop
And what a pity that we are not married on board a ship going abroad.
 
And I will get up in the morning, regardless, with God’s help.
Because I will not stay here forever and ever, as long as I live
Because it is your weak, wan conversation that troubled and killed me
And, my God, isn’t it a sad death that awaits me if we are separated.
 
And I sent her a written letter with a sad account
And she returned it to me – her heart was as black as coal.
Her waist was sweeter in its sweetness than the silk or bird’s feathers
And isn’t it sad, distracted that I am when I think of my love.
 
Down in Waterford Quay, the vessel is being prepared
That will take me overseas and never, ever shall I return
My family and my friends will be heart-broken, in tears
And now as I sail away, goodbye to my sweetheart.
 
9. Réidhchnoc Mná Duibhe (The Smooth Hill of the Dark Woman)

Is fada mé ar buaireamh ag cur tuairisc mo ghrá
Trí ghleanntán dubhach uaigneach do mo ruagairt chun fáin
Ach a samhail siúd ni bhfuaireas cé gur chuardaíos mórán
Ó Chlaisibh na Tuama go dtí Bruachgheal na Má.
'S nuair a casadh mo ghrá orm níor lig náire dhom gan suí
Do leagasa mo láimh ar a bráid is ar a croí
Sé dúirt sí "Arú fág mé, ní samhail duit mé
Mar is bean dubhach ar a bhfán mé do ráingigh i do shlí".
"Is más bean dubhach ar a bhfán tú do ráingigh im shlí
Suigh anseo láimh liom is tabhair dúshlán faoi gach buíon
An tú an maighdean mhánla na dtáithíní buí
Nó an tú an stuairín mhilis, mhánla do sciob Párthas on dTraoi?"

Ní haon ní den méid sin, mise féin dá nduraís,
Ach cailín ciúin Gaelach ón dtaobh eile thíos,
Níor shíneasa mo thaobh deas le haon fhear san ríocht
Agus tóg díom do ghéaga, táim déanach óm’ bhuíon".

'S nuair a thógas mo ghéaga dá caol coimín síos
Ba ghile ar a taobh í ná an sneachta ar a gcraoibh
An iad sluaite Chnoc Bhréanainn do ráingigh i mo lín?
Agus uaimse gur léim sí go dtí Réidhchnoc Mná Duibhe.
Ba ghile í ná an sneachta is ná an t-airgead bán
Ba ghile í ná an fhaoileann ar líonloch ar snámh.
Ba bhreá deas iad a cuacha ina truapaill léi síos
Ar gach taobh dá guailne is iad ag luascadh le gaoith.

This song has been attributed to a man called Seoirse Robart. The singer falls in love with a fairy woman from below the hill, who leaves him to return to her people.
Fuaireas an leagan seo i gcnuasach Johnny Grainbhil. Eoin Ó Catháin, Dún Chaoin, agus Pádraig Ó Dálaigh, Inis Mhicileáin, a bhí á chasadh. Is ó amhránaíocht Pheadar Ó Cearnaigh i "Beauty an Oileáin" a fuaireas cuid dos na focail. Cé nach gcloistear an tamhrán seo go ró-mhinic, bhíodh an fonn á chur le mór-chuid amhrán, mar shampla, "Máirnéalach Loinge Mé" agus "Ar mo Dhul go Baile Átha Cliatha Dhom".

9. Réidhchnoc Mná Duibhe  (The Smooth Hill of the Dark Woman)
Long have I grieved as I searched for my love
Through deep, dark lonely valleys as I stray
But her like I did not find, though I searched a lot
From Chlaisibh na Tuama to Bruachgheal na Má.
 
When I met my love, I did not let shame prevent me from sitting
I caressed her neck and her heart
She said, “Yerra, leave me, I am not of your kind
I am a wandering dark woman, who just came your way”.
 
“If you are a wandering dark woman, who just came my way
Sit here beside me and defy every other group
Are you the stately lady of the golden locks
Or are you the sweet stately woman that snatched Paris from Troy?”
 
“I am none of those, I tell you myself,
But a quiet Gaelic girl from the other side below
I have never laid my lovely limbs beside any man in the kingdom
And lift your arm from me, I’m late from my people.”
 
When I took my arms from her slender, lithe frame
Her side was brighter than the snow on the branch
Are they the fairy host of Mount Brandon that came into my net?
And from me she swept to Réidhchnoc Mná Duibhe.
 
She was brighter than snow or the white silver
She was brighter than the seagull, floating on the waves
Her ringlets down in tresses were beautiful
On each side of her shoulders as they swayed with the breeze.
10. Máirín de Barra

A Mháirin de Barra, do mharaigh tú m'intinn
Do chuir tu beo i dtalamh mé i ngan fhios dom mhuintir.
Ar mo luí ar mo leaba dhom, is ortsa bhím ag cuimhneamh
Is ar m’éirí dhom ar maidin, gur chealg tú an croí ionam.

Do thugas is thugas is thugas óm chroí greann duit
Ar Dhomhnach Fhéile Mhuire na gcoinneal sa teampall.
Dod shúilín ba ghlaise ná uisce na ngeamhartha,
Is dod bhéilín ba bhinne ná an druid nuair a labhrann.

Do shíl mé tú a mhealladh le briathra is le póga,
Do shíl mé tú a mhealladh le leabhair is le móide;
Do shíl mé tú a mhealladh ar bhreacadh na h-eornan,
Ach d'fhág tú dubhach dealbh ar theacht don bhliain nódh me.

Is aoibhinn don talamh a shiúlann tú féin air,
Is aoibhinn don talamh ar a sheineann tú bhéarsa;
Is aoibhinn don leaba ina luíonn tú fé éadach
Is ró-aoibhinn don bhfear, a gheobhaidh tú mar bhean chéile.

A Mháirín, glac mo chomhairle, is ná téir ar t-aimhleas;

Ná pós aon stróinse, fear séidte na hadhairce.
Ach gaibh leis an óigfhear a nglaonn siad Ó Floinn air;
Ach pós de ghrá réitigh, ós é is toil le do mhuintir.

Do shiúlfainn is shiúlfainn is shiúlfainn an saol leat;

Do raghainnse thar sáile gan dhá phingin spré leat;
Mo mhuintir 's mo chairde go brách, brách do thréigfinn,
Is go leigheasfá ón mbás me ach a rá gur leat féin mé.

According to Séamus Ó Beaglaíoch, it is a Munster song from the 18th century, attributed by some to the Béara poet, Seán Ó Coileáin. It must surely be one of the most passionate love-songs in any language.
Castar leagan eile anso timpeall do Mháirín de Barra, ach is ó amhránaíocht Nioclás Tóibín a d’fhoghlaimíos é seo.

10 Máirín de Barra.
 
Máirín de Barra, you have killed my mind,
You have buried me alive, unknown to my family.
When lying on my bed, it is you that I think of
And when I arise in the morning – that you deceived my heart.
 
I gave and I gave and I gave you my heart’s love
On Candlemas Sunday in the Church
To your eyes that are greener than the green braid (of corn)
And to your mouth that is sweeter than the song of the starling.
 
I thought that I could win you with words and with kisses
I thought that I could win you with books and vows
I thought that I could win you at the brightening of the barley
But you left me sorrowful and destitute in the coming of the New Year.
 
Happy the ground that you walk on
Happy the ground that you sing a verse on
Happy the bed that you lie on under the covers
And how very happy the man who will get you for his wife.
 
Máirín, take my advice and do not go to harm’s way.
Do not marry the stranger “who “blow’s his own horn”
But go with the young man that they call Ó Floinn
And marry the man chosen for you, for it is the will of your family.
 
I would walk and walk and walk the world with you
I would go overseas, without tuppence dowry with you
My family and my friends I would leave for ever and ever
And you would heal me on my deathbed but to say that you were mine.
 

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